You or I might think that at least one would show courage and put up a fight. But neither you nor I have suffered as they, and even we have born witness in silence to lesser ills under less dire threat. Yet, in the face of evil, to sit silent is an even greater evil. Complacency is ever the enabler of darkest deeds;.

Mithorden said it well,” she said finally. “It’s worshipping death. They say they follow light. But, in the end, they’re really following desolation, division, the end of things. You should hear their prophecies – war, destruction, only special chosen people are spared.” She felt sad and angry. Worse, she wondered to what ends people who believed these things would go to assert their views.

Leowin: Don’t worry Luthiel. ‘Truth’s existence never depended upon belief.

If Christ taught us anything it is this – not to let our fear of death keep us from doing the good thing.

Writers shouldn’t fear criticism. Instead, they should fear silence. Criticism is healthy. It gets people thinking about your work and, even better, it gets them talking and arguing. But as for silence – it is the greatest killer of writers. So if you hate a book and want to hurt it – don’t talk about it. And if you hate my books – please, for God’s sake, shout it from the hills!

It has been often said that writing is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration. In my experience, this is true. But, in my opinion, it is useless without that 1 percent. It’s like an engine without fuel – can’t get anywhere without it. Or like a lighthouse without a light on top – doesn’t guide anyone in to home or safe harbor.

Silent. So it should be. You have no place in this world, Luthiel. And there is no other.′ Zalos reached out and lifted a few strands of her hair. ‘Bright songs and the magic of hope are but a dangerous illusion. The fake comfort of witches charms.

Someone smashed a flutterfler and without even thinking she touched her Stone and used Wyrd to piece its broken body back together. She filled its empty vessels with dreams and it became the stuff it used for blood. It brushed her cheek with its wings, then flew off – dancing in the hot air.

I’d say we’re all just ghosts on a wire seeking the prick of an electric thought.

To all those women – strong enough to be heroes; fair enough to be ladies. This song is for you.