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For all that they love to make kings, John’s folk seem to have little interest in the actual business of ruling anything. They like to become, they do not like to be.
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A clever person is never bored, and a bored person is never clever.
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First, the avid student must be aware that when the world was young it knew only seven things: water, life and death, salt, night, birds and the length of an hour.
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You couldn't ever really fix a sad story. You could only make another. And another. And another, until you found the right one at last, the one that ends in joy.
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You can never know how your clock runs. But it does run - and always faster than you think.
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What was magical at two in the morning was tawdry and cheap and dangerous to your health at two in the afternoon.
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She is my wife and I am her own and you were not invited. Leave us alone.
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Love is the Turing test, [...] It is how we check for life.
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All the rest of the nonsense a story requires is just a long seduction of the ending.
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Life is beautiful and life is stupid. This is, in fact, widely regarded as a universal rule not less inviolable than the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the Uncertainty Principle, and No Post on Sundays.
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You have to have the right sort of stone. Peridot for mothers, girasol for lovers, sapphire for sadness, and garnet for joy.
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There must be a way! I have begun a Quest! Quests do not simply end. You win or you lose; it is not just suddenly over.
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The world had gotten gritty enough. The only thing left to do in all that dirt was to shine.
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It is best in the end to let women see to their own vengeance.
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You took on a Quest, which is a thing only men - and exceedingly stupid men, usually - do.
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One is always homesick for places where one came to grief.
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You see her as you see anyone in this world: distorted, warped, reflected, refracted, contorted, mutilated by time.
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Remember, pain is not a test. Knowledge is not enough.
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She did not want Fairyland to be full of older girls who wanted to be stars.
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You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.
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That’s what a map is, you know. Just a memory.
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Life is like that. Death sweeps it away. That's what death is for. That's why they keep telling this story. It's the only story.
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We like the wrong sorts of girls, they wrote. They are usually the ones worth writing about.
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After love, no one is what they were before.