We're All Immortal Until We

She Lifted Her Head. "it's Easier," She Said, Slowly, "to Be Angry On Someone Else's Behalf Than On My Own. And Yet I Find I Have A Well Of Anger In Me, That I Have Been Filling For Years From My Own Hurts. If I Spill It Out In Defense Of Another, I Can Deny It's Mine.

Coincidence Is The Word We Use When We Can't See The Levers And Pulleys.

Could I Make You Believe Something That Wasn't True?' He Studied Her Through His Eyelashes. 'you Could Make Me Believe Anything At All.

She Has Her Own Glamour, Willy Lad. All Poets Do, All The Bards And Artists, All The Musicians Who Truly Take The Music Into Their Own Hearts. They All Straddle The Border Of Faerie, And They See Into Both Worlds. Not Dependably Into Either, Perhaps, But That Uncertainty Keeps Them Honest And At A Distance.

We're All Immortal Until We Die.