Everything Dies, From The Smallest Blade Of

Gradually, The Night Stumbled As If Stunned And Wandering Aimlessly Into An Overcast Day -- Limped Through The Wilderland Of Transition As Though There Were No Knowing Where The Waste Of Darkness Ended And The Ashes Of Light Began. The Low Clouds Seemed Full Of Grief -- Tense And Uneasy With Accumulated Woe -- And Yet Affectless, Unable To Rain, As If The Air Clenched Itself Too Hard For Tears. And Through The Dawn, Atiaran And Covenant Moved Heavily, Unevenly, Like Pieces Of A Broken Lament.

I Respect My Limitations, But I Don't Use Them As An Excuse.

Part Of Him Wanted To Weep... But His Purpose Was Rigid Within Him. He Felt He Could Not Bend To Gentleness Without Breaking.

Whatever The Explanation, It's Perfectly Obvious That Our Educational System Has Nothing To Do With Education: It's A Babysitting Service Designed To Replicate The Worst Qualities Of The Parents.

"are You A Storyteller, Thomas Covenant?" Absently He Replied, "i Was, Once." "and You Gave It Up? Ah, That Is As Sad A Tale In Three Words As Any You Might Have Told Me. But A Life Without A Tale Is Like A Sea Without Salt. How Do You Live?" "i Live." "another?" Foamfollower Returned. "in Two Words, A Story Sadder Than The First. Say No More - With One Word You Will Make Me Weep."