Fiction Is Lies; We're Writing About People

Sam Loved To Listen To Music And Make His Own Songs, To Wear Soft Velvets, To Play In The Castle Kitchen Beside The Cooks, Drinking In The Rich Smells As He Snitched Lemon Cakes And Blueberry Tarts. His Passions Were Books And Kittens And Dancing, Clumsy As He Was.

A Lord Must Learn That Sometimes Words Can Accomplish What Swords Cannot.

You Could Make A Poultice Out Of Mud To Cool A Fever. You Could Plant Seeds In Mud And Grow A Crop To Feed Your Children. Mud Would Nourish You, Where Fire Would Only Consume You, But Fools And Children And Young Girls Would Choose Fire Every Time.

A Man Does Not Need To Be A Wizard To Know Truth From Falsehood, Not If He Has Eyes. You Need Only Learn To Read A Face. Look At The Eyes. The Mouth. The Muscles Here, At The Corners Of The Jaw, And Here, Where The Neck Joins The Shoulders." He Touched Her Lightly With Two Fingers. "some Liars Blink. Some Stare. Some Look Away. Some Lick Their Lips. Many Coer Their Mouths Just Before They Tell A Lie, As If To Hide Their Deceit. Other Signs May Be More Subtle, But They Are Always There. A False Smile And A True One May Look Alike, But They Are As Different As Dusk From Dawn.

I Have Climbed These Steps So Often I Know Each One By Name.