We're All Immortal Until We Die.

To Those Who See The Magical Surface Of Things, You Are Invisible.' Good Grief. Will You Still Be Able To See Me?' He Met Her Eyes In A Way That Made Her Shiver Pleasantly. 'i See You In A Great Many Ways. It Would Be Hard To Blind Me In All Of Them.

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.

It Was Like Him, Too, To Love Her And Admit To It Before He Knew If She Loved Him. Maybe Only Mortals Expected To Barter Their Hearts.

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.

Sometimes, She Reflected, She Dressed For Courage, Sometimes For Success, And Sometimes For The Consolation Of Knowing That Whatever Else Went Wrong, At Least She Liked Her Clothes.