You Speak Of Destiny As If It

Argue With Anything Else, But Don't Argue With Your Own Nature.

All Things From The North Are Devilish.

Everything Has A Meaning, If Only We Could Read It.

She Had Asked: What Is He? A Friend Or An Enemy? The Alethiometer Answered: He Is A Murderer. When She Saw The Answer, She Relaxed At Once. He Could Find Food, And Show Her How To Reach Oxford, And Those Were Powers That Were Useful, But He Might Still Have Been Untrustworthy Or Cowardly. A Murderer Was A Worthy Companion. She Felt As Safe With Him As She'd Done With Iorek Byrnison The Armoured Bear.

If You Can't Think Of What To Write, Tough Luck; Write Anyway. If You Can Think Of Lots More When You've Finished The Three Pages, Don't Write It; It'll Be That Much Easier To Get Going Next Day.