Dragonsinger

The tears I feel today I'll wait to shed tomorrow. Though I'll not sleep this night Nor find surcease from sorrow. My eyes must keep their sight: I dare not be tear-blinded. I must be free to talk Not choked with grief, clear-minded. My mouth cannot betray The anguish that I know. Yes, I'll keep my tears til later: But my grief will never go.

There's something wrong in not appreciating one's own special abilities, my girl. Find your own limitations, yes, but don't limit yourself with false modesty.

Don't leave me alone! A cry in the night, Of anguish heart-stiking, Of soul-killing fright. Live for my living Or else I must die Don't leave me alone. A world heard that cry.

The little queen all golden Flew hissing at the sea. To stop each wave Her clutch to save She ventured bravely. As she attacked the sea in rage A holderman came nigh Along the sand Fishnet in hand And saw the queen midsky. He stared at her in wonder For often he'd been told That such as she Could never be Who hovered there, bright gold. He saw her plight and quickly He looked up the cliff he faced And saw a cave Above the wave In which her eggs he placed. The little queen all golden Upon his shoulder stood Her eyes all blue Glowed of her true Undying gratitude.

The mind that will not admit it has something more to learn tomorrow is in danger of stagnating.

There’s something wrong in not appreciating one’s own special abilities, my girl. Find your own limitations, yes, but don’t limit yourself with false modesty.

It is the voice we communicate with, the voice which utters the words we seek to impress on men’s minds, the voice which evokes emotional response; tears, laughter, sense. Your voice is the most important, most complex, most amazing instrument of all.

A gitar for Menolly? So we can judge the range of sounds she can make?

He yelped, ducked with an apprentice's well-developed instinct, and went pelting back the way he'd come.

Oh, that was marvellous. Could we play it again?

The fickle wind’s my foe, With tide his keen ally. They’re jealous of my sea’s love And rouse her with their lie. Oh sweet sea, oh dear sea, Heed not their stormy wile But bear me safely to my Hold And from their watery trial.

Your clothes are worn to the woof.

Your voice is sad and your hands are slow, And your eye meeting mine turns away.