Magic Under Glass

Sometimes, before you make any plans or resolutions, before you declare your heroic intent to persevere, you just have to cry.

I furrowed my eyebrows."Are you looking at my bosom, sir?" The eyes snapped back up. "At such a serious moment? What do you take me for?" "A rogue, I believe." I tried not to smile.

If one spends too many hours in solitude, one starts to emote for one’s own benefit.

At night I dream of things I scoff at by day.

They were full of mysteries and secrets, like... like poems turned into landscapes." "'Poems turned into landscapes.'" he murmured with a slight smile. "And what of Vestenveld's gardens? Do you see poems in them?" "Your gardens are like your country's poetry. Very frilly and organized.