Silver on the Tree

The future cannot blame the present, just as the present cannot blame the past. The hope is always here, always alive, but only your fierce caring can fan it into a fire to warm the world.

For ever and ever, we say when we are young, or in our prayers. Twice, we say it. Old One, do we not? For ever and ever ... so that a thing may be for ever, a life or a love or a quest, and yet begin again, and be for ever just as before. And any ending that may seem to come is not truly an ending, but an illusion. For Time does not die, Time has neither beginning nor end, and so nothing can end or die that has once had a place in Time.

For remember, that it is altogether your world now. You and all the rest. We have delivered you from evil, but the evil that is inside men is at the last a matter for men to control. The responsibility and the hope and the promise are in your hands-your hands and the hands of all men on this earth. The future can not blame the present, just as the present can not blame the past. The hope is always here, always alive, but only your fierce caring can fan it into a fire to warm the world. For Drake is no longer in his hammock, children, nor is Arthur somewhere sleeping, and you may not lie idly expecting the second coming of anybody now, because the world is yours and it is up to you. Now especially since man has the strength to destroy the world, it is the responsibility of man to keep it alive, in all its beauty and marvelous joy. And the world will still be imperfect, because men are imperfect. Good men will still be killed by bad, or sometimes by other good men, and there will still be pain and disease and famine, anger and hate. But if you work and care and are watchful, as we have tried to be for you, then in the long run the worse will never, ever, triumph over the better. And the gifts put into some men, that shine as bright as Eirias the sword, shall light the dark corners of life for all the rest, in so brave a world.

All life is theatre,' he said. 'We are all actors, you and I, in a play which nobody wrote and which nobody will see. We have no audience but ourselves....

So the Dark did a simple thing. They showed the maker of the sword his own uncertainty and fear. Fear of having done the wrong thing--fear that having done this one great thing, he would never again be able to accomplish anything of great worth--fear of age, of insufficiency, of unmet promise. All such great fears, that are the doom of people given the gift of making, and lie always somewhere in their minds.

For Drake is no longer in his hammock, children, nor is Arthur somewhere sleeping, and you may not lie idly expecting the second coming of anybody now, because the world is yours and it is up to you.

Sometimes you must seem to hurt something in order to do good for it.

Maybe because the Dark can only reach people at extremes; blinded by their own shining ideas, or locked up in the darkness of their own heads.

Real is a hard word", he said. "Almost as hard as true, or now...

Every human being who loves another loves imperfection, for there is no perfect being on this earth--nothing is so simple as that.

I do not believe any power can possess the mind of a man or woman... I believe in God-given free will, you see. I think nothing is forced on us, except by other people like ourselves. I think our choices are our own.

The hope is always here, always alive, but only your fierce caring can fan it into a fire to warm the world.

I remember it was a damn funny thing for a stranger to say," Stephen said. "Old Ones, we Old Ones. With capital letters-- you could *hear* them.

Where did they go?" "Where the leaves go in autumn," Will said. Bran looked at him and seemed suddenly to relax; he grinned. "There's poetic, now." Will laughed. "It's true. Of course, the trouble with leaves is, they grow again...

And any ending that may seem to come is not truly an ending, but an illusion. For Time does not die, Time has neither beginning nor end, and so nothing can end or die that has once had a place in Time.

Honest. I know. But all the same... woo!" It was a head-back, beaming, yelping shout of joyful excitement, spontaneous and startling, and every face turned; their apprehensiveness faded for a moment, and even Merriman, stern for the first instant, laughed aloud. "Yes!" he said. "We need that as much as the sword, Barney.

maybe because the dark can only reach people at the extremes-- those bound by their own shiny ideas or locked up in the darkness of their own heads.

Bran said, "Why should some of the Riders of the Dark be dressed all in white and the rest all in black?" "Without colour...." Will said reflectively. "I don't know. Maybe because the Dark can only reach people at extremes-- blinded by their own shining ideas, or locked up in the darkness of their own heads.

Open for sun, closed for rain, that's the poor man's weathervane.

Your father... doesn't work late for you to pinch his dinner.

You know how many there are. You can't convince them and you can't kill 'em. You can only do your best in the opposite direction...

The future can not blame the present, just as the present cannot blame the past.

But if you work and care and are watchful, as we have tried to be for you, then in the long run the worse will never, ever, triumph over the better.

Now especially since man has the strength to destroy the world, it is the responsibility of man to keep it alive, in all its beauty and marvelous joy.