Fate isn't a straight road," I said, becoming the oracle that earlier in the day I had declined to be for her. "There are forks in it, many different routes to different ends. We have the free will to choose the path.

You can change the road you take, but sometimes it can bend back to lead you straight to that same stubborn fate.

The writer doesn__ write for the reader. He doesn__ write for himself, either. He writes to serve_something. Somethingness. The somethingness that is sheltered by the wings of nothingness _ those exquisite, enveloping, protecting wings.

People who truly serve God actively look for darkness in order to chase darkness away, they run after darkness, they search for darkness in all its ramifications and destructive consequences.

Well, thank the gods,' he sighed.'Oh? And what would it be you're thanking them for?' Bahzell inquired, and Brandark grinned.'For making roads and letting us find one. Not that I'm complaining, you understand, but this business of following you cross-country without the faintest idea where I am can worry a man.

Learn from past experiences but accept them all as perfect while staying in the present. Let go of everything that doesn't serve you.