It is not my mode of thought that has caused my misfortunes$$$ but the mode of thought of others.

If power was a a cry$$$ then human lives were lived in the echo of the cries of others.

Once the god-squaddie supreme$$$ she was now possessed of the zeal of the apostate and came on like an atheistic stormtrooper.

When Alice fell down the rabbit hole$$$ it was an accident$$$ but when she stepped through the looking glass$$$ it was of her own free will$$$ and a braver deed by far.

Human life was rarely shapely$$$ only intermittently meaningful$$$ its clumsiness the inevitable consequence of the victory of content over form$$$ of what and when over how and why.

Love$$$ my child$$$ is a thing that every mother learns; it is not born with a baby$$$ but made; and for eleven years$$$ I have learned to love you as my son.

That witchcraft requires no potions$$$ familiar spirits$$$ or magic wands. Language upon a silver tongue affords enchantment enough.

Knowledge was never simply born in the human mind; it was always reborn. The relaying of wisdom from one age to the next$$$ this cycle of rebirths: this was wisdom.

Then a strange moment came$$$ a moment of the kind that determines the fate of nations$$$ because when a crowd loses its fear of an army the world changes.

The adult chops down his childhood to help his grown-up self. The unsentimentality is appealing$$$ don't you think?