Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best?
All paths are present, always… and we can but choose among them.
All paths are present, always… and we can but choose among them.
For this too I learned, that a storyteller’s tale may end, but history goes on always. These events, so distant in legend, play a part in shaping the very events we witness about us, each and every day.
It’s funny, how one can look back on a sorrow one thought one might well die of at the time, and know that one had not yet reckoned the tenth part of true grief.
This is the secret that none dares tell who fights for a cause. Dying, we are all alike.
And having once chosen, never to seek to return to the crossroads of that decision-for even if one chooses wrongly, the choice cannot be unmade.