Rejection Is A Cancer, Edie. It Eats

But History Is A Faithless Teller Whose Cruel Recourse To Hindsight Makes Fools Of Its Actors.

Ah, Well. Life's Too Short For Moderation, Wouldn't You Say?

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.

. . . Companions Were To Be Valued, Wherever One Found Them.

That, My Dear, Is What Makes A Character Interesting, Their Secrets.