G. Willow Wilson

He's holding my hand! A boy is holding my hand! This is happening! I should let go. I should blush and act shy. Like a girl from the movies. But that's not what I do. I hold on.

The force that played havoc with the cortisol in my blood was the same force that helped my body recover; if I felt better one day and worse the next, it was unchanged. It chose no side. It gave the girl next to me in the hospital pneumonia; it also gave her white blood cells that would resist the infection. And the atoms in those cells, and the nuclei in those atoms, the same bits of carbon that were being spun into new planets in some corner of space without a name. My insignificance had become unspeakably beautiful to me. That unified force was a god too massive, too inhuman, to resist with the atheism in which I had been brought up. I became a zealot without a religion.

Be careful with this one" said Dina, bending down to greet the cat. "All cats are half jinn, but I think she's three quarters.

Dear child, some stories have no morals. Sometimes darkness and madness are simply that.

Love the life you have been given. And be humbled by it. It is not to be despised.

Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do.

All translations are made up" opined Vikram, "Languages are different for a reason. You can't move ideas between them without losing something