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“Your True Nature Is Love. There's Nothing You Can Do About It.”

“Your true power is not in your difference, but in your consistency of being different. The world will always adjust to consistency, yet struggle with change.”

“Your true savage, reserved, dignified, and courteous, knows how to mask his feelings, even in the face of the most desperate assault upon them; your civilized man is forever yielding to them. Civilization, in fact, grows more and more maudlin and hysterical; especially under democracy it tends to degenerate into a mere combat of crazes; the whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by an endless series of hobgoblins, most of them imaginary. Wars are no longer waged by the will of superior men, capable of judging dispassionately and intelligently the causes behind them and the effects flowing out of them. They are now begun by first throwing a mob into a panic; they are ended only when it has spent its ferine fury. Here the effect of civilization has been to reduce the noblest of the arts, once the repository of an exalted etiquette and the chosen avocation of the very best men of the race, to the level of a riot of peasants. All the wars of Christendom are now disgusting and degrading; the conduct of them has passed out of the hands of nobles and knights and into the hands of mob-orators, money-lenders, and atrocity-mongers. To recreate one’s self with war in the grand manner, as Prince Eugene, Marlborough and the Old Dessauer knew it, one must now go among barbarian peoples.”

“Your True Self is who you objectively are from the beginning, in the mind and heart of God, "the face you had before you were born," as the Zen masters say. It is your substantial self, your absolute identify, which can never be gained nor lost by any technique, group affiliation, morality, or formula whatsoever. The surrendering of our false self, which we have usually taken for our absolute identity, yet is merely a relative identity, is the necessary suffering needed to find "the pearl of great price" that is always hidden inside this lovely but passing shell.”

“Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.”

“Your trust issues come from your hope being broken. You have learned it is safer not to hope. It is safer to beat vulnerability to the punch and strive to control your surroundings. It is safer to treat hope as a wish. Hope then becomes something ethereal that you wish upon a star and then you continue on controlling your outcome. Or holding steadfast to hope–which really is your version of that “supposed-to” you want to see happen–as a symbol of your faith. This is not hope. Hope involves more of you and your soul than wishing it up to God. (Look out vulnerability!) It is easier to believe you can “easy button” this to God but a life of hope involves your guttiness.”

“Your turn. A thought for a thought. He pressed a kiss to my stomach, right over my navel. 'Have I told you about the first time you winnowed and tackled me into the snow?' I smacked his shoulder, the muscle beneath hard as stone. 'That's your thought for a thought?' He smiled against my stomach, his fingers still exploring, coaxing. 'You tackled me like an Illyrian. Perfect form, a direct hit. But then you lay on top of me, panting. All I wanted to do was get us both naked.' 'Why am I not surprised?' Yet I threaded my fingers through his hair. The fabric of my dressing gown was barely more than cobwebs between us as he huffed a laugh onto my belly. I hadn't bothered putting on anything beneath. 'You drove me out of my mind. All those months. I still don't quite believe I get to have this. Have you.' My throat tightened. That was the thought he wanted to trade, needed to share. 'I wanted you, even Under the Mountain,' I said softly. 'I chalked it up to those horrible circumstances, but after we killed her, when I couldn't tell anyone how I felt- about how truly bad things were, I still told you. I've always been able to talk to you. I think my heart knew you were mine long before I ever realised it.' His eyes gleamed, and he buried his face between my breasts again, hands caressing my back. 'I love you,' he breathed. 'More than life, more than my territory, more than my crown.' I knew. He'd given up that life to reforge the Cauldron, the fabric of the world itself, so I might survive. I hadn't had it in me to be furious with him about it afterward, or in the months since. He'd lived- it was a gift I would never stop being grateful for. And in the end, though, we'd saved each other. All of us had. I kissed the top of his head. 'I love you,' I whispered onto his blue-black hair.”