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“You could sit on top of a mountain praying for hours a day and still not make it if you had no love in your heart. You could spend your life feeding the poor and still not make it because your karma required you to bear and nurture children. The path home to God is different for every person. Only communion with your Higher Self will reveal your path to you.”

“You could sketch me,” said Emma. She flung herself down onto her seat, leaning her head on her hand. “ ‘Draw me like one of your French girls.’ ” Julian grinned. “I hate that movie,” he said. “You know I do.” Emma sat up indignantly. “The first time we watched Titanic, you cried.” “I had seasonal allergies,” Jules said.”

“You could speak on my behalf. Try to persuade him.” His black eyes glittered. “I’m afraid I’m only a messenger.” “Please,” I said. “I do not want them here, truly. I am not being funny.” “No,” he said, “you are not. You are being very dull. Use your imagination, they must be good for something. Take them to your bed.” “That is absurd,” I said. “They would run screaming.” “Nymphs always do,” he said. “But I’ll tell you a secret: they are terrible at getting away.” At a feast on Olympus such a jest would have been followed by a roar of laughter. Hermes waited now, grinning like a goat. But all I felt was a white, cold rage. “I am finished with you,” I said. “I have been finished a long time. Let me not see you again.” If anything, his grin deepened. He vanished and did not return. It was no obedience. He was finished with me too, for I had committed the unpardonable sin of being dull. I could imagine the stories he was telling of me, humorless, prickly, and smelling of pigs. From time to time, I could sense him just out of sight, finding my nymphs in the hills, sending them back flushed and laughing, giddy from the great Olympian who had shown them favor. He seemed to think I would go mad with jealousy and loneliness, and turn them into rats indeed. A hundred years he had been coming to my island, and in all that time he had never cared for more than his own entertainment.”

“You could stand here sick with ten illnesses today, and tomorrow have no evidence of any of them. Your body has the ability to replenish itself that fast. But most of you do not have the ability to change your thoughts that fast. So the amount of time that it takes between sickness and wellness is only the amount of time that it takes for me to figure out how to let it in - for me to figure out how to feel good, when I'm looking at something that makes me feel bad.”

“You could still be lying,' says the Roach. He turns to Cardan. 'Try her.' 'Your pardon?' Cardan says, drawing himself up, and the Roach seems to suddenly remember whom he's speaking in such an off-handed way. 'Don't be such a prickly rose, Your Majesty,' the Roach says with a shrug and a grin. 'I'm not giving you an order. I'm suggesting that if you tried to glamour Jude, we could find out the truth.' Cardan sighs and walks toward me. I know this is necessary. I know that he doesn't intend to hurt me. I know he can't glamour me. And yet I draw back automatically. 'Jude?' he asks. 'Go ahead,' I say. I hear the glamour enter his voice, heady and seductive and more powerful than I expected. 'Crawl to me,' he says with a grin. Embarrassment pinks my cheeks. I stay where I am, looking at all their faces. 'Satisfied?' The Bomb nods. 'You're not charmed.”

“You could take all the gold that's ever been mined, and it would fill a cube 67 feet in each direction. For what that's worth at current gold prices, you could buy all -- not some -- all of the farmland in the United States. Plus, you could buy 10 Exxon Mobils, plus have $1 trillion of walking-around money. Or you could have a big cube of metal. Which would you take? Which is going to produce more value?”

“You could tell from the books whether a library was meant for show or not. Books that were used had an open, interested feel to them, even if closed and neatly lined up on a shelf in strict order with their fellows. You felt as though the book took as much interest in you as you did in it and was willing to help when you reached for it.”

“You could time a suburban story by your watch: it lasts as long as it takes a small furry animal that's lonely to find friends, or a small furry animal that's lost to find its parents; it lasts as long as a quick avowal of love; it lasts precisely as long as the average parent is disposed on a Tuesday night to spend reading aloud to children.”