All True Wealth Is Biological.

Adulthood Isn't An Award They'll Give You For Being A Good Child. You Can Waste Years, Trying To Get Someone To Give That Respect To You, As Though It Were A Sort Of Promotion Or Raise In Pay. If Only You Do Enough, If Only You Are Good Enough. No. You Have To Just Take It. Give It To Yourself, I Suppose. Say, I'm Sorry You Feel Like That And Walk Away. But That's Hard

One Corner Of His Mouth Crooked Up, Then The Quirk Vanished In A Thoughtful Pursing Of His Lips. "he's Bisexual, You Know." He Took A Delicate Sip Of His Wine. "was Bisexual," She Corrected Absently, Looking Fondly Across The Room. "now He's Monogamous." Vordarian Choked, Sputtering.

Cecil Flashed A Grin. "quite. Plus Your Rather Irritating Habit Of Treating Your Superior Officers As Your, Ah..." Cecil Paused, Apparently Groping Again For Just The Right Word. "equals?" Miles Hazarded. "cattle," Cecil Corrected Judiciously.

When The Souls Rise Up In Glory, Yours Shall Not Be Shunned Nor Sunderered, But Shall Be The Prize Of The Gods' Gardens. Even Your Darkness Shall Be Treasured Then, And All Your Pain Made Holy.

I Know Girls Who Pine For It. They Like To Play Dress-up And Pretend Being Vor Ladies Of Old, Rescued From Menace By Romantic Vor Youths. For Some Reason They Never Play 'dying In Childbirth', Or 'vomiting Your Guts Out From The Red Dysentery', Or 'weaving Till You Go Blind And Crippled From Arthritis And Dye Poisoning', Or 'infanticide'. Well, They Do Die Romantically Of Disease Sometimes, But Somehow It's Always An Illness That Makes You Interestingly Pale And Everyone Sorry And Doesn't Involve Losing Bowel Control.