But If You Couldn't Do Everything, Did

One Didn't Stop To Talk With Creatures From One's Nightmares.

... Everyone Knew That All Islands Were Worlds Unto Themselves, That To Come To An Island Was To Come To Another World.

She Had Been A Solitary Child, And Then Solitary As A Woman, Drawn Into An Orbit Of Her Own That Took Her Away From Others, Even Those Who Would Be Her Friends.

It Can Be Hard To Write A Skillfully Entertaining Fiction, But A Great Book Wants To Be More, And Wants More From Us.

The Deeds Of Men, As Footprints In The Desert. Nothing Under The Circling Moons Is Fated To Last. Even The Sun Goes Down.