Burlesque Romantique
- And the Birds Sing No More
Flames danced to life beneath the black coils atop the stove, and Lovino stands there and watches as tiny tendrils of smoke curl up from a previous spill on the burner. A slight violet tinge appears, nestled there in the black rings, and then the element assumes some reddish-purple tones, like unripe blackberries. It shifts from a burning sunset orange until, finally, settling on an intense, heated red. He stares distantly, a tea kettle snug in his grip, as he vaguely recalls...
Orson Scott Card
- Children of the Mind
Someday stars will wind down or blow up. Someday death will cover us all like the water of a lake and perhaps nothing will ever come to the surface to show that we were ever there. But we WERE there, and during the time we lived, we were alive. That's the truth - what is, what was, what will be - not what could be, what should have been, what never can be.
