A novel is like a sausage. You might like the final taste but you don&#39;t want to see how it was made.

Sarra looked at her daughter and said reproachfully, "Speaking of war, I never raised you to be always fighting and killing. That's not woman's work." "It's needful, Ma. You taught me a woman has to know how to defend herself." "I never!" gasped Sarra, indignant. "You taught me when you were murdered in your own house," Daine said quietly.

What has mood to do with it? You fight when the necessity arises—no matter the mood! Mood's a thing for cattle or making love or playing the baliset. It's not for fighting.

The future is a hundred thousand threads, but the past is a fabric that can never be rewoven.

Written By Orson Scott Card

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