The upshot of all this is that we live in a universe whose age we can’t quite compute, surrounded by stars whose distances from us and each other we don’t altogether know, filled with matter we can’t identify, operating in conformance with physical laws whose properties we don’t truly understand.

Why in the world would anyone want to photograph an old woman like me?

When we met a fire was born, when we kissed, a love was found, when you entered me our souls became one

The old tale of Sleeping Beauty might end happily in French or English, but he was in Russia, and only a fool would want to live through the Russian version of any fairy tale.

Written By Orson Scott Card

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