The first beat that I ever made that I thought was actually worth a damn was called 'Toilet Paper Nostrils,' and I made it when I had a cold. I had the worst cold ever. And I had toilet-paper nostrils making music, but it was really reflective of how I felt. It was a really sad trumpet sound.

When everything works best, it's not because you chose writing but because writing chose you. It's when you're mad with it, it's when it's stuffed in your ears, your nostrils, under your fingernails. It's when there's no hope but that.

Ciascuno esamini i propri pensieri: li trover? sempre occupati dal passato e dall'avvenire. Non pensiamo quasi mai al presente, o se ci pensiamo, ? solo per prenderne lume al fine di predisporre l'avvenire. Il presente non ? mai il nostro fine: il passato o il presente sono i nostri mezzi; solo l'avvenire ? il nostro fine. Cos? non viviamo mai, ma speriamo di vivere, e, preparandoci sempre ad essere felici, ? inevitabile che non siamo mai tali.

Bisogna salvare le ferite. Non lasciarle sole, sperdute nell'idea fissa della medicazione e della guarigione. Bisogna interrogare le ferite e aspettare le risposte. La risposta alla ferita siamo noi. I nostri gesti, le nostre possibilit? accolte o respinte, i tremori e gli assalti rispondono tutti alle ferite. Perdere una ferita significa perdere una segnaletica importante per un viaggio dentro le orme dell'esistenza, un viaggio che ci accomuna e ci distingue, ci fa cantati, cantati dalla vita cruda.

"Whatever fear he'd instilled in people on the streets was of no consequence inside the market, packed with ramshackle stalls and vendors and food stands, smoke drifting throughout, the tang of blood and spark of magic acrid in his nostrils. And above it all, against the far wall of the enormous space, was a towering mosaic, the tiles taken from an ancient temple in Pangera, restored and re-created here in loving detail, despite its gruesome depiction: cloaked and hooded death, the skeleton's face grinning out from the cowl, a scythe in one hand and an hourglass in the other. Above its head, words had been crafted in the Republic's most ancient language:

"Niall had been able to mask the odor of fairy from Eric in the restaurant, but I saw from the flare of Eric's nostrils that the intoxicating scent clung to me. Eric's eyes closed in ecstasy, and he actually licked his lips. I felt like a T-bone just out of reach of a hungry dog.