At night I dream of things I scoff at by day.

They were full of mysteries and secrets, like... like poems turned into landscapes.""'Poems turned into landscapes.'" he murmured with a slight smile. "And what of Vestenveld's gardens? Do you see poems in them?""Your gardens are like your country's poetry. Very frilly and organized.

Sometimes, before you make any plans or resolutions, before you declare your heroic intent to persevere, you just have to cry.