You are one of us, one of those who knows without knowing, and one who will live and die in dreams that blend with this world. No, I am no gypsy, just one who has read a good many books. It is only through reading those great jewels of wisdom that one may see a story in a glint of sunlight, an epic unfold within one’s eyes. There are books all around us. Yet it takes reading a good many books by we mortals to be able to see them.

You are one of us, one of those who knows without knowing, and one who will live and die in dreams that blend with this world. No, I am no gypsy, just one who has read a good many books. It is only through reading those great jewels of wisdom that one may see a story in a glint of sunlight, an epic unfold within one’s eyes. There are books all around us. Yet it takes reading a good many books by we mortals to be able to see them.

Mary-Jean Harris
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The velvet tapestry of the night curved from horizon to horizon, flecked with thousands of tiny stars. There seemed all the more of them, for as well as filling the sky, they shimmered in an elegant ballet on the waves, the sea itself giving them life.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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Sometimes we must leave our true homes for something greater to come.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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Was that what it was all about? To know everything—the ultimate quest of the philosopher, to comprehend the universe from the highest heaven down to the dirt upon the Earth. And Wolfdon desired to go there too, wherever “there” might be.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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Eldora smiled up at Paulo cunningly, her dark eyes twinkling. “You are old, Father.”“Not as old as I shall be, before I have finished with the universe.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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There is a present because it works with my theories. If you find a better one than mine, then I may reconsider, but for the sake of the universe—and oh, how we philosophers make the universe weep—there is a present, and it is the time you just left.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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I knew your plan before you made it,” Eldora proclaimed, tossing her Wert from hand to hand… “You are somewhat of a mystery, one of Shakespeare’s cryptic sonnets, I reckon, but some lines are rather…obvious. You would be a terrible king.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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Ah, Toulouse, you have travelled too much. You know the gods of a hundred lands, those of the trees and mountains, the sky and sea, the stars and planets, of demons and angels, and even the Master of the Cosmos. But I am speaking of God. There are others, I’m sure, but only one God who created even great Zeus and Rama. Yet travel is like philosophy: a few years of it will perk the eye to differences, which you shall be able to notice with ease. Yet living as I have, travelling to lonely lands and through a thousand metropolises and hidden woods, you rather see the similarities. All becomes one, and God too becomes one. Not the sum of all those gods here, but beyond them, a being few philosophers have truly grasped. He has always been one, but he is severed in our minds. So it is up to us to piece him back together. If our souls possess a clarity beyond what our mortal nature can bestow, we shall see him.

Mary-Jean Harris, Wrestling with Gods
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Close your eyes, and lo, they are opened! But never shall they close again.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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Although one may direct the future or past through the onerous linkages of temporal cause and effect, riding the breaking waves of the present and never once overstepping it, the better way is to go there and do it yourself.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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Her voice was soft and numinous, as befitted any Aizian singer, yet it was not just bells and melody. There was something else in her tune, a strand of solemnity that no Aizian could possess, for it yearned for something far away, whereas Aizians needed only open their eyes to behold the greatest wonders. Yes, she was in Aizai now, but she hadn’t always been, and for how much longer was impossible to say.

Mary-Jean Harris, Aizai the Forgotten
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