The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.
I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
As long as we know what it's about, then we can have the courage to go wherever we are asked to go, even if we fear that the road may take us through danger and pain.
"They hit a pothole deep enough to make her teeth snap together, and she burst out, "This road reminds me of my life. It's going somewhere familiar, but every time I look up, there's a new obstacle to jump, another hole to fall in."
This Stone He went looking for a road that doesn't lead to death. He went looking for that road and found it. It was a stone road. He walked that road that doesn't lead to death. He walked on it awhile before he stopped, having turned to stone. Now he stands there on that road that doesn't lead to death not going anywhere. He can't dance. from his eyes stones fall. The rainbow people pass him crossing that road, long-legged, light-stepping, going from the Four Houses to the dancing in the Five Houses. They pick up his tears. This stone is a tear from his eye, this stone given me on the mountain by one who died before my birth, this stone, this stone.
Well, thank the gods,' he sighed. 'Oh? And what would it be you're thanking them for?' Bahzell inquired, and Brandark grinned. 'For making roads and letting us find one. Not that I'm complaining, you understand, but this business of following you cross-country without the faintest idea where I am can worry a man.
Houses built on bridges are scandals. A bridge wants to not be. If it could choose its shape, a bridge would be no shape, an unspace to link One-place-town to Another-place-town over a river or a road or a tangle of railway tracks or a quarry, or to attach an island to another island or to the continent from which it strains. The dream of a bridge is of a woman standing at one side of a gorge and stepping out as if her job is to die, but when her foot falls it meets the ground right on the other side. A bridge is just better than no bridge but its horizon is gaplessness, and the fact of itself should still shame it. But someone had built on this bridge, drawn attention to its matter and failure. An arrogance that thrilled me.