The Mice Think They Are Right, But

Over The Millennia The Seed Of Stories Planted In The Fertile Soil Of Bits And Scraps Of Facts Was Watered By Wishes And Began To Take Root And Grow. Eventually, A Bountiful Fruit Of Rumors Burst Forth, To Be Spread On The Wind Of Whispers That Said We Hid A Fabled Hoard Of Gold. Nothing Could Convince The Believers That It Was Not True. The Truth Does Not Glitter For These People Like Gold Does.

Are We Our Bodies? Is A Small Person Less Than A Big Person, Then? If We Were Our Bodies, Then When We Lost An Arm, Or A Leg, Would We Be Less, Would We Begin To Fade From Existence? No. We Are The Same Person. We Are Not Our Bodies; We Are Our Thoughts. As They Form, They Define Who We Are, And Create The Reality Of Our Existence.

One Of The Things That Defines Our Character Is How We Handle Mistakes.

Richard," Kahlan Said, "what About Siddin? Weselan And Savidlin Will Be Worried Sick Over Him." Her Green Eyes Gazed Deep Into His. She Leaned Closer, And Whispered, "and We Have Unfinished Business In The Spirit House. I Believe There Is Still An Apple There We Have Yet To Finish." Her Arm Tightened Around His Waist, And A Little Twist Of A Smile Came To Her Lips. The Shape Of The Smile Caught His Breath In His Throat.

Emotion Did Not Play A Part In Truth, Only Reality Did.