Character: Oliver Marks. Page 3

We saw nothing in front of us but books. We were always surrounded by words and poetry: all the furious passions of the world were enclosed in leather and parchment. This is where I partially blame for what happened. Our own intrigues and mistakes seemed insignificant in comparison.

Secrets are as heavy as lead.

I think about them. About the rest. About us. We did bad things, but they were also necessary... or so it just seemed to us. As in any other tragedy, a fateful ending was inevitable.