From Dragons Gather

   "What difference does it make what I believe?" I asked. "My belief or lack thereof won't put soup in the pot."
   "It makes a difference to her," Manjarous said. "Sometimes, Stefan, I think you're older than me. You walk along the edge of despair and act like it's the only path."
   "I'm Dammed!" I said harshly. "You can't understand --"
   He barked a laugh. "I'm old, and death is learning my name. Jacobi is scarred. Shellia is nightmare ridden and godstouched. Feathen has been lonely for so long that he can't live any other way. Maladora is a runaway slave. Kassler's only happy when his senses are dulled by drink. Nina and Opel can't replace their brother or heal the wounds that his passing gave them, and we're all lost in a wilderness while a wizard seeks us for gods only know what." He looked at me for a long time. "No one is free of pain, Stefan. Everyone has their failures. You're wasting your life in bitter regret. One day you will wake up as old as me and wonder where your life went."
   I didn't reply. He didn't understand about magick. How I hungered for it. How I needed it. He imagined it was something that I could put aside. I could no more make him understand than I could explain sight to someone who had been born without eyes.
   He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm only telling you this because I care about you, boy. Maladora is a chance for happiness. You need to allow for the possibility of change. She may have fallen for who you are now, but she's going to expect you to grow along with her. If you won't, you'll lose her as sure as dragons fly."
   He waited, but I didn't have anything to say.
   "Well, it's your life," he muttered and then went back into the wagon.

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