The Riddle Master himself lost the key to his own riddles one day," he said in his deep, reed-pure voice, "and he found it again at the bottom of his… - Patricia A. McKillip

What do you think love is- a thing to startle from the heart like a bird at every shout or blow? You can fly from me, high as you choose into your darkness, but you will see me always beneath you, no matter how far away, with my face turned to you. My heart is in your heart. I gave it to you with my name that night and you are its guardian, to treasure it, or let it whither and die. I do not understand you. I am angry with you. I am hurt and helpless, but nothing will fill the ache of the hollowness in me where your name would echo if I lost you.

But, Corbet, there were things—between us—”
“You imagined many of them. You wanted them to be true, and so they were. But only to you.

But you must stop playing among his ghosts — it's stupid and dangerous and completely pointless. He's trying to lay them to rest here, not stir them up, and you seem eager to drag out all the sad old bones of his history and make them dance again. It's not nice, and it's not fair.