“You know what I mean. Is it true the folk hereabouts”—he pointed to the land ahead—“are cripples? Missing half their hindquarters?”“The fauns? Cripples?” I laughed. “By the gods who made them, no!”

“He said, “You misunderstand. We did not kill the nuggies and the other folk hereabouts. They see us, and then they commonly die.” “Of what?” I asked. “Of embarrassment.”

“But perhaps you do not understand. I was crippled, crippled by an elephant that came through the roof - Madam LaVaughn”

“...Loving someone so much and knowing you can’t be with them was cripplingly painful.”

“The most crippling part of my personality is that as much as I want to know something, I can't bear admitting I'm ignorant. It's as if I think I should have been born knowing and understanding all. As if when I say out loud, what are you talking about? the world will point and jeer.”

“If dogs had gods, those they worshiped would wag their tails and bark. If sheep had gods, they would follow woolly deities who grazed. As the world is, almost all folk have many things in common, as if the gods who shaped them were using certain parts of a pattern over and over again. The folk striding towards us through the green, green grass might have been the pattern itself, the pattern from whose rearranged pieces the rest of us had been clumsily reassembled. As bronze, which had brought us here, is an alloy of copper and tin, so I saw that sirens were an alloy of these folk and birds, sphinxes of them and birds and lions, satyrs of them and goats, fauns of them and horses. And I saw that we centaurs blended these folk and horses as well, though in different proportions, as one bronze will differ from another depending on how much is copper and how much tin. Is it any wonder, then, that, on seeing this folk, I at once began to wonder if I had any true right to exist? “Who are you? What is your folk?” I asked him.“I am Geraint,” he answered. “I am a man.”