the philosopher kings, by jo walton

when I looked up and out the sea was, well, wine-dark as Homer puts it. The sea was a deep dark blue of precisely the same reflective luminosity as rich red wine.

I knew what death meant now. It was conversations cut off.

I kept trying to be less unjust, but did I ever really improve?

She sighed. “Everything is complicated and compromised.” “It is,” I said. “That’s the nature of reality.”

I was older now. I didn’t know whether I was wiser.

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