A. Merritt

“ There are far, far stranger things than the weaver in Yu-Atlanchi, Graydon.”
“Suarra,” he asked abruptly. “Why do you want to save me?”
A moment she hesitated; then:
“Because you make me feel as I have never felt before!” she whispered slowly. “Because you make me happy—because you make me sorrowful. When I think of you it is like warm wine in my veins. I want both to sing-—and to weep. I want your touch—to be close to you. When you go—the world will be darkened—life will be drab.”
“Suarra!” ”

“ Why should they mate with their kind—these women and men who have lived so long that they have grown weary of all their kind can give them? Why should they mate with their kind when they can create new lovers in dream, new loves and hates! Yea, new emotions, and forms utterly unknown to earth, each as he or she may will. And so they are—barren. Not alone the doors of death, but the doors of life are closed to them—the dream makers! ”

“ I am one of them—and yet I long to go out into the new world—the world where there are babes, and many of them, and the laughter of children, and where life streams passionately, strong and shouting and swiftly—even though it is through the opened doors of Death that it flows. In Yu-Atlanchi those doors are closed—except to those who choose to open them. And life is a still stream, without movement. And there are few babes—and of the laughter of children—little.”
“What are your people, Suarra?” ”