As the cortege wound slowly along, the queen whispered in a broken voice, "Here he is," and I knew that her dry eyes were seeing beyond the coffin a little boy in a sailor suit.

She was past weeping, wrapped in the ineffable solitude of grief.

I knew all along that they wanted me to have me and they knew that I wanted to be here. It was just a matter of negotiating to get that accomplished. It's a deadline league, and they went all the way to the deadline, but I'm just glad to be here.

I actually don't want a throne at all, because I don't view myself as a queen; I view myself as one of my fans.

I died of a broken heart.
Oh!
And the gunshot wound to the chest!

A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever