“The quality of student work has definitely gone downhill since they discontinued the use of the whipping post.
“Being afraid was not the sort of thing that endangered life or limb, but it was still an injury of sorts – and sometimes a deeper and more serious kind of injury.”
“The jeers that had risen as Barak’s and Greldik’s ships had been manoeuvred onto their wheeled carriages turned rather quickly into angry mutterings as the carriages, pulled by teams of Algar horses, rolled effortlessly toward the escarpment past men straining with every ounce of strength to move their ships a few inches at a time. To leave it all to artistry, Barak and Greldik ordered their men to lounge indolently on the decks of their ships, drinking ale and playing dice.
King Anheg stared very hard at his impudently grinning cousin as the big ship rolled past. His expression was profoundly offended. “That’s going too far!” he exploded, jerking off his dented crown and throwing it down on the ground.”
“You’ll fight with each other, of course, but never go to sleep angry. That was always my mistake.”
“Would you look at this?" Silk waved a piece of parchment at the old man.
"What's the problem?" Belgarath took the parchment and read it.
"That whole business was settled years ago," Silk declared in an irritated voice. "Why are these things still being circulated?"
"The description IS colorful," Belgarath noted.
"Did you see that?" Silk sounded mortally offended. He turned to Garion. "Do I look like a weasel to you?"
"--an ill-favored, weasel-faced man," Belgarath read, "shifty-eyed and with a long, pointed nose. A notorious cheat at dice."
"Do you mind?”
“I wouldn't do that," Silk advised. "Thinking about it isn't going to help, and it's only going to make you nervous."
"Nervouser," Garion corrected. "I'm already nervous."
"Is there such a word as "'nervouser'?" Silk asked Belgarath curiously.
"There is now," Belgarath replied. "Garion just invented it."
"I wish I could invent a word," Silk said admiringly to Garion.”
“That’s the nature of a fat man, Ce’Nedra.” He sighed. “The last meal is history. It’s the next one that’s important.”
“You won't be able to do it wrong, Durnik--any more than you'd be able to lie or cheat or steal. It's built into you to do it right, so don't worry about it."
"That's all very well for you to say, Mistress, Pol," he replied, "but if you don't mind, I will worry about it just a bit--privately of course.”
“The victories of the imagination involved no risks, and a confrontation with an enemy always ended satisfactorily when both sides of the conversation came from one’s own daydreams.”
“In spite of this universal plunge toward matrimony, I still haven’t lost my senses. If worse comes to worse, I still know how to run.”
“you wouldn’t really expect a girl to get married without her mother in attendance, would you?”
“shifty-eyed and with a long, pointed nose. A notorious cheat at dice.’ ‘Do you mind?’ ‘What’s this all about?’ Garion asked. ‘I had a slight misunderstanding with the authorities some years ago,’ Silk explained deprecatingly. ‘Nothing all that serious, actually – but they’re still circulating that thing.’ He gestured angrily at the parchment Belgarath was still reading with an amused expression. ‘They’ve even gone so far as to offer a reward.’ He considered for a moment. ‘I’ll have to admit that the sum is flattering, though,’ he added. ‘Did you get the”
“Shakespeare said, 'the robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.”
“Their garment? Have they but one?"
"Ah, good your Worship, what would they do with more? Truly they have not two bodies each.”
“In our new age of terrifying, lethal gadgets, which supplanted so swiftly the old one, the first great aggressive war, if it should come, will be launched by suicidal little madmen pressing an electronic button. Such a war will not last long and none will ever follow it. There will be no conquerors and no conquests, but only the charred bones of the dead on an uninhabited planet.”
“I was twenty then. What the hell, I used to say, take your time, Bandini. You got ten years to write a book, so take it easy, get out and learn about life, walk the streets. That’s your trouble: your ignorance of life.”
“The sky," he wrote on his slate, "is my living room. The woods are my parlor. The lonely lake is my bath. I can't remain behind a fence all my life.”
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