Half a King

When you're in hell, only a devil can point the way out.

If life has taught me one thing, it's that there are no villains. Only people, doing their best.

The wise wait for their moment, but never let it pass.

The wise speaker first learns when to stay silent

What is the world coming to when an honest man cannot burn corpses without suspicion?" asked Nothing.

You may need two hands to fight someone, but only one to stab them in the back. (Yarvi)

If you have a plan," hissed Sumael from the corner of her mouth, "now would be the time." "I have a plan," said Nothing. "Does it involve swords?" A pause. "All my plans do." "Do you have a sword?" Another. "No." "How will you succeed without one?" Muttered Sumael. A third. "Death waits for us all.

If you can’t find anything to complain about you aren’t looking hard enough.

... Never worry about what has been done. Only about what will be.

It is so often the small things overlooked which leave our schemes in ruins.

Glorious victories make fine songs, Yarvi, but inglorious ones are no worse once the bards are done with them. Glorious defeats, meanwhile, are just defeats.

But enemies, as his mother used to say, are the price of success.

And Yarvi realized that Death does not bow to each person who passes her, does not sweep out her arm respectfully to show the way, speaks no profound words, unlocks no bolts. The key upon her chest is never needed, for the Last Door stands always open. She herds the dead through impatiently, needles of rank or fame or quality. She has an ever-lengthening queue to get through. A blind procession, inexhaustible.

He would have liked to weigh his choices, but for that you need more than one.

The food of fear is ignorance, Mother Gundring used to say. The death of fear is knowledge. When you study a race of men you find they are just men like any others.

You cannot expect all the heroes to survive a good song

A minister stands for Father Peace, but a good one is no stranger to Mother War.

A King must win. The rest is dust.

You can weep over each other's hidden nobility when we're safe!

You will get such flattery as you deserve, and my foot in your arse the rest of the time.

A bitter ending' said Yarvi. 'Many sweet stories have them', said Jaud.

It is my sad observation that some men always want more.

These boots are worth more than you, damn it!' Shadikshirram was sitting on her bed, eyes shining wet, straining forward and trying to grab her foot but so drunk she kept missing. When she saw him she sagged back. 'Give me a hand, eh?' 'As long as you don't need two,' said Yarvi. She gurgled with laughter. 'You're a clever little crippled bastard, aren't you? I swear the gods sent you. Sent you . . . to get my boots off.

Yarvi: 'If we had known the hardship of it, we might have chosen another.' Shidwala: 'So it is with many choices.' Yarvi: 'All we can do now is see it through.' Shidwala: 'So it is with many choices.

I spent half my childhood in the shadows. Hiding from my father or my brother. Creeping from a place of solitude to another. Seeing while unseen, and pretending I was a part of what I saw. Making up a life where I wasn't an outcast.

They say the seed you scatter will be the seed you harvest,

sad to say, not all men that die are killed by me.

Strange, how quickly a king could become an animal. Or half a king half an animal. Perhaps even those we raise highest never get that far above the mud.

There is always a way