Memories of Ice

Kallor shrugged. '[...] I have walked this land when the T'lan Imass were but children. I have commanded armies a hundred thousand strong. I have spread the fire of my wrath across entire continents, and sat alone upon tall thrones. Do you grasp the meaning of this?' 'Yes,' [said Caladan Brood.] 'You never learn.

We humans do not understand compassion. In each moment of our lives, we betray it. Aye, we know of its worth, yet in knowing we then attach to it a value, we guard the giving of it, believing it must be earned, T’lan Imass. Compassion is priceless in the truest sense of the wold. It must be given freely. In abundance.

First in , Last out. Motto of the bridgeburners

War has its necessities...and I have always understood that. Always known the cost. But, this day, by my own hand, I have realized something else. War is not a natural state. It is an imposition, and a damned unhealthy one. With its rules, we willingly yield our humanity. Speak not of just causes, worthy goals. We are takers of life.

The heart of wisdom is tolerance.

I'll not deny I am impressed by your mastery of six warrens, Quick Ben. In retrospect, you should have held back on at least half of what you command." The man made to rise. "But, Bauchelain," the wizard replied, "I did.

The harder the world, the fiercer the honour.

Gods, I wish the world was full of passive women.He thought for a moment longer, then scowled. On second thoughts, what a nightmare that'd be. It's the job of a man to fan the spark into flames, not quench it...

I love you still, but with your death I succumbed to a kind of infatuation. I convinced myself that what you and I had, so very briefly, was of far vaster and deeper import than it truly was. Of all the weapons we chose to turn upon ourselves, guilt is the sharpest, Silverfox. It can carve one's own past into unrecognizable shapes, false memories leading to beliefs that sow all kinds of obsessions.

I warn you all, hatred is finding fertile soil within me. And in your compassion, in your every good intention, you nurture it.

And perhaps that is the final, most devastating truth. The gods care nothing for ascetic impositions on mortal behaviour. Care nothing for rules of conduct, for the twisted morals of temple priests and monks. Perhaps indeed they laugh at the chains we wrap around ourselves – our endless, insatiable need to find flaws within the demands of life. Or perhaps they do not laugh, but rage at us. Perhaps our denial of life’s celebration is our greatest insult to those whom we worship and serve.

Very well, permit me, if you will, on this night. To break your hearts once more.

Hello, Capustan. The Bridgeburners have arrived.

Children were meant to be gifts. The physical manifestation of love between a man and a woman. And for that love, all manner of sacrifice could be borne.

Where resides the comforting knowledge of history's vast, cyclical sweep, the ebb and flow of wars and peace? Peace is the time of waiting for war. A time of preparation, or a time of willful ignorance, blind, blinkered and prattling behind secure walls.

Precision is a precise art. Poignancy is pre-eminent and precludes prevarication.

You are very easily exasperated, my dear. If you're a leaf trembling on a wide, deep river, relax and ride the current. It's always worked for me, I assure you.

A pointless, senseless death.’ ‘They’re all pointless and senseless, friend. Until the living carve meaning out of them. What are you going to carve, Gruntle, out of Harllo’s death? Take my advice, an empty cave offers no comfort.’ ‘I ain’t looking for comfort.’ ‘You’d better. No other goal is worthwhile, and I should know. Harllo was my friend as well. From the way those Grey Swords who found us described it, you were down, and he did what a friend’s supposed to do – he defended you. Stood over you and took the blows. And was killed. But he did what he wanted – he saved your hide. And is this his reward, Gruntle? You want to look his ghost in the eye and tell him it wasn’t worth it?’ ‘He should never have done it.’ ‘That’s not the point, is it?

Victory is an illusion. In all things.

Envy shrugged. 'Can no value be found in good intentions?' 'What, precisely, are you trying to justify? And to me, or yourself?' She glared, then quickened her pace. 'You're no fun at all,' she sniffed as she pulled ahead, 'and presumptuous as well. I'm going to talk with Tool, his moods don't swing!' No, they just hang there, twisting in the wind.

He reached out and laid a hand against Quick Ben's brow, then grunted. 'He's on his way back. It's protective sorcery that's keeping him asleep.' 'Can you speed things up?' 'Sure.' The healer slapped the wizard. 'Quick Ben's eyes snapped open.

All right, shadow-priest, you've been spying — on what? What state secrets have you learned watching me groom these horses?' 'Only that they hate you, Daru. Every time your back was turned, they got ready to nip you — only you always seemed to step away at precisely the right moment-' 'Yes, I did, since I knew what they were intending. Each time.' 'Is this pride I hear? That you outwitted two horses?

We humans do not understand compassion. In each moment of our lives, we betray it. Aye, we know of its worth, yet in knowing we then attach to it a value, we guard the giving of it, believing it must be earned. T’lan Imass. Compassion is priceless in the truest sense of the word. It must be given freely. In abundance.

Seems Brood lost his temper.' 'Gods! With whom? Kallor? That bastard deserves-' 'Not Kallor, friend,' Coll growled. 'Make another guess — shouldn't take you long.' Murillio groaned. 'Kruppe.' 'Hood knows he's stretched the patience of all of us at one time or another. only none of us was capable of splitting apart half the world and throwing new mountains skyward.' 'Did the little runt get himself killed? I can't believe-' 'Word is, he's come out unscathed. Typically. Complaining of the dust. No-one else was injured, either, though the warlord himself almost got his head kicked in by an angry mule.' 'Kruppe's mule? The one that sleeps when it walks?' 'Aye, the very one.

Diversity is worth celebrating, Humbrall Taur, for it is the birthplace of wisdom.

War is not a natural state. It is an imposition, and a damned unhealthy one. With its rules, we willingly yield our humanity.

Death and dying makes us into children once again, in truth, one last time, there in our final wailing cries. More than one philosopher has claimed that we ever remain children, far beneath the indurated layers that make up the armour of adulthood.

In my dreams I come face to face with myriad reflections of myself, all unknown and passing strange. They speak unending in languages not my own and walk with companions I have never met, in places my steps have never gone. In my dreams I walk worlds where forests crowd my knees and half the sky is walled ice. Dun herds flow like mud, vast floods tusked and horned surging over the plain, and lo, they are my memories, the migrations of my soul.

Glass is sand and sand is glass! The ant dancing blind as blind ants do on the lip of the rim and the rim of the lip. White in the night and grey in the day- smiling spider she never smiles but smile she does though the ant never sees, blind as it is- and now was!