So, using his pride like a shield against despair, dejection, and-most important— self-pity, Raoden raised his head to stare damnation in the eyes.

I love to do what I do. So, I do work long hours.

Raoden looked up at his friend. "We're not dead, Galladon, and we're not damned. We're just unfinished.

I consider myself to be a man of principle. But, what man does not? Even the cutthroat, I have noticed, considers his actions "moral" after a fashion. Perhaps another person, reading of my life, would name me a religious tyrant. He could call me arrogant. What is to make that man's opinion any less valid than my own? I guess it all comes down to one fact: In the end, I'm the one with the armies.

Never throw the first punch. If you have to throw the second, try to make sure they don't get up for a third.

Good men don't become legends," he said quietly. "Good men don't need to become legends." She opened her eyes, looking up at him. "They just do what's right anyway.

‎"To Parlin's mind, nothing showed affection like a hunk of something dead and bleeding on the table.