This is terrible, when a writer is bored by his own work, but it was a real bomb and had reached the point where I couldn't even stand to look at it any more.

Nothing that's really worthwhile should be easy, Belgarion. If it's easy, we don't value it.

Who owns a man, Durnik?” the blond young man asked sadly. “The one who rules him, or the one who pays him?

Garion started shaving. "Try to keep away from your nose," said Hettar wryly. "A man looks quite strange without a nose.

Women are almost always angry with men for one reason or another. It's one of things you'll have to get used to, as you get older.

Durnik needs a tower somewhere in the Vale," Belgarath was saying. "I don't see why, father," Polgara replied. "All of Aldur's disciples have towers, Pol. It's the custom." "Old customs persist --even when there's no longer any need for them." "He's going to need to study, Pol. How can he possibly study with you underfoot all the time?" She gave him a long, chilly stare. "Maybe I should rephrase that.

Belgarath and Garion effortlessly hurdled over the driftwood and loped off into the fog. "It's going to be a wet day," Garion noted soundlessly as he ran alongside the great silver wolf. "Your fur won't melt." "I know, but my paws get cold when they're wet." "I'll have Durnik make you some little booties." "That would be absolutely ridiculous, Grandfather," Garion said indignantly.