Zakath's face grew thoughtful. "You know something, Garion?" he said. "Man thinks he owns the world, but we share it with all sorts of creatures who are indifferent to our overlordship. They have their own societies, and I supposed even their own cultures. They don't even pay attention to us, do you?" "Only when we inconvenience them...It teaches us humility," Garion agreed.

Events are like horses. Sometimes they run away. After they've run for a while, though, they'll start to walk again. Then there'll be a time to put everything together.

Belgarath turned back to Senji. “All right,” he said. “The Sardion came to Zamad. How?” “It’s said to have fallen out of the sky.” “They always do,” Beldin said. “Someday I’d like to see something rise up out of the earth –just for the sake of variety.

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.

I'm never going to be in danger of getting the Nobel Prize for literature.

Don’t be afraid to discard work you know isn’t up to standard. Don’t save junk, just because it took you a long time to write it.

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.