Sparhawk grinned. "If Martel finds out that he's drinking again, he'll reach down his throat and pull his heart out." "Can you actually do that to a man?" "You can if your arm's long enough, and if you know what you're looking for.[...]

All I knew was that I would die if he sent me away. He shrugged. You can cut a man’s heart out with a shrug, did you know that?

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.

As soon as somebody falls in love, all the wits seem to dribble out of the bottom of his head.

You're a cynic," Urgit accused. Silk shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. I'm a realist.

Now what?” Urgit warily asked his bride-to-be. “Am I disturbing your Majesty?” Prala asked. “…You always disturb me, my beloved,” he answered her question, spreading his arms extravagantly.

What happened to your foot?" "I had a little disagreement with an eagle --stupid birds, eagles. He couldn't tell the difference between a hawk and a pigeon. I had to educate him. He bit me while I was tearing out a sizable number of his wing feathers." "Uncle," Polgara said reproachfully. "He started it.