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

Its a perfectly good face, Sparhawk." "It covers the front of my head. What else can you expect from a face?

Water....I'm thirsty not dirty.

I have an unconscious burglar living in my mind: If I read something, it's mine. I can read Middle English stories, Geoffrey Chaucer or Sir Thomas Malory, but once I start moving in the direction of contemporary fantasy, my mind begins to take over.

Vanity's ridiculous, but we all fall prey to it from time to time.

It's gaudy, ugly, and in terribly bad taste. It does, however, suit my personality almost perfectly.

Behold Vo Mimbre," Mandorallen proclaimed with pride, "queen of cities. Upon that rock the tide of Angarak crashed and recoiled and crashed again. Upon this field met they their ruin. The soul and pride of Arendia doth reside within that fortress and the power of the Dark One may not prevail against it." "We've been here before, Mendorallen," Mister Wolf said sourly.