Of men who have a sense of honor, more come through alive than are slain, but from those who flee comes neither glory nor any help.

From now on walking is my beer and feeling good is my hangover.

True friends appear less moved than counterfeit.

He lives not long who battles with the immortals, nor do his children prattle about his knees when he has come back from battle and the dread fray.

I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.

Like a girl, a baby running after her mother, begging to be picked up, and she tugs on her skirts, holding her back as she tries to hurry off—all tears, fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms… That’s how you look, Patroclus, streaming live tears.

What is this word that broke through the fence of your teeth, Atreides?