Secret to what?" "Secret to shutting you up," he said. "I just have to beat you till you're half-dead, then give you chicken soup and"--he raised his hands--"blessed silence.

Behind him Kaldar nudged Urow's youngest son. "Bet you he lasts at least thirty seconds." "Um..." Gaston looked at him. "No he won't." "Bet me something." "I don't have anything." Kaldar grimaced. "Pick up that rock." Gaston swiped the rock off the ground. "Now you have a rock. I bet this five bucks against your rock." Gaston grinned. "Deal.

True strength isn’t in killing—or ignoring—your opponent, it’s in having the will to shield those who need your protection.

I trusted her about as far as I could throw her. I was strong and she was small, but it still wasn't very far.

Anger - a better alternative to caffeine.

I can make some calls. There is a guy. Dagfinn Heyerdahl. He used to be with Norse Heritage Foundation." Norse Heritage Foundation wasn't so much about heritage as it was about viking, in the most cliché sense of the world. They drank huge quantities of beer, they brawled, and they wore horned helmets despite all historical evidence to the contrary. "Used to be?" Curran asked. "They kicked him out for being drunk and violent." Curran blinked. "The Norse Heritage?" "Mhm." "Don't you have to be drunk and violent just to get in?" he asked. "Just how disorderly did he get?

She could've stared into those eyes for a thousand years and never noticed the time passing by.