It's awful to be rich and mind-boggingly handsome and have women fawn over you. My heart bleeds for you. Poor dear, how do you manage?

When walking into the lair of the dragon after robbing his hoard, the least you could do is hold you head high [...]

Having a fling with you doesn't appeal to me. You're handsome, but you're too inexperienced to be good in bed. Having ridden many horses doesn't make you a good rider; it just proves that you can't recognize a good one or don't know how to keep her.

We took a right at the fork, heading farther north. The charred houses continued. To the right, a large sign nailed to an old telephone post shouted DANGER in huge red letters. Underneath in crisp black letters was written: IM-1: Infectious Magic Area Do Not Enter Authorized Personnel Only A second smaller sign under the first one, written on a piece of plastic with permanent marker, read: Keep out, stupid. “We aren’t going to keep out, are we?” Ascanio asked. “No.” “Awesome.

You're not going to die?" "Not right this minute." And of course, saying something like that usually resulted in immediate dying. I braced myself for a stray meteorite falling through the roof to crush my skull.

In diplomacy, like in great many other things, the rules of engagement survive only until one remarkable person decides to break them.

Curran is the Beast Lord. Tremble.