These warriors of the Sacred Band were inscrutable; they loved their war and death and picking through the bones of time to sort out right from wrong, good from bad, holy from profane, honor from dishonor.

I won't go back and live in the sea again.

Your honor blinds you, Tempus, to what's right and wrong these days.

The city guardsmen were like the keres, doom-bringers of merciless vengeance.

For me, myth is the 'common' language of us all.

Every man's in his own hands, with a little help from his brothers.

If, as you teach, the universe has no beginning and no end, why should we?