Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price. And that price is blood. The sound of it in your veins. The pound of it in your head. The volume of it in a human body; the sickness when you've spilled it.

You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.

The sun is new every day

Every man heals himself.

Bandara was not an easy place to return to: it could hide from the common worlds whose periphery it inhabited. But Bandara never had, in all its years, completely disappeared.

One man, one horse, one holocaust on demand.

Fight for life itself and everlasting freedom of the human spirit.