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

Some nights, one wants to tell beloveds everything that's been waiting to be said. Some nights, a man needs flesh and blood and warm breath and a loving heart.

This is as 'alone' as I'm likely to get with you - you're not half so fetching as your daughter.

There is no mercy in trading life for life. And certainly no righteousness. Mercy, once given, cannot be taken back.

I think we're all in Cime's army now. But never mind, the Storm God hasn't forgotten us. Heaven is no farther away than it ever was.

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

Survival's the thing, isn't it?