This is as 'alone' as I'm likely to get with you - you're not half so fetching as your daughter.
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.
Be careful what you pray for.
You're not one to take lightly, to love of for an evening and leave of a dawn.
Let fools believe what fools believe.
I see all sorts of things when I'm clearing my pipes.