A true Vor, Miles told himself severely, does not bury his face in his liegewoman's breasts and cry--even if he is at a convenient height for it.

I do think, half of what we call madness is just some poor slob dealing with pain by a strategy that annoys the people around him.

When the souls rise up in glory, yours shall not be shunned nor sunderered, but shall be the prize of the gods' gardens. Even your darkness shall be treasured then, and all your pain made holy.

Good soldiers never pass up a chance to eat or sleep. They never know how much they'll be called on to do before the next chance.

He's not too short. He's just... concentrated.

Too late, he recalled Miles's dictum that the reward for a job well done was usually a harder job.

Women do desperately need models for power other than the maternal.