This wasn't prayer anyway, it was just argument with the gods. Prayer, he suspected as he hoisted himself up and turned for the door, was putting one foot in front of the other. Moving all the same.

There was no limit to what one man might do, if he gave all, and held back nothing.

Forward momentum only worked as a strategy if one had correctly identified which way was forward.

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.

Don't wish to be normal. Wish to be yourself. To the hilt. Find out what you're best at, and develop it, and hopscotch your weaknesses. Wish to be great at whatever you are.

Poets speak of hope in ladies smiles, but give me a smirk any day, I say.

The Imperial Service could win a war without coffee, but would prefer not to have to.