And this was your friend?" Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Seems to me the only difference between your friends and your enemies is how long the stand around chatting before they shoot you.

Suicidal glory is the luxury of the irresponsible.

It's a bizarre but wonderful feeling, to arrive dead center of a target you didn't even know you were aiming for.

I am not a fate worse than death, dammit!

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

They stared at her curiously, and she caught snatches of conversation in two or three languages. It wasn't hard to guess their content, and she smiled a bit primly. Youth, it appeared, was full of illusions as to how much sexual energy two people might have to spare while hiking forty or so kilometers a day, concussed, stunned, diseased, on poor food and little sleep, alternating caring for a wounded man with avoiding becoming dinner for every carnivore within range - and with a coup to plan for the end.

You try to give away what you want yourself.