Confusing the author and the character seems to be a popular and rather unsophisticated reaction to books.

It's an irony of our times that men seeking peace must make war.

You soon learn there’s no elegance or dignity in death if you spend time in the castle kitchens. You learn how ugly it is, and how good it tastes.

When you're in a dark place, and your light is going to run out before too long, you get on with things. It's a wonder to me how few people apply that same logic to their lives.

Some men are too dull to feel what might happen. Others torture themselves with maybes and populate their dreams with horrors more terrible than their worst enemy could inflict upon them.

In the end it seems we're just toys,easy to break and hard to mend

Confusing the author and the character seems to be a popular and rather unsophisticated reaction to books.