Life is exponential. Two becomes four, becomes ten thousand, becomes a plague.

Of course, the more you read, the more you learn, and ultimately there is more information than you can ever use. The difficulty is that as an outsider, you know you're too ignorant for your own good, and so the urge to keep researching and *never* start writing is pretty strong.

We write dust epitaphs for our vanquished enemies and watch them blow away in the desert wind.

Pain held no terror for him. Pain was, if not friend, then family, something he had grown up with in his crèche, learning to respect but never yield to. Pain was simply a message, telling him which limbs he could still use to slaughter his enemies, how far he could still run, and what his chances were in the next battle.

Knowledge is always two-edged. For every benefit, there is hazard. For every good, evil.

Men are loyal when you lead from the front.

A desert's a stupid place to put a river.