Something ... made him feel small, not in the way of orphans or beggars or children, but in a good way. In the way of souls.
R. Scott BakkerYou know nothing of war. War is dark. Black as pitch. It is not a God. It does not laugh or weep. It rewards neither skill nor daring. It is not a trial of souls, not the measure of wills. Even less is it a tool, a means to some womanish end. It is merely the place where the iron bones of the earth meet the hollow bones of men and break them.
R. Scott BakkerThe world is only as deep as we can see. This is why fools think themselves profound. This is why terror is the passion of revelation.
R. Scott BakkerHistory. Language. Passion. Custom. All these things determine what men say, think, and do. These are the hidden puppet-strings from which all men hang.
R. Scott Bakker