Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.

I can’t name the poison that’s killing your friend. But the one that’s killing you is called hope.

What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill anyone with this.

Crooked Warden, I will fear no darkness for the night is yours," muttered Locke, pointing the first two fingers of his left hand into the darkness. The Dagger of the Thirteenth, a thief's gesture against evil. "Your night is my cloak, my shield, my escape from those who hunt to feed the noose. I will fear no evil, for you have made the night my friend." "Bless the Benefactor," said Jean, squeezing Locke's left forearm. "Peace and profit to his children.

This is where you and I are headed.... Look for us in history books and you'll find us in the margins. Look for us in legends and you might just find us celebrated

You can knock down kingdoms on a whim. What you need is someone to make sure you don't get hit by a carriage when you cross the street.

The only constant in the soul of man is inconstancy; anything and everything else can pass out of fashion-even something as utilitarian as a hill stuffed full of corpses.