However you look at it, in these books "power" tends to be an expression of the essential nature of the person or being whose power it is. On those occasions when we've seen Lord Foul act directly, he seems to exert the withering force of pure scorn. IMHO, that's pretty intense.

He who waits for the sword to fall upon his neck will surely lose his head.

Gradually, the night stumbled as if stunned and wandering aimlessly into an overcast day -- limped through the wilderland of transition as though there were no knowing where the waste of darkness ended and the ashes of light began. The low clouds seemed full of grief -- tense and uneasy with accumulated woe -- and yet affectless, unable to rain, as if the air clenched itself too hard for tears. And through the dawn, Atiaran and Covenant moved heavily, unevenly, like pieces of a broken lament.

Any belief that puts itself beyond doubt nurtures its own collapse.

In accepting the Gift you Honor the Giver

I had no intention of pursuing either the characters or the setting further.

It is wrong to ask for more than you give freely. In this way, we come to resemble what we hate.