More than one philosopher has claimed that we ever remain children, far beneath the indurated layers that make up the armour of adulthood. Armour encumbers, restricts the body and soul within it. But it also protects. Blows are blunted. Feelings lose their edge, leaving us to suffer naught but a plague of bruises, and, after a time, bruises fade.

When you've burned the bridges behind you, don't go starting a fire on the one in front of you.

What makes a Malazan soldier so dangerous? They’re allowed to think.

Wise words are like arrows flung at your forehead. What do you do? Why, you duck of course.

Fear bespeaks of wisdom. Recognition of responsibility.

For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives.

Ben Adaephon Delat," Pearl said plaintively, "see the last who comes. You send me to my death." "I know," Quick Ben whispered. "Flee, then. I will hold them enough to ensure your escape no more." Quick Ben sank down past the roof. Before he passed from sight Pearl spoke again. "Ben Adaephon Delat, do you pity me?" "Yes" he replied softly, then pivoted and dropped down into darkness.