The stars, they are as the sun. Each star. Every star. And those spheres- they are worlds, realms, each one different yet the same.

You’re loitering, citizen.” “Actually, I was hesitating.

I was needed, but I myself did not need. I had followers, but not allies, and only now do I understand the difference. And it is vast.

I'll not deny I am impressed by your mastery of six warrens, Quick Ben. In retrospect, you should have held back on at least half of what you command." The man made to rise. "But, Bauchelain," the wizard replied, "I did.

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

"Tell me, Tool, what dominates your thoughts?" The Imass shrugged before replying. "I think of futility, Adjunct." "Do all Imass think about futility?" "No. Few think at all." "Why is that?" The Imass leaned his head to one side and regarded her. "Because, Adjunct, it is futile."

Survivors do not mourn together. They each mourn alone, even when in the same place. Grief is the most solitary of all feelings. Grief isolates, and every ritual, every gesture, every embrace, is a hopeless effort to break through that isolation. None of it works. The forms crumble and dissolve. To face death is to stand alone.