Curious,” Bauchelain said. “What is it you wish us to do for you?” “Usurp the king,” Imid Factalo said. “Usurp, as in depose.” “Right.” “Depose, as in remove.” “Yes.” “Remove, as in kill.

I hear Seven Cities natives grow fruit just so they can eat the larvae in them.

All art is an intensely vulnerable gesture, and it is made with no small amounts of risk, and fear. So, I have plenty of sympathy for self-defense mechanisms, especially among artists.

Soldiers are issued armour for their flesh and bones, but they must fashion their own for their souls. Piece by piece.

So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips - and those breasts - just wait till you start dropping whelps, they'll be at your ankles one day, big as they are - not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair - no, not the shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech.

The idea that an author can extricate her or his own ongoing life experience from the tale being written is a conceit of very little worth.

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