Последние узы смерти

Трудно что-то расслышать, когда твои уши полны собственных слов.

Осведомленность убивает не хуже ножа.

Очень немногим выпадает удача жить на своих условиях

Revenge was a reaction. But she needed to do more than just react, she needed to think

See the fact, not the fear

We act on the information we have

It was tempting but following your temptations was a good way to get
dead

Expectation was the midwife of an error

- Дайте людям целый мир на двоих, - изрёк Ньют, - и они поубивают друг друга за клочок земли.

"I thought we should be saved, that humanity should be saved, that we were worth saving, but that was just a habit. Just a hope."
"Like everything else," Triste whispered.
Kaden nodded. "What if it's wrong?"

"The monks told me a lot about what to destroy," he went on after a while. "They question they never answered, though, was this: when you scrub it all out, the fear and hope, the anger and despair, all the thousands habits of thought - what's left?"
Triste didn't respond. The chorus behind them rose and fell, rose and fell like the wind. When he finally looked over at her, she was watching him. Her words, when she spoke, were thin as the wind.
"Why does there need to be somethings left?"

"Your way of war is a pale, ugly thing. A perversion. You call yourselves civilized, and yet look at the things you fight for: borders, power, wealth..."
"As opposed to what?"
"As opposed to nothing. The war itself is worship."
"A sick sort of warship."
"Sicker than killing a woman because she stepped across an invisible line you have drawn across the dirt? Sicker than burning a man because he took some gem, some brick of gold, from another man?"

"There are more shades to the suffering of men than there are colours in the forest. I can draw more notes from a woman bound than a harpist can from her crude arrangement of wood and string." ... "There is no instrument like man, no musical counterpoint like the play of terror and hope, the bafflement and aching clarity that you can draw from his distended flesh." The shaman's voice was lower and slower than it had been. Reverential. Incantatory. "This is art. This is true beauty."