Janet Morris Quotes - Page 2

Sometimes the cost of winning for all the right reasons is so great that spirits die and hearts grow cold.

The only unfair fight is the one you lose.

Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price. And that price is blood. The sound of it in your veins. The pound of it in your head. The volume of it in a human body; the sickness when you've spilled it.

I see ranks ready for battle, stretching out. Five, six horses across, ranks in formation. Endlessly.

Life was never simple, happiness never where you thought you'd left it, and right and wrong no more fixed than clouds in the sky.

Gods colliding, ethos and mythos trying to combine. The Sacred Band caught up in a whirlwind not of any god's devising: he and Niko had wanted to save twenty-three pairs of fated Theban fighters. Now everything feels fated and fighting oversweeps its boundaries of time and place and plane.

Let fools believe what fools believe.

We've the new hard-steel, though why they're all so hot to pay twice the price when men're soft as clay and even wood will pierce the boldest belly, I can't say.

You've been playing gods-and-witches again, that's clear.

When you give death, you give of your own life - every time.

For Harmony. A chance at life. To fight on other days.

Haste breeds error; error breeds woe.

These warriors of the Sacred Band were inscrutable; they loved their war and death and picking through the bones of time to sort out right from wrong, good from bad, holy from profane, honor from dishonor.

I survive. I survived it all then and I'll survive the rest of it. Without your help.

One man, one horse, one holocaust on demand.

Be careful what you pray for.

Men make their own fates - it's personal, not a matter for debate.

What we hold sacred is honor, justice, and glory. You need not swear allegiance to our storm god, to serve with us. Fighters are among us from many lands, with many gods and many beliefs. Believe as you will. What is between a man and his god is theirs alone to say.

Then what difference does human striving make: mortal struggle, valor, pain? If you live, then live for the test of spirit, for the celebration of the heart. Live to fight on other days. Lose your beloveds one by one. And remember. Exalt the kiss of friend and horse and wind and sun, which venality cannot cheapen nor stupidity belittle.

Go carefully, child of mat, where no mercy can be had, and let your faith lead you on.

Tempus would be protected, better shielded from whatever the Stepson thought threatening, if love could heal and save.

Shed your mortal skin and let me take you beneath the waves.

Men are fools who forget what really matters while time goes by.

When the balance is restored, people get hurt.

The meaning of life, Nikodemos, is to live life with meaning. The purpose of life is merely to live it, perhaps to give it.