“This is only a record of broken and apparently unrelated memories, some of them as distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread, others remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with interspaces blank and black -- witch-fires glowing still and red in a great desolation.”

“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.”

“What's this?" Primage Dur squinted at the glow of magic in the forest before them. Twelve shining warriors in red leather stood interspaced between a line of gnarled trees, blocking the advance of the Eld. "Who are they?""Dalh'reisen," Azurel hissed."Are they... singing?”

“Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories act like tape recordings, daily records of their lives complete in every detail, but I am not one of them. My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: The parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seemed to have vanished completely.”

“We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in the soft haze of a spring day or in the red fire of a long winter's evening. Some of us let these dreams die, but others nourish and protect them; nurse them through bad days till they bring them to the sunshine and light which comes always to those who sincerely hope that their dreams will come true.”

“the world is a broken record...... alwaysrepeating it’s self.the world is doomed to be the same.yet it’s do for some change.the world is a broken record ….. ment to bethrown away but never was.the world is a broken a record...it never works right but still we putour hope in it, thinking it will workright again but still it never will”