“A weapon needs a wielder; it should not be permitted to start its own fights.""You are not my wielder; you are naught, a forgotten ghost, not even a memory.""Maybe, but you are still a weapon.”

“Nadir we, youth born, axe wielders, blood letters, victors still.”

“Instead of selling other countries weapons, we should sell them candles. Maybe then instead of singing the praises of war, they’d start singing Happy Birthday. And I don’t know anybody, not even my bully of an uncle, Uncle Sam, who wants to start a fight during that song.”

“The wielder of words is the captor of souls.”

“You will die a worse death if you do not leave my domain,” a voice thundered down from the third story of the old tenement. “I am a servant of the Sacred Fire, the wielder of the flame of Arnor—”“So I should call you Gandalf?”

“Weapons,' hissed Dow. 'Weapons, it has to be.'For once, Tul agreed with him. 'Weapons, chief. Let's give 'em a lesson.'Not even Forley spoke up for staying out of a fight this time, but Threetrees thought it out for a bit still, taking his moment, not to be hurried. Then he nodded. 'Weapons it is.”