“...I made some more threats. I've got this big knife back here." He poked his thumb over his shoulder. "It attracts a lot of attention sometimes.”

“When he reached out with both huge hands to grasp me, I ducked under them and stepped forward, smoothly pulling my knife out of my sleeve. Then, with one quick swipe, I sliced him across the belly. I wasn't certain enough of his anatomy to try stabbing him in the heart. As big as he was, his ribs were probably as thick as my wrist. He stared at me in utter amazement. Then he looked down at the entrails that came boiling out of the gaping wounds that ran from hip to hip across his lower belly."I think you dropped something there, Grul," I suggested.He clutched at his spilling entrails with both hands, a look of consternation on his brutish face. "'Grat cut Grul's belly," he said. "Make Grul's insides fall out.""Yes, I noticed that. Did you want to fight some more, Grul? I think you could spend your time better by sewing yourself back together. You're not going to be able to move very fast with your guts tangled around your feet.""'Grat is not nice," he accused mournfully, sitting down and holding his entrails in his lap.”

“What was that?" Belgarath asked, coming back around the corner."Brill," Silk replied blandly, pulling his Murgo robe back on."Again?" Belgarath demanded with exasperation. "What was he doing this time?""Trying to fly, last time I saw him." Silk smirked.The old man looked puzzled."He wasn't doing it very well," Silk added.Belgarath shrugged. "Maybe it'll come to him in time.""He doesn't really have all that much time." Silk glanced out over the edge."From far below - terribly far below - there came a faint, muffled crash; then, after several seconds, another. "Does bouncing count?" Silk asked.Belgarath made a wry face. "Not really.""Then I'd say he didn't learn in time." Silk said blithely.”

“Contemporary fantasists all bow politely to Lord Tennyson and Papa Tolkien, then step around them to go back to the original texts for inspiration--and there are a lot of those texts. We have King Arthur and his gang in English; we've got Siegfried and Brunhild in German; Charlemagne and Roland in French; El Cid in Spanish; Sigurd the Volsung in Icelandic; and assorted 'myghtiest Knights on lyfe' in a half-dozen other cultures. Without shame, we pillage medieval romance for all we're worth.”

“...You're going to stay here and help Daran in every way you can. Don't let him sink into melancholia the way his father has...Now, pull yourself together. Blow your nose and fix your face. Daran's talking to the Rivan Warder right now. I'll take you to where they are, and then I have to leave.""You're not even going to stay for the funeral?""I've got the funeral in my heart, Pol, the same as you have. No amount of ceremony's going to make it go away. Now go fix your face. You look awful.”

“I note this hound of thine, Sir Knight," he said to Garion to ease them past an embarrassing moment, "a bitch, I perceive--""Steady," Garion said firmly to the she-wolf. "That is a very offensive term," she growled."He didn't invent it. It's not his fault.""...Canst thou perhaps, Sir Knight, identify her breed?""She is a wolf, my Lord," Garion told him."A wolf!" the baron exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "We must flee ere the fearsome beast fall upon us and devour us."It was a bit ostentatious, but sometimes thing like that impress people. Garion reached down and scratched the wolf's ears."...Ones advises that you stop that," the wolf told him, "unless you have a paw to spare.""You wouldn't!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back."But you're not entirely sure, are you?" She bared her teeth almost in a grin.”

“I'm hungry, Garion, and I don't think well when I'm hungry.""That might explain a lot," Beldin noted blandly. "We should have fed you more often when you were younger." "You can be terribly offensive sometimes, do you know that?""Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do.”