“Spikes, " he sighed. "Heads. Walls.”

“It was so like Smith's work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.”

“He deserves to have his head on a spike for all to see. Waring: If you are insufferable, do not walk here. We shall eat you down to the marrow.”

“Oh, alright. You’re no fun,” he sighed. “My name is Razor.” “What kind of a name is that?” “It’s a nickname.” “What kind of a nickname is that?” “Spike, Blade, Fang—all the good, deadly objects were already taken. It was the best I could do.”

“He sighed and shook his head slowly. 'And there will be no bringing back the light once it has gone.”

“If you beat your head against the wall, it is your head that breaks and not the wall.”