“Truly man is the king of beasts, for his brutality exceeds them. We live by the death of others. We are burial places.”

“Prince," says I, "it will go down the easier if you Chew."He did not respond; so I repeated my Instructions.Said he, "We take in the Flesh of other Beasts. We pack ourselves full of them. We are their Burial Ground."The Rest of us- his Mess- gaped.He reached into his Mouth, & removed the Gobbet; and placed the Gobbet on his Plate. He regarded the Plate balanced upon his skinny Knees; & all the life left him as he beheld that Mound of Flesh.Poor, unspeaking, tormented Creature.”

“Leisure without books is death, and burial of a man alive.”

“We are responsible for living in a way that shows others who we truly are and what we believe.”

“Honor from death,” I snap, “is a myth. Invented by the war torn to make sense of the horrific. If we die, it will be so that others may live. Truly honorable death, the only honorable death, is one that enables life.”

“There is a darkness in you. In all of us, probably. Beasts we keep chained. Ordinary men have to keep the chains strong, for if we let the beast loose then society will turn upon us with fiery vengeance. Kings though...well, who is there to turn upon them? So the chains are made of straw. It is the curse of kings, Helikaon, that they can become monsters. And they invariably do.”