“Everybody wanted to be the hero of their own story. Nobody wanted to be comic relief.”

“Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was in love with Julia or just that he wanted to be in love with her, because it would be so comforting, such a relief, to be in love with her. It seemed like such a good idea. Was there really that big of a difference?”

“He wanted to stick his finger in it and see what happened. Some story, some quest, started here, and he wanted to go on it. It felt fresh and clean and unsafe, nothing like the heavy warm lard of palace life. The protective plastic wrap had been peeled off”

“Sure, but real life’s not actually like that,” Quentin went on, fumbling after what he was sure was an important insight. “You don’t just go on fun adventures for good causes and have happy endings. You’re not going to be a character in a story, there’s nobody arranging everything for you. The real world just doesn’t work like that.”

“Being a hero, the man had observed, is largely a matter of knowing one’s cues.”

“Fatigue meant nothing when you actually wanted to suffer.”

“There was enough hiding in life. Sometimes you just wanted to show somebody your tits.”