“And he enjoyed listening to Caramon's gossip. Raistlin enjoyed proving to his own satisfaction that his fellow mortals were fools and idiots, while Caramon took immense pleasure in bringing a smile - albeit a sardonic smile - to his twin's lips.”

“Raistlin lay on the floor, his skin white, his breathing shallow. Blood trickled from his mouth. Kneeling down, Caramon lifted him in his arms."Raistlin?" he whispered. "What happened?""That's what happened," Tanis said grimly, pointing.Caramon glanced up, his gaze coming to rest on the dragon orb - now grown to the size Caramon had seen in Silvanesti. It stood on the stand Raistlin had made for it. Caramon sucked in his breath in horror. Terrible visions of Lorac flooded his mind. Lorac insane, dying..."Raist!" he moaned, clutching his brother tightly.Raistlin's head moved feebly. His eyelids fluttered, and he opened his mouth."What?" Caramon bent low, his brother's breath cold upon his skin. "What?""Mine..." Raistlin whispered. "Spells...of the ancients...mine...Mine..." The mage's head lolled, his words died. But his face was calm, placid, relaxed. His breathing grew regular.”

“He lit his pipe again, smiling to himself quietly, with that painful smile of his, as though he were enjoying a joke that hurt him.”

“Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one."That’s what I was supposed to say..." he gasped out.Those were his last words.”

“The ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. ‘You’re always the voice of reason. Just try listening to yourself once in a while.”

“Colonies are the outhouses of the European soul, where a fellow can let his pants down and relax, enjoy the smell of his own shit.”