“When you expect nothing from the world - not the light of the sun, the wet of water, nor the air to breathe - everything is a wonder and every moment a gift.”

“Happiness comes from moving toward something. When you run away, ofttimes you bring your misery with you.”

“We may indeed die here, that's true. But we will all die anyway-is there any denying that? When you think of all the possible ways you might go, this is as fine a place as any, isn't it? I mean, to end one's life surrounded by friends, in a comfortable, dry room with plenty to read... that doesn't sound too awful, does it?""What is the advantage of fear, or the benefit of regret, or the bonus of granting misery a foothold even if death is embracing you? My old abbot used to say, 'Life is only precious if you wish it to be.' I look at it like the last bite of a wonderful meal-do you enjoy it, or does the knowledge that there is no more to follow make it so bitter that you would ruin the experience?" The monk looked around, but no one answered him. "If Maribor wishes for me to die, who am I to argue? After all, it is he who gave me life to begin with. Until he decides I am done, each day is a gift granted to me, and it would be wasted if spent poorly. Besides, for me, I've learned that the last bite is often the sweetest.”

“You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric.“Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?”“I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?”Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.”

“You didn’t really hold back on Braga so Pickering could kill him, did you?” Royce asked after the two were left alone in the hallway.“Of course not. I held off because it’s death for a commoner to kill a noble.”“That’s what I thought.” Royce sounded relieved. “For a minute, I wondered if you’d gone from jumping on the good-deed wagon to leading the whole wagon train.”

“This book is entirely dedicated to my wife, Robin Sullivan.Some have asked how it is I write such strong women without resorting to putting swords in their hands. It is because of her.She is Arista.She is Thrace.She is Modina.She is Amilia.And she is my Gwen.This series has been a tribute to her.This is your book, Robin.I hope you don't mind that I put down in wordsHow wonderful life is while you're in the world.--ELTON JOHN, BERNIE TAUPIN”

“How's your foot?” Hadrian asked.“It hurts.”“He had a good hold.”“Bit right through my boot.”“Yeah, that looked painful.”“So why exactly didn't you help?”Hadrian shrugged. “It was a dog, Royce. A cute, little dog. What did you want me to do, killan innocent little animal?”Royce tilted his head, squinting into the light of the late evening sun to focus on his friend.“Is that a joke?”“It was a puppy.”“It was not a puppy, and it was eating my foot.”“Yeah, but you were invading his home.” ....“You know, you didn't have to throw it out the window,” Hadrian said as they walked.Royce, who was still preoccupied with his foot, looked up. “What did you want me to dowith it? Scratch behind the little monster’s ears as it gnawed my toes off? What if it started barking?That would have been a fine mess.”“It's a good thing there was a moat right under the window.”Royce stopped. “There was?”