“Ambrose, your presence is the horseshit frosting on the horseshit cake that is the admissions interview process.”

“How about this?' Simmon asked me. "Which is worse, stealing a pie or killing Ambrose?"I gave it a moment's hard thought. "A meat pie, or a fruit pie?”

“Ambrose turned on his heel and stormed off, but before he made it through the door, Elodin burst out singing:‘He's a well-bred ass, you can see it in his stride!And for a copper penny he will let you take a ride!”

“I want a magical horse that fits in my pocket," Wil said. "And a ring of red amber that gives me power over demons. And an endless supply of cake.”

“What do you know of poetry?” Ambrose said without bothering to turn around. “I know a limping verse when I hear it,” I said. “But this isn’t even limping. A limp has rhythm. This is more like someone falling down a set of stairs. Uneven stairs. With a midden at the bottom.” “It is a sprung rhythm,” he said, his voice stiff and offended. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” “Sprung?” I burst out with an incredulous laugh. “I understand that if I saw a horse with a leg this badly ‘sprung,’ I’d kill it out of mercy, then burn its poor corpse for fear the local dogs might gnaw on it and die.”

“Knowing your own ignorance is the first step to enlightenment.”

“Damn chicken. Come eat your dinner. I'm cold.”