“Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.”
“Unsheathe your swords!' He considered that. 'Or cheaper weapons! Let us ... do some good!”
“. . . how could I protect myself? I had the Viking's scabbard, but not the sword; I had the Buddhist's robe, but not the faith.”
“You're going to keep making these mistakes as long as you keep carrying your brain in the same scabbard with your sword, Lelldorin.”
“Gluttony and sloth, as worldly goals, were quietly usurped by avarice and lust, which, together with poetry (yes, poetry), consumed all my free time.”
“(Will unsheathed his sword.)What is it you do? (Stryder)Remember when you told us you’d rather be dead than married? (Val)”