“Now let's move on to the subject of how a real man treats his wife. A real man doesn't slap even a ten-dollar hooker around, if he's got any self respect, much less hurt his own woman. Much less ten times over the mother of his kids. A real man busts his ass to feed his family, fights for them if he has to, dies for them if he has to. And he treats his wife with respect every day of his life, treats her like a queen - the queen of the home she makes for their children.”

“I was father to the land. I saved my people. I was... King."By... earth," he said, more a movement of the lips than a thing of the throat and air. "By... sky..."Another breath, and it did hurt a little now. The next was harder. The women leaned over him, the mothers of his children. He blinked once more. His own mother, her black braids swinging as she rocked his hurt away. She was singing to him:"Manabozho saw some ducksHey, hey, heya heySaid 'Come little brothers, sing and dance';Hey, hey, heya hey--”

“You can always tell how a man will treat his wife by the way he treats his mother.”

“The others saw him as he stumbled down the stairs, bleeding from nose and ears and eyes an mouth. The sheathed form of the Sword lay across his palms. He met their eyes, and choked out:"Remember. Remember, all of you."Mathilda's voice was infinitely gentle. "Remember what?""That I was a man, before I was King. Remember for me, when I forget.His hand closed on the black double-lobed hilt, and the moonfire in the opal glowed. He drew the Sword, thrust it high.And screamed as pain beyond all bearing ripped through him like white fire, turning his body to a thing of ash smoke.He screamed, and knew.”

“. . . you should always kick a man when he's down. It's much easier then.”

“He was of the Old Religion, like nearly all Mackenzies, and wouldn't object to a Catholic ceremony - his faith taught that all paths to the Divine were valid. Christians tended to be a little more exclusive.”

“I gave examples from my clinical practice of how love was not wholly a thought or feeling. I told of how that very evening there would be some man sitting at a bar in the local village, crying into his beer and sputtering to the bartender how much he loved his wife and children while at the same time he was wasting his family's money and depriving them of his attention. We recounted how this man was thinking love and feeling love--were they not real tears in his eyes?--but he was not in truth behaving with love.”