Memories of Ice (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #3)

by Steven Erikson

And the fact remained, whatever games the gods played, it was hard-working dirt-poor bastards like him who suffered for it.

You must dismantle your sources, Toc the Younger, lest you do nothing but ape the prejudices of others.’

Peace is the time of waiting for war. A time of preparation, or a time of wilful ignorance, blind, blinkered and prattling behind secure walls.

From histories and philosophies and religions came an understanding of human motivation, and motivation lay at the heart of tactics and strategy. Just as people moved in patterns, so too did their thoughts.

Soldiers are issued armour for their flesh and bones, but they must fashion their own for their souls. Piece by piece.’

‘Memories of ice.’

When frozen between life and death, in the glacial in-between, what can exist of mortal feeling? Not even an echo. Only memories of ice, of ice and no more than that. Gods below … such sorrow

War is not a natural state. It is an imposition, and a damned unhealthy one. With its rules, we willingly yield our humanity.

Of all the weapons we turn upon ourselves, guilt is the sharpest, Silverfox. It can carve one’s own past into unrecognizable shapes, false memories leading to beliefs that sow all kinds of obsessions.’

Diversity is worth celebrating, Humbrall Taur, for it is the birthplace of wisdom.’

We humans do not understand compassion. In each moment of our lives, we betray it. Aye, we know of its worth, yet in knowing we then attach to it a value, we guard the giving of it, believing it must be earned. T’lan Imass. Compassion is priceless in the truest sense of the word. It must be given freely. In abundance.