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

by Steven Erikson

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

‘My child has made me a prisoner as well,’ the Mhybe whispered. ‘Is this the curse of all mothers?’ ‘It is the curse of love.

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.