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

by Steven Erikson

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

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

And perhaps that is the final, most devastating truth. The gods care nothing for ascetic impositions on mortal behaviour. Care nothing for rules of conduct, for the twisted morals of temple priests and monks. Perhaps indeed they laugh at the chains we wrap around ourselves – our endless, insatiable need to find flaws within the demands of life. Or perhaps they do not laugh, but rage at us. Perhaps our denial of life’s celebration is our greatest insult to those whom we worship and serve.

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