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“Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes”
Strange thing, that–the fewer years you have to lose the more you fear the losing of ’em. Maybe a man just gets a stock of courage when he’s born, and wears it down with each scrape he gets into.
He’d thought it through, and this was the right thing to do. Or the least wrong thing, anyway. Sometimes that’s the best you can hope for.
Maybe there are only so many faces in the world. You get old enough, you start seeing ’em used again.
“The world is fluid. We must be fluid also.
“Everything looks prettier in the sun,” said Craw. “If it was raining you’d be calling it the ugliest valley in the world.” “Maybe.” Agrick closed his eyes and tipped his face back. “But it ain’t raining.”
Savour the little moments, son, that’s my advice. They’re what life is. All the things that happen while you’re waiting for something else.
“There’s no shame in a soft footfall, lad. We like big, stupid men in the North, men who wade about in blood and so on. We sing songs about ’em. But those men get nothing done alone, and that’s a fact. We need the other kind. Thinkers. Like you. Like your father. And we don’t make half way enough of ’em.
“Well, true. There’s two sides to every coin, but there’s my very point. People like simple stories.” Craw frowned at the pink marks down the edges of his nails. “But people ain’t simple.”
Every man’s a coward. A coward and a hero, depending how things stand.
What is love anyway, but finding someone who suits you? Someone who makes up for your shortcomings? Someone you can work with. Work on.
Perhaps that was the moment you grew up, when you learned your parents were just as fallible as everyone else.
She simply listened, observed, and made sure she never spoke until she knew what she was speaking of. Knowledge is the root of power, after all.
It is easy to forget how much you have, when your eyes are always fixed on what you have not.
“Have you ever noticed that everyone’s an idiot but you?” She opened her eyes wide. “You see it too?”
“Sliced bread?” Wonderful turned away from the black valley to watch him. “Can’t see it catching on, can you?”
Please. Just promise me you won’t do anything… rash.” “I promise.” She’d make sure whatever she did was well thought out. That or she’d just break her promise. She didn’t take them terribly seriously.
The enemy is just a set of men. That’s the realisation that makes war easy. And the one that makes it hard.
“Patience is as fearsome a weapon as rage. More so, in fact, ’cause fewer men have it.”
But maybe that’s how the world works. Some men are made for doing violence. Some are meant for planning it. Then there are a special few whose talent is for taking the credit.
