The Crippled God (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #10)

by Steven Erikson

‘She doesn’t want the rest of the world to be reminded of what they once were.’

Gruntle, who was one of those men it was too easy to talk to, a man who just invited confession, as if giving off a scent or something. Hood knew, she wanted to—

Kuru Qan once told me that grieving had nothing to do with the ones gone, and everything to do with the ones left behind.

Rulers of the Shake, once more fighting upon the Shore.

It’s what we always hear, isn’t it? From generals and warlords and miserable tyrants. Justifying yet another nightmare epoch of slaughter. Of suffering, misery and despair. And what do we all do? We duck down and weather it. We tell ourselves that this is how it must be

How far must one fall, to give thanks for nothing but desire? Empty intent?

And then out from the wagons came the children, in ones and twos, into the midst of the soldiers. They came not to beg or plead, but simply to sit, watching over the soldiers as they slept. Or suffered with staring eyes. Or, in the case of some, quietly died.

And let’s face it, humanity without humility is a dangerous force.

‘We should all live a life of hobbies. Doing only what gives us pleasure, only what rewards us in secret, private ways.’