More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
September 19 - October 4, 2017
‘A man without discipline is no better than a dog. A soldier without discipline is no better than a corpse. Worse, in fact. A corpse is no threat to his comrades.’
Shivers heaved out a sigh. ‘Just trying to make tomorrow that bit better than today is all. I’m one of those . . . you’ve got a word for it, don’t you?’ ‘Idiots?’ He looked sideways at her. ‘It was a different one I had in mind.’ ‘Optimists.’ ‘That’s the one. I’m an optimist.’ ‘How’s it working out for you?’ ‘Not great, but I keep hoping.’ ‘That’s optimists. You bastards never learn.’
No plague spreads quicker than panic, Stolicus wrote, nor is more deadly.
War killed some soldiers, sure, but it left the rest with money, and songs to sing, and a fire to sit around. It killed a lot more farmers, and left the rest with nought but ashes.
Killing a woman by mistake in a brothel was murder, evil as it got, but killing a man on purpose in a battle was all kinds of noble? A thing to take pride in, sing songs of?
‘Dying rich is still dying.’ ‘Better’n dying poor,’
‘When life is a cell, there is nothing more liberating than captivity.’
If you wanted a thing, why burn it? And if you did not want it, why fight to take it from someone else?
Heads on spikes, Cosca reflected, were still as fashionable as ever.
To the starving man, bread is beautiful. To the homeless man, a roof is beautiful. To the drunkard, wine is beautiful. Only those who want for nothing else need find beauty in a lump of rock.
You would be amazed at what can be achieved! Science is leaping forwards every day!’ ‘Springy bastard, ain’t it.’ Scopal gave an uncertain chuckle. ‘Ah . . . most elastic.
Strong leaders might like it when someone brings ’em a better idea, but weak ones never do.
You make yourself too hard, you make yourself brittle too. Crack once, crack all to pieces.
‘You are generosity itself, General Cosca.’ ‘I am avarice itself, which is not quite the same, but will do in a pinch.
“War is but the pricking point of politics. Blades can kill men, but only words can move them, and good neighbours are the surest shelter in a storm.”
“Things aren’t what they used to be” is the rallying cry of small minds. When men say things used to be better, they invariably mean they were better for them, because they were young, and had all their hopes intact. The world is bound to look a darker place as you slide into the grave.’
Have a smile for breakfast, you’ll be shitting joy by lunch.
The boundaries of civilisation are not the impregnable walls civilised men take them for. As easily as smoke on the wind, they can dissolve.
People would far rather believe a lurid lie than a sorry string of accidents. Would far rather believe the world is full of evil than full of bad luck, selfishness and stupidity.
‘Men can have all manner of deeply held beliefs about the world in general that they find most inconvenient when called upon to apply to their own lives. Few people let morality get in the way of expediency. Or even convenience. A man who truly believes in a thing beyond the point where it costs him is a rare and dangerous thing.’
