Homeland

by R.A. Salvatore

Those most powerful in Menzoberranzan spend their days watching over their shoulders, defending against the daggers that would find their backs. Their deaths usually come from the front.

“What place is this that is my world; what dark coil has my spirit embodied?”

In the face of such an open display of power, she could not forget that Matron Baenre’s purpose in summoning her had been twofold: to privately and cryptically congratulate her on her perfect coup, and to vividly remind her not to get too ambitious.

Evil empires often bound themselves in webs of hate toward fabricated enemies, and none in the history of the world were better at it than the drow.

“To lose is to die! You may win a thousand fights, but you can only lose one!”

They live with the belief that anything is acceptable if you can get away with it, that self-gratification is the most important aspect of existence, and that power comes only to she or he who is strong enough and cunning enough to snatch it from the failing hands of those who no longer deserve it. Compassion has no place in Menzoberranzan, and yet it is compassion, not fear, that brings harmony to most races. It is harmony, working toward shared goals, that precedes greatness.

a third had died in his bunk of natural causes—for a dagger in the heart quite naturally ends one’s life.

Truth, though, is nothing in the face of self-falsehood, and principles are of no value if the idealist cannot live up to his own standards.

Nothing burns in your heart like the emptiness of losing something, someone, before you truly have learned of its value.

“Do more than survive, my son, as I have survived. Live! Be true to the callings in your heart.”