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“From folly to farce,” murmured Balthazar under his breath. He had never had much patience for religion. What was it, really, but superstition with money?
Balthazar was caught where he spent much of his time: somewhere between contempt and envy. He might know it was all flimflam, but to believe a lie was as comforting for the believer as to know the truth. For an instant he could not but wonder—is it truly better to be a woebegone cynic than an ecstatic dupe?
“The Church is not that keen on God, in my experience,” said Baron Rikard. “They think of him much as a lawyer thinks of the law. Something to be got around.” “You’re a vampire,” snapped Brother Diaz. “Of course you hate the Church.” “On the contrary, I am a great admirer of the tenets of your religion. I merely find it a shame that the Saved are, as a rule, so little like their Saviour.”
He’d lost track of the number of megalomaniacal speeches he’d had to endure down the years. But if it gave him a chance to catch his breath, have at it.
“Magic … may be the ultimate expression … of man’s triumph over nature,” she forced through gritted teeth. “But sometimes you’ve just got to stab a bastard.”
“Smile while you can, that’s what I say. The world’ll kick you in the twat soon enough.”
Men born with every advantage often burn to prove they’ve deserved them all along.
“I have always desired, above all, to be thought a wise man. I have begun to realise it might even be a good idea to be one. And a truly wise man must accept that, however much he knows, there is always far more to learn.”
We all have our reasons, do we not? We are all the prisoners of our own flaws.”
“Never fuck with a librarian.”
“A good twist, once revealed, should seem obvious all along. Should seem … inevitable, even.”
