The world seemed so mixed up to poor Zaknafein then. All of his life had been spent in learning the truth of the world, but that, he was beginning to understand, was the truth of the drow world only. And it was a truth distorted by ill intent. All that he had learned—nay, more than learned, had come to know as truth—seemed to him then like a knot beginning to loosen, as if his world was on the edge of fully unwinding.
I would have liked this level of introspection from, oh, I dunno, the last book and a half.
