Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)

by Jim Butcher

“You know, it’s funny how many times I hear something isn’t about right and wrong from people who are about to do something awful,” I said. “It’s almost as if they know they’re about to do something awful, and they just don’t want to face any of the negative consequences associated with their choice.”

“Only the young think being called old is an insult,” I said, still smiling. “I am what I am, regardless of what anyone calls it. No one can change it, regardless of what anyone calls it. And it mostly means that nothing has managed to kill me yet.”

And I wanted to go home. Home, like love, hate, war, and peace, is one of those words that is so important that it doesn’t need more than one syllable.

Man. I wished I was old enough to be irrationally grumpy at some random guy on the street.

“Good work,” I said to the dog as I went by. I hooked a thumb at Childs. “Make sure he gets a cookie later. Him such a gentleman.”

I made it to the buffet without causing any major diplomatic incidents, which for me is remarkable.

You can’t go around making people’s choices for them. Not if you love them.

“Yer a wizard, Harry,” I growled.

“Glah!” I shouted. In a very manly fashion.

I’d spent countless hours there, working, studying, brewing, casting, summoning, setting my hair on fire—you know, wizard stuff.

At the end of the day, people have to be who they are. If you try to take that from them, you diminish them. You reduce them to children, unable to make decisions for themselves. There’s no way to poison your relationship with someone else faster.