Paladin's Hope (The Saint of Steel, #3)

by T. Kingfisher

The thing that no one warned you about insanity was how incredibly tedious it was. You were always having to explain yourself and apologize, over and over, and you got so tired of being crazy.

“The Church of Sharp Falling Objects?” asked Galen.

“You cannot ask a woman to compete with a god. But we can still love someone and be loved. Even as broken as we are.”

Galen knew from experience that gnoles had about fifty words that all translated as crazy, none of which actually involved mental illness, which they called head-sick.

All I want in life is to have a sexy man make passionate love to me, eat a nice meal together, and then I’ll leave to go chop up corpses. Is that really so much to ask?

Maybe a hero is just what we call someone who doesn’t have the sense to stop before they destroy themselves.”

Part of him wanted to start all over again. Another, rather larger part, pointed out that he was middle-aged and that it had been a dismally long day, with only an hour of disturbed sleep earlier. The spirit was willing, but the spongiform erectile tissue was weak.

Eventually, he went to prayer and the bottle, the two great comforters of humanity since the discovery of gods and yeasts.