House of Chains (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #4)

by Steven Erikson

Hatred is a most pernicious weed, finding root in any kind of soil. It feeds on itself.’

Form an opinion, say it often enough and pretty soon everyone’s saying it right back at you, and then it becomes a conviction, fed by unreasoning anger and defended with weapons of fear. At which point, words become useless and you’re left with a fight to the death.’

One day, perhaps, you will see for yourself that regrets are as nothing. The value lies in how they are answered.’

What matter the colour of the collar around a man’s neck, if the chains linked to them were identical?

It was one thing to doubt his commander’s measure, but another entirely to doubt his own.

Love changes, aye, in the manner of growing to encompass as much of its subject as possible. Virtues, flaws, limitations, everything—love will fondle them all, with child-like fascination.’