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I am a stranger. You do not need to lie to me or pretend. Only with friends do you need masks.
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Hold on to your dreams, Kiall. They are more important than you realise.
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A man can be aroused to anger as easily as he is aroused to rut. The two emotions are closely linked. Anger and lust. So the warrior is aroused in battle and fights to dominate.
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Some people are born ugly. It's not their fault, and I for one have never held it against a man that he is ugly. but others — and I count myself among them — are born with handsome features. That's a gift that should not be lightly taken away.
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'A methodical people,' pulsed the voice of Kesa Khan. 'They call themselves civilized because they can build tall castles and pitch their tents with geometric precision, but from here you can see the reality. Ants build in the same way. Are they civilized?'
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'Why do they do it?' whispered Horeb. 'Their eyes, you mean?' said Rek. 'Yes. How can a man put out his own eyes?' 'Damned if I know. They say it aids their visions.' 'Sounds about as sensible as cutting off your staff in order to aid your sex life.'
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Yes, love ... can heal the wounds of hatred. Love can eradicate lust and greed. Through love a man of evil can come to find repentance and redemption. For the Source abandons no man.
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... a man can overcome his background, even as he can overcome a skilled opponent.
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The very odd thing about sagas ... is that they very rarely mention dry mouths and full bladders.
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Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails at something.
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For the lion to to prosper the deer must die. All the world is combat.
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No one can take away the freedom of a man's soul.
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A warrior has only one true friend: himself. So he feeds his body well; he trains it; works on it. Where he lacks skill, he practises. Where he lacks knowledge, he studies. But above all he must believe. He must believe in the strength of will, of purpose, of heart and soul.
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We are not made for life at all, old horse. It is made for us. We live it. We leave it.
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Bow to nothing, son. I make mistakes as well as any man. If you think me wrong, be so good as to damn well say so.
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Man alone, it seems, lives all his life in the knowledge of death. And yet there is more to life than merely waiting for death. For life to have meaning, there must be a purpose. A man must pass something on — otherwise he is useless.
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This world has few redeeming features, and one is the capacity for people to love one another with great, enduring passion.
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This enterprise was doomed, but we do what we can and do what we must. So a young farmer with wife and children decides to go home. Good! He shows a sense that you and I will never understand. They will sing songs about us, but he will ensure that there are people to sing them. He plants. We destroy.
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The point is ... that you never know whether you've lost until you've lost. Anything can happen.
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Aye, it is hard when those we love leave the world. No denying it.
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War. What was it about the prospect of some bloody enterprises that reduced men to the level of animals?
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How do you decide a battle is lost? Numbers, strategic advantage, positioning? It's all worth a sparrow's fart. It comes down to men who are willing. The largest army will founder if its men are less willing to die than to win.
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Constantly at war, the tribesmen fought one another with pitiless ferocity, and only the very strong survived to manhood.
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We are full of dreams ... We long for the unattainable. We believe in the nonsense of fables. There is no pure love; there is lust and there is need.