Her idea of who's worth what ain't mine.
As Seth's apprentice, I've learned wisdom of which you've never dreamed.
I'm going to kill that god of yours, next. Then we'll see what you can do, and what you can't.
Here and now was always where Tempus was, not off somewhere in the realm of Greater Good or Mortal Soul or Eternal Consequence. He'd lost the ability to determine greater good, if there was one; his mortal soul he'd given up on long ago. And as for eternal consequence - he was its embodiment.
I'm just a weapon of the god.
What would the world be without him, and those like him?
Why is it we are always the targets of the angry Fates? Twice as many men of ours met harm as did theirs, since we've come here.
Some nights, valor and cold purpose aren't enough.
There are stranger things here than Thebans know about.
Fury from the heavens; fury at the gods - inseparable.
We fouled up. I did. He got hurt. Badly, maybe. And the god...is not helping him today.
It's all the same - no good without evil, no balance...no maat. If we lose one, we lose the other. It's just life, that's all.
Life to you, Riddler, and everlasting glory.
The meaning of life, Nikodemos, is to live life with meaning. The purpose of life is merely to live it, perhaps to give it.
Tempus wanders eternally, bringing death to whomever loves him and being spurned by whomsoever he shall love.
Love sees all; hate is blind.
The gods want to bring a better day, and you are their messengers. Trust not in all you see. Trust only in your hearts. And in us, who love you both.
Sanctuary is for lovers, not fighters, this season.
In this new world, this day and forever, then, we are not only Thebans - we are all Stepsons. We are all one Sacred Band. If you will have us. And mine will fight by yours, henceforth, as brothers.
Live to fight on other days.
Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.
Survival has its own etiquette.
Gods are nothing without their worshipers; they act on the affairs and the passions of men.
Arrows are cheap; you're expensive.
When I write what publishers call 'fantasy' I am writing in what I think is the most important tradition of fiction: starting with Homer and up through Shakespeare and Milton, the most important themes to tackle are those of the mythopoeic domain, tales of the body and mind seen through a temperament and a cosmos divorced from current reality so what is said can be more clear.
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