I suspect most copies were used to wipe arses or light fires.
I recalled that a man named Judas had betrayed the nailed god. That never made any sense to me. The god had to be nailed to a cross if he was to become their savior, and then the Christians blame the...
I had thought about Alban for a while. Why, I had then asked, if your god can pull out a man’s eyes, didn’t he just save Alban’s life? Because God chose not to, of course! Beocca had answered sniffily...
I had no idea what I was speaking of, but only knew I must sound confident. Fear might work on a man, but confidence fights against fear. Odda
I had broken three Saxon shield-walls and buried Hywelbane to her hilt in my country’s enemies before I had been elected to Mithras’s service, but all Lancelot had ever done was boast and posture.
I don’t fight old men, he said. That was strange. No one had ever called me old before. I remember laughing, but there was shock behind my laughter. Weeks before, talking with Æthelflaed, I had mocked...
How does a lawyer lie? With passion, Mr. Starbuck, and with a self-inflicted belief, albeit temporary, that the facts he is reciting are the very stuff of God’s own truth.
How can a god disapprove of a good hump?
How anyone could endure three or four hours of chanting monks and ranting priests was beyond my understanding, just as it was beyond my understanding to know why bishops needed thrones. They would be...
He was watching my eyes. A man who uses a sword with lethal skill always matches his opponent's eyes.
He liked to see men cowed and frightened, for that made them biddable, and Sergeant Hakeswill was always at his happiest when he was in control of unhappy men.
Guinevere grimaced. ‘Do you know how cloying love can be, Derfel? I don’t want to be worshipped. I don’t want every whim granted. I want to feel there’s something biting back.
Giving inspiration to a lawyer, Sharpe thought sourly, was like feeding fine brandy to a rat.
For Arthur, at last, had come.
Ensign Fitzgerald had somehow managed to get himself a jewelled sabre that he was now flashing around like a shilling whore given a guinea fan.
Dreams are like songs. Their task is not to offer an exact image of the world, but a suggestion of it.
Does that girl work here?' Robbie asked, gesturing at the screen behind which Mary had disappeared. 'All her life,' Sir Giles said. 'You remember Mary, Thomas?' 'I tried to drown her when we were both...
But that was a notion as wispy as the high thin clouds that were being driven away by a brisk wind, and behind those wispy clouds was a wall of dark, tumultuous cloud that promised snow.
But Ubba? Only the gods tell him what to do, and you should beware of men who take their orders from the gods.
Bishop Asser was an earsling, which is anything that drops out of an arse.