Into trouble because what he keeps hidden under his skirt has a mind of its own.
This is a favorite game, matching wits with a Raker. He is blind to the dead, to the burning villages, to the starving children. As is the Rebel. Two blind armies, able to see nothing but one another.
The Hanged Man stopped gesturing and struck a pose: man listening.
I am haunted by the clear knowledge that, in the end, evil always triumphs.
You feel guilty. You wonder why him and not me, then you're glad it was him and not you, then you feel guilty. Soldiers live. And wonder why.
Wars are being fought every day, even where armies are not on the march. And wars within wars. And wars behind wars.
Troublesome as females are when they step out of their proper roles as connivers, manipulators, gossips, backstabbers, and bearers and nurturers of the young, slaughtering them is not an acceptable fo...
Over coming days, when I sneaked down to the Buskin, he revealed everything recorded where he appears as the focal character. I do not think I have met many men who disgusted me more. Nastier
Nobody who wasn’t down there
Mercy’s platoon hastily established a strongpoint near the Rubbish Gate and held off all three cohorts. Most of our men were killed, but none ran. Mercy himself lost an eye, a finger, was wounded in s...
Maybe propinquity was counterproductive. *
Little girls are twice as precious and innocent as little boys. I do not know a culture that does not make them that way.
In the night, when the wind dies and silence rules the place of glittering stone, I remember. And they all live again.
If one chooses sides on emotion then the rebel is the guy to go with. He is fighting for everything men claim to honour, freedom, independance, truth, the right.......all the subjective illusions. All...
I have been told I always look at the dark underbelly of tomorrow. Possibly. You’re less likely to be disappointed that way.
I do not want to die, Croaker. All that I am shrieks against the unrighteousness of death. All that I am, was, and probably will be, is shaped by my passion to evade the end of me.
I am not religious. I cannot conceive of gods who would give a damn about humanity’s frothy carryings-on. I mean, logically, beings of that order just wouldn’t.
Cruel it may be, but most of us enjoy what we do—and the Captain more than anyone. This is a favorite game, matching wits with a Raker. He is blind to the dead, to the burning villages, to the starvin...
Scruff of the neck and seat of the pants, and ran him out the door to the accompaniment of appropriate old-time remarks about seedy little army types who failed to acknowledge the natural superiority...
Righteousness is not a shield. The good die more quickly than the bad.