a-feast-for-crows

No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul.

History is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again.

...Prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams... Prophecy will bite your prick off everytime,

The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. __he is a girl,' she said, __nd I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.' He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. __irl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, __ut the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear.