Top 15 Ian Tregillis Quotes

You’re no stranger to spinning gold from the hay of human misery, are you?

Have you any idea how long and painful my convalescence was?"\nBerenice shrugged. "Have you any idea how little I care?

What the hell was that?"\n"That was a close call wrapped in some very unpleasant philosophical questions.

Salazar consulted the map again. “Almost there,” he whispered. “Just another mile.”
Arthur sighed. “Wonderful.”
Anastasia rounded on him. “Go wander the tunnels on your own, you useless pencil pusher. You have zero skills of value to offer to our current situation. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but of all the problems currently facing the city, the Guild, and the Empire, not to mention ourselves, a lack of properly filed paperwork is not one of them.”

I am a pragmatist, said Mab. I do what must be done to make a better world.
“Oh, I’m sure you tell yourself that. But so does the woman who tortured Lilith. You sound exactly like her, in fact. The difference is that Berenice actually means it. She doesn’t use the pretense to justify her cruelty.”

It's a debate," he spat, "over truth. Which truth is more true? The inspiring myth or the bleak, blood-caked reality?

Because the universe was a cold, callous place. And they had just peered into the gulf separating the astronomically unlikely from the truly impossible.

Sometimes the contortions required to spit on Occam’s razor were just as disturbing as the insights one yearned to avoid.

If you're going to insist on giving perfectly logical and reasonable answers to stupid questions," she said, "you may put a dent in my delusions of genius.

Well," he said, "you must be feeling very proud of yourself right now."\n"It occurs to me that I might be an underappreciated genius." She paused to clutch the mast again during a particularly hard gust. "But I'll tell you something. It's not so wonderful, learning you were right all along to suspect the world is conspiring against you.

I’ve learned to be wary when something makes you this excited.

The grotesque machine reassembled its head. The medical servitor stood, emitted a burst of ticktock cog chatter, then flung itself into the massacre with the fervor of a religious zealot.

Alchemy was useful but never compassionate.

Every additional second the king didn’t take a bullet in the eye seemed a good sign.

To lose the satchel now would prove that God, if He existed, was a truly sadistic son of a bitch.