'What's the verdict?' 'A shining new talent. A breathtaking story, written with mystical intensity. An author who will sell and sell.' - Lindsey Davis

I asked why Grumio had had to turn to lesser things.'No call. In my father or grandfather's day all I would have needed in life were my cloak and shoes, my flask and strigil, a cup and knife to take to dinner, and a small wallet for my earnings. Everyone who could find the wherewithal would eagerly ask a wandering jokesmith in.'
'Sounds just like being a vagrant philosopher!'
'A cynic,' he agreed readily. 'Exactly. Most cynics are witty and all clowns are cynical. Meet us on the road, and who could tell the difference?’
'Me, I hope! I'm a good Roman. I'd take a five-mile detour to avoid a philosopher.'

I would rather see Rome ruled by a man who once had to ask his accountant tricky questions before his steward could pay the butcher’s bill than by some mad limb like Nero, who was brought up believing himself the son and the grandson of gods, and who thought wearing the purple gave him free rein to indulge his personal vanities, execute real talent, bankrupt the Treasury, burn half of Rome – and bore the living daylights out of paying customers in theatres!

He listened with the mild demeanour of a man who had waited eight years for his town council to draw up a specification for emergency repairs.