Everywhere you looked there was so much richness, you could never exhaust it. Maybe it was all a game, that got crumpled up and thrown away at the en… - Lev Grossman

What is that thing?" Quentin said.
"This?" Betsy held up the knife, studying its edge. "This is why I'm here. This is what I've always wanted. This is a weapon for killing gods."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Have you ever met a fucking god?"
"I guess I can see your point.

If he couldn’t go back, he would just have to do things differently going forward. He felt how infinitely safer and more sound this attitude was. The trick was just not wanting anything. That was power. That was courage: the courage not to love anyone or hope for anything.
The funny thing about it was how easy everything got, when nothing mattered.

The man was obviously a soldier, but Quentin had never really thought about what that meant. He was a professional killer, efficient and businesslike. He had none of Bingle’s elegance. He was like a baker, except instead of making bread he made corpses, and he wanted to make Quentin into one.