Too old to dream of perfection, perhaps, she had instead discovered a certain delicious appeal in flaws. - Steven Erikson

"Is that you?" came Shurq’s voice from the darkness within.
"Why yes," Bugg said, "it is."
"Liar. You’re not you, you’re Bugg. Where’s Tehol? I need to talk to Tehol."

The last act of an historian, priest, is to live through history. It is the bravest act of them all, because it faces, unblinking, the recognition that all history is personal, and that every external truth of the world is but a reflection of our internal truths – the truths that shape our behaviours, our decisions, our fears, our purposes and our appetites. These internal truths raise monuments and flood sewers. They lift high grand works as readily as they fill graves. If you blame one appetite you blame all of our appetites. We all swim the same river.

The Jaghut drew weapons. Beside Onos Toolan, Haut said, ‘Join us, First Sword. If we must die, must it be on the back step? I think not.’ His eyes flashed from the shadows of his helm. ‘First Sword – do you see? Forkrul Assail, K’Chain Che’Malle, Imass and now Jaghut! What a fell party this is!’
Gedoran grunted and said, ‘All we now need are a few Thel Akai, Haut, and we can swap old lies all night long!