From the corner of his eye, Eragon saw Orik hewing Urgal necks with mighty blows of his ax. - Christopher Paolini

The debate raged on for so long, at last Saphira had interrupted with a roar that shook the walls of the command tent. Then she said, I am sore and tired, and Eragon is doing a poor job of explaining himself. We have better things to do than stand around yammering like jackdaws, no? ... Good now listen to me.
It was reflected Eragon, hard to argue with a dragon.

One could argue that all that really matters is that we learn to deal with where we are at any given moment, not where we were.

Who is it who decides that one man should live and another should die? My life wasn't worth any more than his, but he's the one who's buried, while I get to enjoy at least a few more hours above the ground. Is it chance, random and cruel, or is there some purpose or pattern to all this, even if it lies beyond our ken?