The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them. - Lois McMaster Bujold

“Everybody has it wrong way round. Parents don’t make children—children make parents. They shape our behavior from the first wail. Mold us into what they need. It can be a pretty rough process, too.”
Jole’s eyebrows went up. “I’d not thought of it that way.” It seemed a strangely hopeful notion.
“Well, believe it. Though my whole life has been on-the-job training—I don’t know why I thought this should be any different.”

When your young life offered its first disaster, naturally it loomed large. After you’d survived dozens, you basically just told the next one to take a number and get in line.

"He wanted to know what I saw in you. I told him..." he paused again, and then continued almost shyly, "that you poured out honor like a fountain, all around you."

"That's weird. I don't feel full of honor, or anything else, except maybe confusion."

"Naturally not. Fountains keep nothing for themselves."