Anna Mori

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Royal Assassin
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by Robin Hobb (Goodreads Author)
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  (page 58 of 648)
Dec 03, 2014 05:43PM

 
Blood Eye
Anna Mori is currently reading
by Giles Kristian (Goodreads Author)
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Saga Sigrun
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  (page 200 of 406)
Mar 30, 2013 09:31AM

 
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Steven Erikson
“I was needed, but I myself did not need. I had followers, but not allies, and only now do I understand the difference. And it is vast.”
Steven Erikson, House of Chains

Steven Erikson
“This ain't your fight,' he said to the distant creature. 'Fucking dragon.”
Steven Erikson, Reaper's Gale

Steven Erikson
“No-one chooses me. I do not give anyone that right. I am Karsa Orlong of the Teblor. All choices belong to me.”
Steven Erikson, Reaper's Gale

Steven Erikson
“An old man emerged from the ditch, a creature
Of mud and wild autumn winds capering
Like a hare across a bouldered field, across
And through the stillness of time unhinged
That sprawls patient and unexpected in the
Place where battle lies spent, unmoving and
Never again moving bodies strewn and
Death-twisted like lost languages tracking
Contorted glyphs on a barrow door, and he
read well the aftermath, the disarticulated script
Rent and dissolute the pillars of self toppled
Like termite towers all spilled out round his
Dancing feet, and he shouted in gleeful
Revelation the truth he'd found, in these
Red-fleshed pronouncements - “There is peace!”
He shrieked. “There is peace!” and it was
No difficult thing, where I sat in the saddle
Above salt-rimed horseflesh to lift my crossbow
Aim and loose the quarrel, skewering the madman
To his proclamation. “Now,” said I, in the
Silence that followed, “Now, there is peace.”
Steven Erikson, Midnight Tides

William Shakespeare
“Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah! do not, when my heart hath ‘scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune’s might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.”
William Shakespeare

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