Harpa

“The pool,” said Kallorek, pointing. “The pool, right there.”
“You mean the pond?”
“I mean the pool,” growled the booker. “Get in. Swim.” He accompanied these words with effusive gestures that set his jewellery ringing.
Clay examined the pond. “Swim to where?” he asked.
“What do you mean swim to where?” Kallorek’s brow deepened.
“Is it a healing spring?” Gabe asked. He flexed his arm, wincing as he extended it fully. “Because I think my elbow—”
“Listen, fuck your elbow!” Kallorek blew up. Clay had forgotten how short the booker’s fuse was. That big toothy smile one moment, and the next …“It ain’t a spring, or a pond, or a godsdamned sea nymph’s bathtub. It’s a fucking pool. Just a pool! You swim around in it to relax.”
― Nicholas Eames, Kings of the Wyld

“I had a cat named Astra. Spiteful creature! And vicious.” He whistled. “I swear, it once killed a bird and left it on my doorstep in the morning.” Brune shrugged. “So what? Lots of cats—” “It was an eagle,” Moog finished. The shaman nodded appreciatively and poured himself a drink.”
― Nicholas Eames, Bloody Rose

“The wise man takes the shortest path to peace with himself.’ Acceptance of what is, that is the shortest path.”
― Robin Hobb, Mad Ship

“How do I look?" he asked.
Barret grinned. "Old."
Moog glanced over appraisingly. "Tired."
Gabriel snorted a laugh. "Fuck you guys.”
― Nicholas Eames, Kings of the Wyld