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Sometimes the cost of winning for all the right reasons is so great that spirits die and hearts grow cold.

Janet Morris

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Janet Morris
Age: 78
Born: 1946
Born: May 25
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Janet Ellen Morris
Janet E. Morris
Winning
Spirits
Dies
Reasons
Spirit
Commitment
Reason
Hearts
Right
Cost
Sometimes
Cold
Great
Grow
Heart
Grows
Brotherhood

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Everything that anyone respects is what men naturally excel at: fighting, accruing wealth, playing at power.
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Men are fools who forget what really matters while time goes by.
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Tempus wanders eternally, bringing death to whomever loves him and being spurned by whomsoever he shall love.
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Haste breeds error error breeds woe.
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Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price.
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It was his soul's freedom that was in question. And that question was whether freedom was worth the price when it meant shirking the responsibilities of honor.
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Look to the souls of Your own soldiers, God, who labor in Thine awful cause.
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Gods are nothing without their worshipers they act on the affairs and the passions of men.
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The universe forgives those who give until their hearts are aching and their spirits weak, and finds a way to renew all strength and cure all ills, in this world or the next, if a soul can just have faith.
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Don't forget, Riddler, how I love thee. Or all we shared together. Or that this sea and all other seas can lead you back to me.
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I see all sorts of things when I'm clearing my pipes.
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This is for you. A mage named Randal told me to give it to the Band if you ever came back. 'It surmounts evil,' he told me, 'keeps doom at bay.'
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Gods have bloody hands.
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You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.
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Niko, you're halfway to where you need to go. It's the most dangerous time. And all the gods and forces have a stake in you, Hero. Or do you want to be just a memory, a cult somewhere, with people sacrificing horses to your name?
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Fight for life itself and everlasting freedom of the human spirit.
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For Tempus...was a dozen storm gods' avatar no army he sanctified could know defeat no war he fought could not be won. Combat was life to him he fought like the gods themselves.
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Some nights, valor and cold purpose aren't enough.
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Dreamers and dreaming dead, lots of them from neither here nor there with no chance of getting home again, lost in place and time.
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What is needed is never to be had without price.
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