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Such hubris could only come from a man's mouth.

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
Mouths
Pride
Magic
Come
Men
Hubris
Arrogance
Feminism
Mouth

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Nothing walks the earth more savage than a mare enraged.
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Nothing powers hate better than embarrassment.
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I see all sorts of things when I'm clearing my pipes.
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Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.
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Don't blame yourself, or worry. Neither does a bit of good.
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Fight for life itself and everlasting freedom of the human spirit.
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There are stranger things here than Thebans know about.
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These Stepsons tread where mortals don't belong, some of us think. They seek out battle high above their station. Who knows what powers may yet take them and their mystic allies to task, bring them their comeuppance?
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Go carefully, child of mat, where no mercy can be had, and let your faith lead you on.
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What we hold sacred is honor, justice, and glory. You need not swear allegiance to our storm god, to serve with us. Fighters are among us from many lands, with many gods and many beliefs. Believe as you will. What is between a man and his god is theirs alone to say.
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Men are fools who forget what really matters while time goes by.
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You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.
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This was what men fought for, what men died for: a chance at life, and to fight on other days - the battle of your choice, of the body, or the heart, or the soul.
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Be polite to all, friendly to none. Be professional. Be ready to kill everyone and everything.
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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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You must become like yourself.
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Niko's angular face caught a flicker of firelight and Tempus saw his future there: sharp purpose, discipline, and power in perfect balance love of man and gods, and mercy transcending all. If war ever wore a more humane face, this one would make it so.
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Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.
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One man can make another's life so much better.
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So well do I love you, I go to my god singing your praises. When I meet my father, I will tell him I fought beside you.
Janet Morris