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Keep your enemies at a distance, your partners close at hand.
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
Distance
Discipline
Close
Enemy
Hand
Keep
Hands
Partners
Enemies
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Wanting neither too much to live, nor too much to die.
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Nothing walks the earth more savage than a mare enraged.
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You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.
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Nothing powers hate better than embarrassment.
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Revenge is never the best driver for a battle, but a common one.
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Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.
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I see all sorts of things when I'm clearing my pipes.
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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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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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You're not one to take lightly, to love of for an evening and leave of a dawn.
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Haste breeds error error breeds woe.
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What wastrel mankind destroyed takes time for nature to put to rights.
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Gods are nothing without their worshipers they act on the affairs and the passions of men.
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I'm just a weapon of the god.
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Learn what can, and cannot, be asked from destiny.
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Deception is a tactic: use it. Do whatever it takes to win.
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Such hubris could only come from a man's mouth.
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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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Choose life over death, Niko, when a choice can be made that puts no soul in jeopardy.
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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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