If you see the dragon fly,
best you drink the flagon dry.”
—Zarost

Those who try to juggle wisdom, power and greed, drop one of the balls, every time.”
—Zarost

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.

When I look at my bookcase and see one book after the other lined up upon its shelves I think to myself, There is a God.

When his dead father touched his hand, Athson almost dropped the arrow.

A story just isn't a story without a dragon.