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

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

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

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.

This book had two authors, and they were both the same person.

Man, Sub-creator, the refracted Light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many hues, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind.