David Gemmell (1948 – 2006)
Bestselling British author of heroic fantasy.
It is the curse of absolute power, Olek. There is no one to admonish you, no laws save those you make. We like to believe there is something special, even alien, about evil. We like to think that tyrants are different from the rest of us. That they are somehow inhuman. They are not. They are merely unchained, unfettered; free to do as they please.
It is not hard to change when your biggest problem is whether the weeds prosper in a vegetable patch.
Never be glad that another man has died. Not ever. [...] It never ends. Never ... ever ... be glad to kill.
A man with wife and daughters has no place losing his temper.
We are closest to life when we are vying with death ... The blood runs hot, the air smells sweet, the sky becomes an unbearably beautiful blue. Battle is intoxicating. That is why the ghastly vileness of war has always been so popular.
You may think life is sweet now, but when death is a heartbeat away then life becomes unbearably desirable. And when you survive, everything you do will be enhanced and filled with greater joy: the sunlight, the breeze, a good wine, a woman's lips, a child's laughter.
What do you mean, why? Is it not obvious? What is life but a betrayal? We start out young, full of hope. The sun is good; the world awaits us. But every passing year shows how small you are, how insignificant against the power of the seasons. Then you age. Your strength fails, and the world laughs at you through the jeers of younger men. And you die. Alone. Unfulfilled. But sometimes ... sometimes there will come a man who is not insignificant. He can change the world, rob the seasons of their power. He is the sun.
"Foolish: It's all foolish. Life is a farce— a stupid, sickening farce played out by fools."
All men have talents. Some build, some paint, some write, some fight. For me it is different.
The nature of a coward is to avoid death. If such a man courts peril there can be only two reasons. Either he is not a coward at all — or there is no danger.
Most of the heroes we remember—we remember only because they won. To win you must be ruthless. Single-minded ... which was why he had no friends—just admirers.
"I don't think I would be too comfortable with many of his compliments ... He's a butcher!" "More than that, my friend ... he is a warmaster. And that makes him a master butcher."
...love is in the eyes, and one woman knows when another woman is in love.
When your life has been spent in one war after another for forty-five years, you have to be pretty handy to survive.
"No golden age to discover now," he whispered. "No end to disease and starvation. No, bright sparkling cities reaching the clouds ... All that I have lived for is gone now. I am so tired." "Then think on this, priest: You stopped the Eternal from finding greater weapons. Your actions here have led to her death. The world is free again." "Free? Of one tyrant perhaps. You think there will be no others?" "No, I do not. But I know there will always be men to stand against them. You grieve because of a pure magic lost. That magic was corrupted by evil. This is how evil thrives. We find an herb that cures disease, and someone will make a poison from it. We forge iron to make a better plow, and someone will make a sharper sword. There can be no power that evil will not corrupt."
Steal a loaf of bread and they hang you, steal a land and they'll make you king.
Gentlemen, you are in sorry condition. But war will render you yet more sorry. The soldier will fight in mud and hail, snow and ice, drought and flood. It is rare that a warrior gets to fight in comfort.
Blood always aids blood, my friend.
I don't give a damn, laddie. Until the actual moment, when they cut me down, I shall still be looking to win. And the gods of war are fickle at best.
"A lovers' spat," he said. "You know how it is. Boy meets girl, girl wants boy dead. An everyday story, really."