Michael J. Sullivan Quotes

We may indeed die here, that's true. But we will all die anyway-is there any denying that? When you think of all the possible ways you might go, this is as fine a place as any, isn't it? I mean, to end one's life surrounded by friends, in a comfortable, dry room with plenty to read... that doesn't sound too awful, does it?""What is the advantage of fear, or the benefit of regret, or the bonus of granting misery a foothold even if death is embracing you? My old abbot used to say, 'Life is only precious if you wish it to be.' I look at it like the last bite of a wonderful meal-do you enjoy it, or does the knowledge that there is no more to follow make it so bitter that you would ruin the experience?" The monk looked around, but no one answered him. "If Maribor wishes for me to die, who am I to argue? After all, it is he who gave me life to begin with. Until he decides I am done, each day is a gift granted to me, and it would be wasted if spent poorly. Besides, for me, I've learned that the last bite is often the sweetest.

I notice you didn’t include a blade with your new attire,” Royce said. “Not even a little jeweled dagger.”“Lords no.” Albert looked appalled. “I don’t fight.”“I thought all nobles learned sword fighting.” Royce looked to Hadrian.“I thought so too.”“Nobles with competent fathers perhaps. I spent my formative years at my aunt’s at Huffington Manor. She held a daily salon, where a dozen noble ladies came to discuss all manner of philosophical topics, like how much they hated their husbands. I’ve never actually held a sword, but I can tie a mean corset and apply face paint like a gold-coin whore.

If this hast been done to language, I fear to know the fate of all else.

Hadrian leapt to his feet. Royce was already up.“Don’t bother,” Esrahaddon told them. “She’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do. The monster cannot be harmed by your weapons. It—”The two were out the door.

What's the advantage of fear or the benefit of regret or the bonus of granting misery a foothold even if death is embracing you? My old abbot used to say, "Life is only precious if you wish it to be." I look at it like the last bite of a wonderful meal. Do you enjoy it, or does the knowledge that there is no more to follow make it so bitter that you would ruin the experience? - Myron on facing death

Fulfillment comes from striving to succeed, to survive by your own wits and strength. Such things make each of us who we are. You lose that in captivity, lose yourself, and that loss saps your capacity for joy.

I swear, the reason for full moons is so the gods can more clearly see the mischief they create.

One truth doesn't refute another. Truth doesn't lie in the object, but in how we see it.

Power doesn't equal worth. Wisdom is a far greater virtue.

I am officially turning him over to you. He's your problem now. You'll have to watch out for him and that won't be easy. He's naive, gullible, immature, horribly unsophisticated, ignorant about anything worth knowing, and idealistic to a fault." He paused to make a show of thinking harder. "He's also indecisive, pathetically honest, a horrible liar, and too virtuous for words. He gets up twice each night to relieve himself, wads his clothes rather than folds them, chews with his mouth open, and talks with his mouth full. He has a nasty habit of cracking his knuckles every morning at breakfast, and, of course, he snores. To remedy that, just put a rock under his blanket.

Hatred. Some people get filled with it and explode. If they survive, they move on. Others just let it dribble out over the years, like a leaky bucket. One day they notice the bucket is empty, and they wonder what had been in it in the first place. Still others use hatred as a weapon, going so far as to pass it onto others–an ugly, unwanted gift disguised as a virtuous heirloom.

Raithe enjoyed a good campfire. Something comforting about the dancing light, the smell of smoke, and the way his face and chest were hot but his backside cold. He sensed a profound meaning in this duality as well as in the enigma of flickering flames. The fire spirit spoke in spitting sparks and shifts of choking smoke, but the meaning of each remained a mystery. Everything in nature was that way. All of it spoke to him--to everyone--in a language few could understand. What secrets, what wisdom, and what horrors might he learn if only he knew what it all meant.

It's easier to believe the most outlandish lie that confirms what you suspect than the most obvious truth that denies it.

How can you regret never having found true love? That's like saying you regret not being born a genius. People don't have control over such things. It either happens or it doesn't. It's a gift - a present that most never get. It's more like a miracle, really, when you think of it. I mean, first you have to find that person, and then you have to get to know them to realize just what they mean to you - that right there is ridiculously difficult. Then... then that person has to feel the same way about you. It's like searching for a specific snowflake, and even if you manage to find it, that's not good enough. You still have to find its matching pair. What are the odds?

Don't worry, my son, if you don't believe in Maribor and the blessings He provides. Belief in Him isn't a requirement. It doesn't stop Him from believing in you. (capital H's added for reverence)

I just never noticed how little of me existed before. I was a shadow without a person.

Verily, for nine hundred years have I lost. Everyone I knew is dead, the empire gone, and who knows in what state the world is left. Should what thy sister reports prove true, much hath changed in the w

That’s what a good wife does, keeps your dreams alive even when you don’t believe anymore.

When you expect nothing from the world - not the light of the sun, the wet of water, nor the air to breathe - everything is a wonder and every moment a gift.

Sometimes the price of dreams is achieving them.

That's the thing about hatred, it can become rancid, and it'll turn into poison if you keep it bottled too long. Hatred will eat through any container and seep into the groundwater of a soul. Revenge is never enough to expel it because it keeps bubbling up anew. What you don't realize–can't really–is that by that time, it's all you are. You don't have the hate in you. The hate is you. When that wine is consumed, you won't ever be able to rid yourself of it. Can't vomit it up or spit it out. It'd be as impossible as escaping yourself.

Always remember that the tales of another are never as wondrous as your own.

I tried to find a way to go on. I could see familiar traces of the path that was my life, but there was always the wall behind me. Do you know what I mean? First you try and climb, pretending it never happened, but it's too tall. Then you try to go around, thinking you can fix it, but it is too far. Then, in frustration, you beat on it with your hands, but it does nothing, so you tire and sit down and just stare at it. You stare because you can't bring yourself to walk away. Walking away means that you're giving up, abandoning them. "There is no way back. There is only forward. It's impossible to imagine there's any reason to move ahead, but that isn't the real reason you give up. The real fear--the terror that keeps you rooted--is that you might be wrong." --Myron, Monk of Maribor

The thing about the old is that we never change so much as the young. We slip in degrees, adding rings like trees--a new wrinkle here, a shade less color there, but the young transform like caterpillars into butterflies. They become whole new people as if overnight.

Sharks don’t eat seafood because they like it, but because chicken can’t swim.

Arista," the wizard said, "sharks don't eat seafood because they like it, but because chickens don't swim. We all do the best we can with the tools we have, but at some point you have to ask yourself where the tools came from.

It was a trap after all,” Alric said. He turned to Royce. “My apologies for doubting your sound paranoia.

A lot can be determined by the choices we make, even if the action is initiated by self-preservation. Many ... no, most ... of our choices are driven by fear: fear of death, fear of humiliation, fear of loneliness. But it's how we respond to fear that matters. It's what defines us. What makes us who we are. So maybe in your mind you acted selfishly, but I'm alive because of the choice you made. So I'll remember it as an act of kindness and yes, even bravery.

When the dead betray the living, the victims are memories.--The Book of Brin

Slaying dragons, melting witches, and banishing demons is all fun and games until someone loses a sidekick—then it’s personal. The bad guy isn’t just the “bad guy” anymore, he’s the BAD GUY!

When you are so ashamed of your actions, thoughts, or intentions, you lie rather than accepting yourself for who you really are—or, in this case, pretend something happened when it didn’t. The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you.

If given a choice between a potentially great hardship and doing nothing, people gravitate toward what was most familiar and comfortable. That was why leadership was needed. To do what was necessary rather than what was easy.

And if you can't trust an ancient talking tree, what was the point of having one?

There always seemed to be a better way, except when it came to people. Once broken, people couldn't be repaired.

That living has no value - it's what you do with life that gives it worth.

And you? Did you find the doorknob?”Hadrian picked up a jug and downed several swallows, drinking so quickly some of the water dripped down his chin. He poured some in his palm and rinsed his face, running his fingers through his hair.“I didn’t even get close enough to see a door.”“Well, look on the bright side”—Hadrian smiled—“at least you weren’t captured and condemned to death this time.”“That’s the bright side?”“What can I say? I’m a glass-half-full kinda guy.

That night there was more than one killer in the forest, the next day a lot more ghosts.--The Book of Brin

You can go back to blacksmithing in Hintindar and live a quiet happy life. Do me a favor and marry some pretty farm girl and train your son to beat the crap out of imperial knights.""Sure," Hadrian told him. "And with any luck he'll make friends with a cynical burglar who'll do nothing but torment him.

If anyone had asked Royce Melborn what he hated most at that moment, he would’ve said dogs. Dogs and dwarves topped his list, both equally despised for having so much in common—each was short, vicious, and inexcusably hairy.

Take my advice: live your life to the fullest. Breathe the air, taste the wine, kiss the girls, and always remember that the tales of another are never as wondrous as your own.

I just want to say, for the record, as far as Royal protectors go, you're not very good.""It's my first day," Royce replied dryly."And already I am trapped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week.

That’s what a good wife does, keeps your dreams alive even when you don’t believe anymore

I know nothing about war. But let me tell you what I believe. I think running from responsibility breeds self-loathing and despair. I think people can, and do, rise to the occasion, and even a single person can make an incredible difference. What they need are leaders who believe in them, a belief that gives birth to hope. With hope, people can do remarkable things, amazing things.

Royce looked back down at the stream below. "She doesn't even know me. What if she doesn't like me? Few people do.""She might not at first. Maribor knows I didn't. But you have a way of growing on a person." He smiled. "You know, like lichen or mold.

See, that’s the difference,” Mauvin said. “I suffer a loss and people console me. Royce suffers a loss and whole towns evacuate.

Revenge is a bittersweet fruit that leaves the foul aftertaste of regret.

Bah!” Magnus scoffed. “Humans always blame dwarves. A baby goes missing and it was a dwarf that stole it. A princess runs off with a second son of a king and it was a dwarf who lured her to a deep prison. And when they find her with the prince—lo, she was rescued!“A king is stabbed in the back in his own chapel, and a princess’s toweris turned into a death trap,” Royce called back to them. “Friends arebetrayed and trapped in a prison—yes, I can see your surprise. Where do they get such ideas?”“Damn his elven ears,” Magnus said.