Life Is A Jest Of The Gods

Wyrd Bith Ful Araed (fate Is Inexorable).

The Bards Sing Of Love, They Celebrate Slaughter, They Extol Kings And Flatter Queens, But Were I A Poet I Would Write In Praise Of Friendship.

We Make Children And Wealth And Amass Land And Build Halls And Assemble Armies And Give Great Feasts, But Only One Thing Survives Us. Reputation.

You Know What Circumcision Is, Private?

I Sometimes Wonder What Would Have Happened If The First Book Had Not Sold... Doesn't Bear Thinking About, But I Suppose We'd Have Made It Work Somehow.