“The worst kind of poison for despots: truth.”

“Tori gazed out on the calm Ancific Ocean across which, incredibly, she would be taking a coach.”

“He didn't know which he preferred: the Red, with its fatalistic and pious acceptance of all futures, or the Misery, acknowledging that the more you attracted notice, the worse God dealt with you.”

“The worst kind of poison for despots: truth.”

“The student asks: If my redstone necklace had every view of every veil that ever brightened, would I be wise? The master answers: If I had a thousand pieces of a priceless vase, would I be rich?”

“She shrugged. "Ownership is a fragile concept.”