Janet Ellen Morris (born May 25, 1946) is an American author of fiction and nonfiction, best known for her fantasy and science fiction and her authorship of a non-lethal weapons concept for the U.S. military.
Gods colliding, ethos and mythos trying to combine. The Sacred Band caught up in a whirlwind not of any god's devising: he and Niko had wanted to save twenty-three pairs of fated Theban fighters. Now everything feels fated and fighting oversweeps its boundaries of time and place and plane.
You're talent, and we're the talent scouts.
Very little in science fiction can transcend the gimmickry of a technical conceit, yet without that conceit at its heart a book is not truly science fiction. Furthermore, so little emerging thought and technology is employed by sf writers today that the genre is lagging far behind reality both in the cosmology area and the technology area: sf is no longer a place to experiment, but is now very derivative.
Niko knew death like a sister - she was his true partner in the phenomenal world.
If, as you teach, the universe has no beginning and no end, why should we?
Loyalty must be forged - to him, to his: stronger than iron, from experience, from risk - it can't be bought, or taught, or promised before the fact. Allegiance must be earned so it will hold, win or lose.
I thought we'd die there, quarrels in our backs, you for what you did and me for bearing witness.
I'm going to kill that god of yours, next. Then we'll see what you can do, and what you can't.
"Mercy is not in favor in my heavens today," says Vashanka, unforgiving and combative, folding vast arms and spearing Harmony with lightning that crackles from his gaze.
This is for you. A mage named Randal told me to give it to the Band if you ever came back. 'It surmounts evil,' he told me, 'keeps doom at bay. '
Men are fools who forget what really matters while time goes by.
Here and now was always where Tempus was, not off somewhere in the realm of Greater Good or Mortal Soul or Eternal Consequence. He'd lost the ability to determine greater good, if there was one; his mortal soul he'd given up on long ago. And as for eternal consequence - he was its embodiment.
I survive. I survived it all then and I'll survive the rest of it. Without your help.
Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.
Something awful is always going to happen, Arton. It's Sanctuary. You're a Stepson. Awful is a big part of your job.
This fight coming is not a battle of weapons, but a battle of wills.
Wanting neither too much to live, nor too much to die.
In every age he had ever studied, doomsayers abounded. No millennium is attractive to the man immured in it; enough prophecies have been made in antiquity that one who desires, in any age, to take the position that apocalypse is at hand can easily defend it. He would not join that dour order; he would not worry about anything but Tempus, and the matter awaiting his attention.
Gods have bloody hands.
Be polite to all, friendly to none. Be professional. Be ready to kill everyone and everything.