What doesn't bend must break, when dooms are apportioned and destiny takes the lead. As it will now, and as it must, until this struggle ends.
Ask yourselves if the gods are angry, you who have seen Harmony come among us, walk among us, touch us, look kindly upon us. We are the Sacred Band of Thebes. We fight in the forefront, therefore we bleed first. We live, therefore we die.
Makes you wonder if the gods are always right.
If, as Niko asks, you show them mercy, then the gods will be well pleased.
Arrows are cheap; you're expensive.
Look to the souls of Your own soldiers, God, who labor in Thine awful cause.
Stop grieving. Start giving thanks to me. You live to fight on other days.
Gods are nothing without their worshipers; they act on the affairs and the passions of men.
Keep your enemies at a distance, your partners close at hand.
Only from chaos does order come. The angry Fates bring death where they will, when war is king, says Enlil, storm god of the armies, and the tip of his crown rends the clouds above their heads. "Wheresoever I rule, death comes shambling after. So it has always been, is, and will be."
The sun is new every day
The heavens listen to what is said on these cobbles. Laws of man and nature come together here. Here you must be firm. Here you must be true.
Valor was in Nikodemos, unquestionable, and commitment like trees to stand or night to fall.
Revenge is never the best driver for a battle, but a common one.
What wastrel mankind destroyed takes time for nature to put to rights.
Live to fight on other days.
Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.
Strife brings all things into being on her battlefield. This I know. I have been there many times," says Vashanka, lord of sack and pillage. "I have died before.
Death's easy to find. If She wants you, you'll meet Her here as well as anywhere.
Death is a doorway, Niko, that leads to an adventure greater than any you have ever known.
For the gift of life, the only true thanks was in living fully, and facing death with honor.
Wars don't bring lasting peace, only lasting death.
If you want to write something completely unique, you will probably fail or at best write something without redeeming value. The mind works in certain patterns: the mind organizes facts in story form; it is your commonality with that body of human thought that makes a good book, not its estrangement from the common values that humans share.
Survival has its own etiquette.
All gods are tricksters, and war gods worst of any.
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