Running ain't no bad thing. Leastways if you run in the right direction.

No man should go to Valhalla with brothel rash.

The way I’d put it,” said Makin, “is that Rike can’t make an omelet without wading thigh deep in the blood of chickens and wearing their entrails as a necklace.

At the dockside I was pleasantly surprised to find the North wasn't all hairy men in animal skins. There was also hairy women in animal skins.

Those were great big angry men with sharp swords actually wanting to cut pieces off me. It’s not until you’ve seen a red gaping wound and all the complex little bits inside a man all broken up and sliced open, and known that they weren’t ever getting back together again, and vomited your last two meals over the rocks . . . it’s not until then that you understand the business of swords properly and, if you’re a sensible man you vow to have nothing to do with it ever again.

The Lights..." said Norv the Raw, as if we might not have noticed.Before any further statements of the obvious could be made doors of gleaming steel started to slide down from recesses above every entrance above the Gilden Gate. The action accompanied by a squealing noise that set my teeth on edge, the sound of nails down Lundist's chalkboard."The doors..." said Norv. I resisted temptation to beat him around the head.

What's it going to take for you to open that door? Gold? Blood?""Your name and password.""My name is Honorous Jorg Ancrath, my password is divine right. Now open the fecking door.