Once, when he asked her how much she wished him to contribute, she shrugged and said, “I don’t know. What does your conscience tell you, Howard? But, a man of true compassion would do better than you usually do, considering that you have more than you fair share of wealth, and the need is so great.”

He sighed. “How much do you and your friends need?”

“It is not me and my friends who need it, Howard, but the masses of humanity crying out for help. Our fellowship simply struggles to meet the need.”

“How much?” he repeated.

She said, “Five hundred gold crowns,” as if the number were a club she had been hiding behind her back, and, seeing the opening she had been waiting for, she suddenly brandished it to bully him.

With a gasp, Father staggered back a step. “Do you have any idea of the work required to make a sum of that size?”

“You do no work, Howard - your slaves do it for you.”

“Slaves! They are the finest craftsmen!”

“They should be. You steal the best workers from all over the land.”

“I pay the best wages in the land! They are eager to work for me!”

“They are the poor victims of your tricks. You exploit them. You charge more than anyone else. You have connections and make deals to cut out other armorers. You steal the food from the mouths of working people, just to line your own pockets.”

“I offer the finest work! People buy from me because they want the best. I charge a fair price for it.”

“No one charges as much as you and that’s the simple fact. You always want more. Gold is your only goal.”

“People come to me willingly because I have the highest standards. That is my goal! The other shops produce haphazard work that doesn’t proof out. My tempering is superior. My work is all proofed to a double-stamp standard. I won’t sell inferior work. People trust me; they know I create the best pieces.”

“Your workers do. You simply rake in the money.”

“The profits go to wages and to the business - I just sank a fortune into the new battering-mill!”

“Business, business, business! When I ask you to give a little something back to the community, to those in need, you act as if I wanted you to gouge out your eyes. Would you really rather see people die than to give a pittance to save them? Does money really mean more to you, Howard, than people’s lives? Are you that cruel and unfeeling a man?”

The only sovereign I can allow to rule me is reason. The first law of reason is this: what exists, exists; what is, is. From this irreducible, bedrock principle, all knowledge is built. This is the foundation from which life is embraced.

He carves a statue so dope that it topples the communist government where everyone is miserable and poor.

I remember he doesn’t feel like working so someone else has to do his work for him or something.

There’s a vaguely Asian bad guy whose army is defeated by a naked chick dumping ground-up glass from her galloping horse.

There’s some kind of gross monster called a gar that has flies or something in the first book.

I think someone has sex with a sword in a bathtub in the first book.

The naked chick gets badly hurt in battle and is nursed back to health by her bf leaving a glass of water too far away for her to reach.

I stopped reading as a teenager on the pillars of creation because even the author was getting bored and he introduced a bunch of new characters.

Her sleepiness vanished in a sucking rush as her power ignited.

The two figures in the center posed in a state of harmonious balance. The man’s body displayed a proud masculinity. Though the woman was clothed, there was no doubt as to her femininity. They both reflected a love of the human form as sunsuous, noble, and pure. The evil all around seemed as if it was recoiling in terror of that noble purity.

More than that, though, Richard’s statue exised without conflict; the figures showd awareness, rationality, and purpose. This was a manifestation of human power, ability, intent. This was life lived for its own sake. This was mankind standing proudly of his own free will.

This was exactly what the single word at the bottom named it:

LIFE

That it existed was proof of the validity of the concept.

this was life as it should be lived–proud, reasoned, and a slave to no other man. This was the rightful exaltation of the individual, the nobility of the human spirit.

Everything on the walls all around offered death as its answer.

This offered life.

Victor and Ishaq were on their knees, weeping.

deleted by creator

She dragged her hand through the whitewash. It was hot, like a wonderful bath. But this was no bath. She lifted her legs over the edge one at a time, and eased herself down into the silky-smooth white water. Her breasts felt buoyant in the milky pool. For a few minutes, she draped her arms over the sides of the tub, closed her eyes, and pretended it was a hot bath. She wished so much that it could be a bath. But it wasn’t.

“As punishment for trying to take my life, I take from you, not your life, but that which is most precious, most dear, most valuable!” With a flourish, he swept his hand dramatically over their heads. They gasped. “There. It is done,” he declared. Richard and Kahlan, who had been leaning against the house, stood up straight.

For a moment no one moved; then a fellow in the midst of the mob thrust his hand into his pocket and felt around. “My gold. It’s gone.”

Zedd rolled his eyes. “No, no, no. I said the most precious, the most dear. That which you pride above all else.”

Everyone stood a moment, confused. Then a few eyebrows went up in alarm. Another man suddenly thrust his hand into his pocket and felt around, eyes wide in fright. He moaned and then fainted. The ones near by drew back from him. Soon others were putting their hands in their pockets, cautiously feeling around. There were more moans and wails, and soon all the men were grabbing at their crotches in a panic. Zedd smiled in satisfaction. Pandemonium broke out among the mob. Men were jumping up and down, crying, grabbing at themselves, running around in little circles, asking for help, falling on the ground, and sobbing.

Grrratch luuug Raaaach aaarg.

Men behind Richard hit the line of evil’s guardians with unrestrained violence. People armed only with their hatred for moral clarity fell bloodied, terribly injured, and dead.

In the dark, the chicken thing let out a low chicken cackle laugh.

Standing there, erect, masculine, masterful in his black war wizard outfit, he looked as if he could be posing for a statue of who he was: the Seeker of Truth, rightfully named by Zeddicau Zu’l Zorander, the First Wizard himself - and Richard’s grandfather.