Proving once again that the World Eaters are more eloquent than it's naysayers could ever realise. "But wait, aren't you supposed to be stupid, frothing-at-the-mouth lunatics? Who ever thought you could spout philosophy at the same time!" -- dead Eccelesiarch emissary.
Perhaps Crusade-era World Eaters/War Hounds. Not so much since Kharn earned his infamous title. I would argue that there are a couple of good World Eater quotes in the book "Outcast Dead." To me it's one of the best stories that shows the inherent loyalty and brotherhood shared amongst the sons of Angron before they went full Khorne.
I didn't think there was much in the way of books at all about Khorne Berzerkers and the World Eaters nowadays anyway.
The Iron Within. The Iron Without. Iron everywhere. The galaxy laced with its cold promise. Did you know that Holy Terra is mostly iron? Our Olympian home, also. Most habitable planets and moons are. The truth is we are an Imperium of iron; while the heavy metal cores of burgeoning worlds generate fields that shelter life - sometimes human life - from the razing flare of such stellar ancients. Empires are measured in more than just conquered dirt. Every Iron Warrior knows this. They're measured in hearts that beat in common purpose, thundering in unison across the void: measured in the blood that spills from our Legiones Astartes bodies, red with iron and defiance. This is the iron within and we can taste its metallic tang when an enemy blade or bullet finds us wanting. Then the Iron Within becomes the Iron Without, as it did on what we only now understand to be the first day of the Great Siege of Lesser Damantyne... The Iron Within. The Iron Without. Iron everywhere. Empires rise and they fall. I have fought the ancient species of the galaxy and my Legiones Astartes brothers will fight on, meeting new threats in dangers yet unrealised. We are an Imperium of iron and iron is forever. When our flesh is long forgotten, whether victim to the enemy within or the enemy without, iron will live on. Our hives will tumble and our mighty fleets decay. Long after our polished bones have faded to dust on a gentle breeze, our weapons and armor will remain. Remnants of a warlike race: the iron of loyalist and traitor both. In them our story will be told - a cautionary tale to those that follow. Iron cares not for faith or heresy. Iron is forever. And as our battle-plate, our blades and our bolters rot in the sand of some distant world, they will pit and tarnish. Their dull sheen will corrode and crumble. Grey will turn to brown and brown to red. In the quietly rusting scrap of our fallen empire, iron will return to its primordial state, perhaps to be used by some other foolish race. And though the weakness of my flesh fails me, as the weakness of my brothers' flesh will ultimately fail them, our iron shall live on. For iron is eternal. From Iron cometh Strength. From Strength cometh Will. From Will cometh Faith. From Faith cometh Honor. From Honor cometh Iron. This is the Unbreakable Litany. And may it forever be so. -Rob Sanders, "The Iron Within"
"I tried to salvage your pride by telling you honestly and clearly. Look at Xarl. Look at Lucoryphus. Look at the Exalted. Look at Halasker, or Dal Karus, or any son of the Eight Legion. The blood on our hands is there because human fear tastes so very fine. Not through vengeance or righteousness, or to ensure our father's name echoes through the ages. We are Eighth Legion. We kill because we are born to kill. We slay because it is fuel for the soul. Nothing else remains to us. Accept that, and... and stand... with us." (Uzas, Khornate Night Lord to Talos Valcoran)
