La historia no admite leyes, sólo consecuencias.¿Qué determina las consecuencias? Las acciones depravadas y las acciones virtuosas.¿Y qué determina las acciones? Las creencias.
Escape is never further than the nearest book
Contemplating that, while the wealthy are no more likely to be born stupid than the poor, a wealthy upbringing compounds stupidity while a hardscrabble childhood dilutes it, if only for Darwinian reas...
Bagpipes and electric guitars usually end in tears
All purebloods have a hunger, a dissatisfaction in their eyes,
Your life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet, what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?
You were five or six, Raf. When you washed up on the rocks below you were in shock, you had hypothermia, you’d seen slaughter at close quarters, you’d drifted for heaven only knows how long in the col...
You underestimate humanity's ability to bring such evil into being.
You look for your meaning. You find it, and at that moment, your meaning changes, and you have to start all over again.
You have to know someone intimately to be able to love them. So love at sight is a contradiction in terms. Unless in that first sight there's some sort of mystical gigabyte downloading of information...
You groan and shake your head, Sixsmith, I know, but you smile too, which is why I love you.
You & I, the moneyed, the privileged, the fortunate, shall not fare so badly in this world, provided our luck holds. What of it if our consciences itch? Why undermine the dominance of our race, our gu...
Yay, when it came to faces, pretty lies was better'n scabbin' true
Wrong turns teach us the right way.
Writing’s a pathology, I say. I’d pack it in tomorrow, if I could.
Writing poetry's,' I looked around the solarium, but Madame Crommelynck's got a tractor beam, 'sort of . . . gay.' 'Gay? A merry activity?' This was hopeless. 'Writing poems is . . . what creeps and p...
Who was blowing on the nape of my neck.
When watching the news, it’s so easy to forget what most of us are like: pleasant, polite, socially shy. We don’t want rows, we want a quiet life. We feel inadequate because we don’t protest and argue...
When a parent dies, a filing cabinet full of all the fascinating stuff also ceases to exist.
What's wrong, de Zoet? You look like your breeches are beshatten.