For Nautzera there was no present, only the clamour of a harrowing past and the threat of a corresponding future. For Nautzera, the present had receded to a point, had become the precarious fulcrum wh...
Saying 'I could have done more,' Zin, is what marks a man as a man and not a God.
What did it mean to a prophet to sing in a God´s own voice? Would that make him a shaman, as in the days described in the Tusk? Or would it make him a god?
Nigdy nie uważał, że „czyta książki. Język był w tym wypadku równie zdradziecki, jak u hazardzisty, który przechwala się wygraną partią, tak jakby siłą lub determinacją wydarł losowi zwycięstwo, gdy t...
You know nothing of war. War is dark. Black as pitch. It is not a God. It does not laugh or weep. It rewards neither skill nor daring. It is not a trial of souls, not the measure of wills. Even less i...
Consequences lost all purchase when they became mad. And desperation, when pressed beyond anguish, became narcotic.
Set aside your conviction, Moënghus said, for the feeling of certainty is no more a marker of truth than the feeling of will is a marker of freedom. Deceived men always think themselves certain, just...
Complexity begets ambiguity, which yields in all ways to prejudice and avarice. Complication does not so much defeat Men as arm them with fancy.
There was such a difference, he thought, between the beauty that illuminated, and the beauty that was illuminated.
They so wanted it to be simple, believers. It is what is! they cried, sneering at the possibility of other eyes, other truths, overlooking their own outrageous presumption. It says what it says, spoke...
It was ever the same: Convince a man to take a single step--after all, what earthly difference could one step make?--and he would walk the next mile to prove himself right.
There was nothing the ignorant prized more than the ignorance of others.
Let us be moved, you and I, by the things themselves. Let us discover each other.
If we’re nothing more than our thoughts and passions, and if our thoughts and passions are nothing more than movements of our souls, then we are nothing more than those who move us.
Mystery made thing gigantic. Knowledge made small.
Desperation glares in all Men, but it burns as a beacon when it takes a King for tinder. A
You can only believe so many lies before becoming one of them.
You can count the bruises on your heart easily enough, but numbering sins is a far tricker matter. Men are eternally forgetting for their benefit. They leave it to the World to remeber, and to the Out...
Better blind in Hell than speechless in Heaven. —
For whatever reason, heavy drinking at once intensified and deadened the Dreams. The way they slurred into one another made them seem less immediate, more dreamlike, but the passions that accompanied...
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