Interruption is weakness, young Kellhus. It arises from the passions and not from the intellect. From the darkness that comes before. I understand, Pragma. The cold eyes peered through him and saw thi...
Love is like sleep. One can never seize, never force love.
Love is lust made meaningful. Hope is hunger made human.
The darkness was crisp, as though scraped of sight and smell by winter’s razor.
Master, Malowebi once asked, what is the path to truth? Ah, little Malo, old Zabwiri had replied, the answer is not so difficult as you think. The trick is to learn how to pick out fools. Look for tho...
Men, Kellhus had once told her, were like coins: they had two sides. Where one side of them saw, the other side of them was seen, and though all men were both at once, men could only truly know the si...
Most men would rather die in deception than live in uncertainty.
Nau-Cayûti’s eyes gleamed like bared teeth in the gloom.
That’s the horrible fact of sinners. We’re indistinguishable from the righteous.
No soul moves alone through the world, Leweth. Our every thought stems from the thoughts of others. Our every word is but a repetition of words spoken before. Every time we listen, we allow the moveme...
No, Leweth. You fled to remember. You fled to conserve all the ways your wife had moved you, to shield the ache of her loss from the momentum of others. You fled to make a bulwark of your misery.
While waiting for the hidden machinery of messengers and secretaries to relay his request, Achamian wandered into an adjoining courtyard, struck by the other immensities that framed his present circum...
All Kellhus could see of his father were two fingers and a thumb lying slack upon a bare thigh. The thumbnail gleamed.As Dûnyain, the disembodied voice continued, you had no choice. To command yoursel...
All men recited self-aggrandizing stories, words of ascendancy and exception, to balm the inevitable indignities of fact. An emperor need only repeat those stories to command the hearts of men.
Sometimes he would stare at the bare trees for so long, they would lose their radial dimensions and seem something flat, like blood smeared into the wrinkles about an old woman’s eyes.
We Dûnyain, Cnaiür, are guides and trackers, students of the Logos, the Shortest Way. Of all the world, we alone have awakened from the dread slumber of custom. We alone. He drew Cnaiür’s young hand t...
He had despised the sorcerer, thinking him one of those mewling souls who forever groaned beneath burdens of their own manufacture.
He looked like a bored boy deciding whether to poke a dead fish.
He struck his own fire, listened to the night wind roar through the trees. Sometimes, when he could see it, he stared at the Conriyan encampment and counted fires like an idiot child. „Always number y...
Kings never lie. They demand the world be mistaken. —CONRIYAN PROVERB When
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