The earth's a door if you press your ear against it.
I hear my father-in-law's response..."Naïve, dreaming Adam. He who would do battle with the many-headed hydra of human nature must pay a world of pain & his family must pay it along with him! & only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand, your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean!" Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?
A life can get knocked into a new orbit by a car crash, a lottery win or just a bleary-eyed consultant giving bad news in a calm voice.
Oh, diplomacy ... it mops up war's spillages; legitimizes its outcomes; gives the strong state the means to impose its will on a weaker one, while saving its fleets and battalions for weightier opponents.
As long as you can Houdini your way out of the Sisyphean constraints then originality happens.
Science devises ever bloodier means of war until humanity's powers of destruction overcome our powers of creation and our civilisation drives itself to extinction.
I'm not from a milieu where high-register language or philosophical ideas were welcome.
Writing is probably one-fifth coming up with the stuff, and four-fifths self-editing again and again and again.
Lunatics are writers whose works write them.
A novelist needs to know his own strong points and weak points.
I have always preferred maps to books. They don't answer you back.
Time is the speed at which the past decays.
I pass through many Me's in the course of my day, each one selfish with his time. The Lying-in-Bed me and the Enjoying-the-Hot-Shower Me are particularly selfish. The Late Me loathes the pair of them.
I still haven't quite got used to eating live fish.
I think the story is the most ancient form of human entertainment.
I think words operate like musical notes that the eyeball hears.
I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive of doing so.
Who was blowing on the nape of my neck?
The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.
Try this for deviancy: fabricants are mirrors held up to purebloods' conscience; what purebloods see reflected there sickens them. So they blame you for holding the mirror." I hid my shock by asking when purebloods might blame themselves. Mephi replied, "History suggests, not until they are made to.
Pain is strong, aye - but friends' eyes, more strong." I told him that he knows next to nothing about me & I know nothing about him. He jabbed at his eyes & jabbed at mine, as if that single gesture were ample explanation.
If losers can exploit what their adversaries teach them, yes, losers can become winners in the long term.
Perpetual encagement endows any mirage of salvation with credibility.
Anticipating the end of the world is humanity's oldest passtime
I'm from a time and place where bigheadedness was a really savage crime, and you'd get cut down for it by your peers and parents.
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