Organizing gods is like herding cats into straight lines. They don’t take naturally to it.
Rattle his bones over the stones its only a pauper who nobody owns.
Without individuals we see only numbers: a thousand dead, a hundred thousand dead, “casualties may rise to a million.” With individual stories, the statistics become people – but even that is a lie, for the people continue to suffer, in the numbers that themselves are numbing and meaningless.
Bob Dylan sang about a hard rain that was going to fall, and Shadow wondered if that rain had fallen yet, or if it was something that was still going to happen.
If you saw two groups of children arguing over which of them could play in some waste ground, would you chose sides?
Few of us have seen the stars as folk saw them then – our cities and towns cast too much light into the night – but, from the village of Wall, the stars were laid out like worlds or like ideas, uncountable as the trees in a forest or the leaves on a tree.
If I could talk about it, I would not have to do it. I make art, sometimes I make true art, and sometimes it fills the empty places in my life. Some of them. Not all.
Sometimes fiction is a way of coping with the poison of the world in a way that lets us survive it.
We weren’t arguing,” said the bear. “Because we can’t talk.” Then it said, “Oops.
I feel like I’m in a world with its own sense of logic.
Listen, gods die when they are forgotten. People too. But the land’s still here. The good places, and the bad. The land isn’t going anywhere. And neither am I.
Gods are great,” said Atsula, slowly, as if she were imparting a great secret. “But the heart is greater. For it is from our hearts they come, and to our hearts they shall return...
Sometimes I think that the truth is a place. In my mind, it is like a city: there can be a hundred roads, a thousand paths, that will all take you, eventually, to the same place. It does not matter where you come from. If you walk towards truth, you will reach it, whatever path you take.
You eternals have long lives, but short memories. The changing people have short lives, but we do not forget.
Hemos sido inevitablemente retenidos por el mundo. Cuenta con volver a vernos cuando nos veas.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then her mouth opened against his, and her tongue slid into his mouth, and he was, under the strange stars, utterly, irrevocably, lost.
Books are real places, make no mistake about that.
I know it’s crooked, but it’s the only game in town.
One day every soldier in the empire has to shower in the blood of your sacrificial bull. The next they don’t even remember your birthday.
So life isn’t exciting?” continued Gary. “Great. Give me boredom. At least I know where I’m going to eat and sleep tonight. I’ll still have a job on Monday. Yeah?” He turned and looked at Richard. Richard nodded, hesitantly. “Yeah.