Quote

Tonight I will suck the marrow from your bones!” it said. “I will dry them and work them most cunningly into instruments of music! Whenever I play upon them, your spirit will writhe in bodiless agony!” “You burn prettily,” I said.

Roger Zelazny

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Roger Zelazny
Age: 58 †
Born: 1937
Born: May 13
Died: 1995
Died: June 14
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Euclid
Ohio
Roger Joseph Zelazny
Roger Joseph Christopher Zelazny
Harrison Denmark
Instruments
Cunningly
Whenever
Suck
Upon
Marrow
Spirit
Agony
Music
Dry
Play
Burn
Bodiless
Work
Tonight
Prettily
Bones
Writhe

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The absence of a monument can, in its own way, be something of a monument also.
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When your bow is broken and your last arrow spent, then shoot, shoot with your whole heart.
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Between the black of yesterday and the white of tomorrow is the great gray of today.
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Go and copulate with yon purple lizard.
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Sleep is perhaps the only among life's great pleasures which need not be of short duration.
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To paraphrase Oedipus, Hamlet, Lear, and all those guys, I wish I had known this some time ago.
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If I get enough letters saying you never explained this or that, I suppose I'll have to write another book.
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The day of battle dawned pink as the fresh-bitten thigh of a maiden.
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There's no such thing as civilization. The word just means the art of living in cities.
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When you are about to die, a wombat is better than no company at all.
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The four points of the compass be logic, knowledge, wisdom and the unknown. Some do bow in that final direction. Others advance upon it. To bow before the one is to lose sight of the three. I may submit to the unknown, but never to the unknowable. The man who bows in that final direction is either a saint or a fool. I have no use for either.
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My mind spun for a second before it drifted, and in that second I knew that of all pleasures a drink of cold water when you are thirsty, liquor when you are not, sex, a cigarette after many days without one there is none of them can compare with sleep. Sleep is best.
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I'm a lost soul. We do wail.
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Any man would be forsworn to gain a kingdom.
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Thus did I bear Sir Lancelot de Lac to the Keep of Ganleon, whom I trusted like a brother. That is to say, not at all.
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The universe did not invent justice. Man did. Unfortunately, man must reside in the universe.
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The dead are too much with us.
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There are none of you, good doctors, could cope with my family anyway.
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At the end of the season of sorrows comes the time of rejoicing. Spring, like a well-oiled clock, noiselessly indicates this time.
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Nick swore he'd die with this boots on, on some exotic safari, but he found his Kilimanjaro in a hospital on Earth, where they'd cured everything that was bothering him, except for the galloping pneumonia he'd picked up in the hospital. That had been, roughly, two hundred and fifty years ago. I'd been a pallbearer.
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