Quote

Tell me, Tool, what dominates your thoughts? The Imass shrugged before replying. I think of futility, Adjunct. Do all Imass think about futility? No. Few think at all. Why is that? The Imass leaned his head to one side and regarded her. Because, Adjunct, it is futile.

Steven Erikson

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Steven Erikson
Age: 65
Born: 1959
Born: October 7
Anthropologist
Archaeologist
Novelist
Writer
City of Toronto
Steve Rune Lundin
Steve Lundin
Thinking
Tool
Adjunct
Tools
Replying
Thoughts
Dominates
Side
Shrugged
Head
Futile
Sides
Leaned
Tell
Futility
Think
Regarded

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The harder the world, the fiercer the honour.
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Any reasonable ruler would have the expectation and the demand the other way round.
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Never, dear gods. Never mess with mortals.
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Shake your fist all you want but dead is dead
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There is no struggle too vast, no odds too overwhelming, for even should we fail - should we fall - we will know that we have lived.
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The art of illusion is grace itself.
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You must dismantle your sources, lest you do nothing but ape the prejudices of others
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Chaos needs no allies, for it dwells like a poison in every one of us.
Steven Erikson
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So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips - and those breasts - just wait till you start dropping whelps, they'll be at your ankles one day, big as they are - not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair - no, not the shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech.
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I have to feel what I'm writing, right down to the core.
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Your brain works with all the subtlety of a malicious child.
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A civilization can easily drown in what it knows as in what doesn't know. Consider,' he continued, Gotho's Folly. Gotho's curse was in being too aware - of everything. Every permutation, every potential. Enough to poison every scan he cast on the world. It availed him naught, and worse, he was aware of even that.
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First in , Last out. Motto of the bridgeburners
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And over it all, the butterflies swarmed, like a million yellow-pettalled flowers dancing on swirling winds.
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Ah, Meese has brought us her finest goblets! A moment, whilst Kruppe sweeps out cobwebs, insect husks and other assorted proofs of said goblets' treasured value.
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More than one philosopher has claimed that we ever remain children, far beneath the indurated layers that make up the armour of adulthood. Armour encumbers, restricts the body and soul within it. But it also protects. Blows are blunted. Feelings lose their edge, leaving us to suffer naught but a plague of bruises, and, after a time, bruises fade.
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Detachment is a flaw, not a virtue-don’t you realize that?
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War has its necessities...and I have always understood that. Always known the cost. But, this day, by my own hand, I have realized something else. War is not a natural state. It is an imposition, and a damned unhealthy one. With its rules, we willingly yield our humanity. Speak not of just causes, worthy goals. We are takers of life.
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The notion of evil for its own sake strikes me as boring -- all these Dark Lords intent on creating wastelands packed with enslaved victims... for what?
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We are all lone souls. It pays to know humility, lest the delusion of control, of mastery, overwhelms. And, indeed, we seem a species prone to that delusion, again and ever again. ~Fiddler, pg. 558
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