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Detachment is a flaw, not a virtue-don’t you realize that?

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
Flaw
Detachment
Flaws
Realize
Realizing
Virtue

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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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The soul knows no greater anguish than to take a breath that begins with love and ends with grief.
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Ambition is not a dirty word. Piss on compromise. Go for the throat.
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The stars, they are as the sun. Each star. Every star. And those spheres- they are worlds, realms, each one different yet the same.
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You’re loitering, citizen.” “Actually, I was hesitating.
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No purer artist exists or has ever existed than a child freed to imagine.
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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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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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I'll not deny I am impressed by your mastery of six warrens, Quick Ben. In retrospect, you should have held back on at least half of what you command. The man made to rise. But, Bauchelain, the wizard replied, I did.
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What matter the colour of the collar around a man's neck, if the chains linked to them were identical?
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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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Do mortal fools still measure the increments leading to their deaths, wagering pleasures against costs, persisting in the delusion that deeds have value, that the world and all the gods sit in judgment over every decision made or not made?
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Shake your fist all you want but dead is dead
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He was a man who would never ask for sympathy. He was a man who sought only to do what was right. Such people appear in the world, every world, now and then, like a single refrain of some blessed song, a fragment caught on the spur of an otherwise raging cacophony. Imagine a world without such souls. Yes, it should have been harder to do.
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If all we seek is an escape, what does that say about the world we live in? That village, that city, that life? We are desperate with our dreams. What - oh, what - does that say?
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Shadow is ever besieged, for that is its nature. Whilst darkness devours, and light steals. And so one sees shadow ever retreat to hidden places, only to return in the wake of the war between dark and light.
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The harder the world, the fiercer the honour.
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A celebration of insignificance, Is that all we are in the end? And one day I’ll just be one more of those faces, frozen in death and wonder
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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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For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives.
Steven Erikson