I arrived back in Manchester Airport late last night after visiting Lyuba in Bulgaria. My jar of leftover Bulgarian Lev is now very well stocked.
I’ve been wanting to read The Lord of the RIngs the whole time I was away, for some reason. Now I’ve returned to my books, including not a few copies of LOTR, I’ve decided I’m going to read the nice hardback illustrated editions that I bought from Oxfam books during my first ever term in Oxford.
Anyway, I’m home now, and I read a few books while I was away (me and Lyuba are a very boring couple like that) so more quotes will follow soon! Expect Iain M. Banks and Terry Pratchett!
Plays and books … you’ve got to keep an eye on the buggers. They’ll turn on you.
Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies
They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force - nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.
But Marlow was not exceptional (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine.
Sometimes I think this whole city was put here simply because the gods must adore crime. Pickpockets rob the common folk, merchants rob anyone they can dupe, Capa Barsavi robs the robbers and the common folk, the lesser nobles rob nearly everyone, and Duke Nicovante occasionally runs off with his army and robs the shit out of Tel Verarr or Jerem, not to mention what he does to his own nobles and his common folk.
My friends, you are outcasts, though you do not know it, and you have forfeited your place on earth. For there are two races - trees and man; and for each there is a different dispensation. Trees are silent, motionless, serene. They live and die, but do not know the taste of either life or death; to them a secret has been entrusted but not revealed. But the other tribe - the passionate, tragic, rootless tree - man? Alas! He is a creature whose highest privileges are a curse. In his mouth is ever the bitter-sweet taste of life and death, unknown to the trees. Without respite he is dragged by the two wild horses, memory and hope; and he is tormented by a secret that he can never tell. For every man worthy of the name is an initiate, but each one into different Mysteries.