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When stripped down to its bones, criticism is a form of oppression. Its intent is to manipulate both artist and audience, by imposing rules on aesthetic appreciation. Curiously, its first task is to belittle the views of those who appreciate a certain work but are unable or unwilling to articulate their reasons for doing so.
Misfits had a place in the world, and must be cherished, for one day, they might be needed.
HUST HENARALD’S EYES WERE LEVEL AND DARK, AS IF TO TEST THE weight of the words he was about to speak, to see if they sank claws deep into the man seated opposite him, or merely slipped past.
Loss was universal. It was life’s own language, after all.
This is death. Death is stillness. And stillness does not belong among the living.
‘The older you get,’ she said, in a tone that made her seem eye to eye with his grandmother, ‘the more you discover the truth about the past. You can empty it. You can fill it anew. You can create whatever truth you choose.
Thoughts unspoken left no scars upon others.
To know too much is to lose the wonder of mystery. In answering every question we forget the value of not knowing.’
I shall paint the face of darkness. I shall ride the dead down the throat of that damned god. I, Kadaspala, now avow this: world, I am at war with you. Outside – you, outside, hear me! The inside shall be unleashed. Unleashed. I shall paint the face of darkness. And give it a dead child’s eyes. Because in darkness, we see nothing. In darkness, behold, there is peace.
Much later, they told him that she had breathed out her last breath while under him, and Narad had then realized that on that morning, upon the hearthstone, beauty had died in his arms.
The brushes had done their work. The gods of the colours were all dead. Kadaspala sat slumped, with his eyes in his hands.
If a heart could have tears, then surely they were red.
‘I do not understand you Jaghut,’ Korya said. ‘Because you seek complexity where none exists.’
‘Grief is a powerful weapon, Arathan, but all too often it breaks the wielder.’
If a goddess of love had cruel children, he wondered, by what names would they be known?
What you must never expect, Orfantal, is joy unending, because it does not exist. Too many strive for the unachievable, and this pursuit consumes them. They rush frantic and desperate and so reveal weakness in the face of sadness. More than weakness, in fact. It is in truth a kind of cowardice, that which espouses an evasive disposition as if it were a virtue. But this bluster is frail work.’
He then heard, as if from a great distance, Lord Anomander speaking. ‘Caladan, if I ask this of you, that you show me how … will there be peace?’ And the Azathanai answered, ‘There will be peace.’
