The Illearth War (The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, #2)

by Stephen R. Donaldson

Futility is the defining characteristic of life. Pain is the proof of existence. In the extremity of his moral solitude, he had no other answers.

But madness is not the only danger in dreams. There is also the danger that something may be lost which can never be regained.”

When inadequate men assumed huge burdens, the outcome could only serve Despite.

“Jesus,” Troy muttered. “You make it sound as if leprosy is all there is.”

“Hear me, my friends. I do not speak to darken your hearts, but to warn against false hope and wishful dreams, which could unbind the thews of purpose. We are the chance of the Land. We have striven for worth. Now our worthiness meets its test. Harken, and make no mistake. This is the test which determines.

I have no special virtue to make me resent him. One must have strength in order to judge the weakness of others. I am not so mighty.”

“Thomas Covenant, I believe that there is immeasurable strength in the consummation of despair—strength beyond all conceiving by an

unholocausted soul.

He taught me that my life is my own—that I could share in the care and consolation of wounds without sharing the wounds, without striving to be the master of lives other than my own.

He concentrated on her as only a man deeply familiar with loneliness could.

When he lay awake late at night, shivering feverishly, he had a bad taste of rationalization in his mouth.

The barren stone was like his inefficacy—irreducible and binding.