The Hod King (The Books of Babel, #3)

by Josiah Bancroft

Some men seem to think that temperance is preservative, that moderation somehow pickles the soul. They would place their beating hearts inside jam jars if they could. Which does beg the question, what on earth are they saving themselves for?

The ringdom’s king behaved more like a court jester than a regent, and was beloved for it, much in the same way a permissive father is adored by his unruly brats.

“Of course it’s dangerous!” The Sphinx laughed. “Most things worth doing are.

A Boskop’s ideal party was one that no one attended and that ended early, with the host going to bed with his own wife, of all people.

Songs are emotional. It’s better to play sincere mistakes than lifeless perfection.

This world is full of tyrants, full of men who can’t raise themselves up by their own pursuits, and so they spend their lives pulling others down to their low and loathsome level.

“Let’s not stand on ceremony, Cyril. In my experience, the men that lean hardest on their titles are the ones who did nothing to earn them. I loathe men whose greatest accomplishment was being born.”

Don’t saw off your arm to feed a dog. You only have two arms, and the world is full of dogs.

Intimacy was not about maintaining the idealistic charade of courtship; it was about embracing and adoring the flaws, the very things that the headmaster of Isaugh had never been quite able to admit in himself.

DO NOT SHOOT THE MESSENGER. OUR MESSENGERS SHOOT BACK. Sensing Senlin’s puzzlement,

Senlin felt the particular mixture of glumness and regret that only people who’ve arrived early to a party know.

After months of thinking of what he might say to Marya, it was finally time to decide what he would say to her. And yet faced with that question, his thoughts dove after every opportunity for distraction. Suddenly, everything was fascinating: a sweat ring on the table, the constellation overhead of a lion that looked markedly dog-faced, the congested laughter of a passing lord, a pair of young ladies dancing with their skirts held out like the wings of a bird.

Ecstasy lies in that brief silence at the end of a play, when the performance is over but the applause has not yet begun.

If something wasn’t a rule, then it was a custom. And if it wasn’t a custom, then it was ladylike, an adjective that was as expansive as it was loathsome.

the benefit of etiquette: It tells us what to do when no one knows what to do.”

many things at once that you’re practically nothing at all. If you crush a mountain and spread it across a continent, it doesn’t make little mountains; it just vanishes into dust.”

My grandfather, the royal magistrate, famously said: “Sometimes a prisoner would rather stare at a bare wall than a barred window.” Or, put another way, ladies: “Do not taste the cake your figure cannot afford.”

You don’t offer a wounded person assistance once and then strut off, patting yourself on the back for the good deed you almost did.

all society will ever do is throw fights out in front of you. It exists to goad you and get your hackles up. But if you take a swing at every bully that steps into your path, you’re going to end up with a lot of black eyes, and you’re going to make a lot of enemies.

“What do you call a person who really comes to appreciate the taste of something?” Iren said, frowning with thought. “A clowning sir?” “A connoisseur?” Byron suggested. “That’s it. I made him a connoisseur of my boot.”

Iren had told Voleta that morning that if the wharf rats of New Babel had ever caught her in a bonnet, they would have died of laughter—because when they laughed, she would have strangled them.

“I’m afraid you’re going to be subjected to some rather rigorous entertainment.” “My lady loves parties,” Iren said. “Oh, I’m sure she does. Everyone does … at first.”

She wore her moods like an old woman wears scent—to grand excess.

Smiles are like candlelight. They can warm and cheer the bleakest room. But we would be wise not to forget: Even the brightest candle hides a blackened wick.

The real trouble was, most of the time she struggled to understand people’s motives. Everyone was just so small-minded, so obsessed with observing and being observed, obsessed with popularity and reputation, with approval and romance, none of which meant much to her.

If you pretend to be something long enough, you eventually become it, don’t you?”

He could gin up almost any luxury, any treat, any wonder of the world except worthy company.

“She is a wonderful mother. She was a patient wife, too. My father was always so nervous about being liked at work and putting in enough hours. It was never enough hours.”

There is little less charming than a spurned woman. I’d rather be cornered by a house fire than a heartbroken girl.

He had discovered that listening to music through a wall was like kissing a woman through a pane of glass: It stripped away all the physical delight and left behind only the absurd shape of the thing, which was repulsive. Having to put up with the spoiled musicians and their entitled visitors only added insult to aesthetic injury.

Surely they would blame the knowledge rather than its application,

He could not hate himself and love her at the same time. He had to choose to love. Not just once, but again and again for the rest of his life.

Truth be told, he thought hills superior to mountains in almost every way. Hills did not require him to crawl along on all fours, nor did they test his faith in the power of ropes, nor scuff his hands on their unforgiving corners. The headmaster of old, who only ever attempted a summit that could be conquered in an afternoon, fancied himself something of an aspiring mountaineer.

“You know, if you don’t let yourself think about what you’re eating while you’re eating it, these are still nearly inedible.”

sarcasm is a legitimate dramatic method.” “And yet somehow, I’m not the one who’s been shot twice in a week,” Goll said. “I’ve only been shot once.” “Keep talking!” Goll shook the gun at him, eliciting a not very intimidating rattle.

“See!” the Sphinx said happily. “You need Reddleman to fly your ship, and he needs you to change his batteries. Mutual need is better than trust.”

An unexpected knock on my apartment door is as welcome as the drums of an invading army.

“Elimination is its own sort of progress, Captain. Knowing what a thing isn’t brings us one step closer to knowing what it is!”

She was learning a curious truth about miracles: when piled together, they became ordinary.

The rich “learn lessons.” The poor commit crimes. “Mistakes” are generally considered a mark of the middle class.

“Why are the young so impatient when they have the most time!”

“It’s the curse of unintended consequences,” Edith said. “It’s the curse of giving a damn!”

Sliding back into her chair, she experienced the arrival of her feelings like an approaching rain shower, beginning with a few tentative thrilling drops, then a dozen or so pattering thoughts, then the sudden cloudburst of all the implications and worries and wonders that came along with the possibility of love, all falling more quickly than she could catch.

Even as Edith made the decision, she knew it would haunt her.

She had risen early more out of eagerness to be finished with the night than enthusiasm for the day.

A predictable man was as good as an honest one to the Sphinx.

Your control, your balance, your security—all of it depends upon good posture and a firm grip.”

Gardon was the sort of person who liked to farm praise by self-criticism.

my inner nemesis is a crueler critic than my gravest enemy. So what? I still have to sleep with the fellow!

An earnest failure is superior to immaculate potential.