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February 4 - February 14, 2025
Only books died in Hell. Everyone else had to live with their choices.
It is likely headed to Earth. There’s nothing stronger than an unwritten book’s fascination with its author. But a book that finds its author often comes back damaged, and the author comes out . . . worse.”
“It’s always the Americans.”
“The Library exists in Hell; it doesn’t serve it. He’s not my Highness.”
“A lie. A dream. Good stories are both,” Claire dismissed. “Is it so bad? He’ll remember the story, turn it over carefully in the back of his mind, feel the edges of it like he would a lucky coin. A story will change him if he lets it. The shape and the spirit of it. Change how he acts, what dreams he chooses to believe in. We all need our stories; I just fed him a good one.”
We think stories are contained things, but they’re not. Ask the muses. Humans, stories, tragedies, and wishes—everything leaves ripples in the world. Nothing we do is not felt; that’s a comfort. Nothing we do is not felt; that’s a curse.
As long as there have been places like libraries—places attempting to preserve and curate—there have been forces attempting to acquire.
In the minds of its believers, Heaven must be perfect. Absent nothing, regretting nothing, wanting nothing. It makes sense, then, that Heaven has no wing of our library. What is a story without want, without desire, without need?
She dealt daily with condemned souls and demons because her own soul didn’t believe she deserved better.
Unwritten books yearn, and unwritten books change. Yet we expect them to remain timeless. I would say that’s an accurate description of Hell.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’”
“Learning changes a character. Changes a story.
The act of doing had a decisive power in itself.
Claire could leave behind her books, and Brevity would follow her anywhere. But there were things Brevity could not leave behind.
I’ve come to the conclusion that you just can’t subtract a human from the story, no matter how hard you try. Even death doesn’t do that.
Live too far past your tombstone, and you turn a bit stone yourself.
To be afraid was an exercise of self-inspired suffering, and Brevity wore inspiration in her skin.
“I know that it takes a rare heart to break and leave behind such a sharp, cutting edge.”
War has always followed libraries, my apprentice. History has made no effort to hide that truth from us. Look at Rome; look at the Crusades. Vanquishing an enemy and taking his books was just as strategic as taking his cannons. Books are knowledge weaponized. And what weapons you cannot steal, you must burn.
And he discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that success left him hollow.
“I might have disagreed with his choice, but I would not steal his right to make it, because I know how that feels.”
Every story has meaning, has power. Every story has the power to sustain, the power to destroy, the power to create. Stories shape time, for Pete’s sake.
The pain in death isn’t the dying. It’s the wounds we leave in our wake.”
“Forgiven doesn’t mean no regret. We’ll always regret the wrongs we’ve done. It just means you aren’t punishing yourself for it.”
The idea was strong: to rest, to stop, neither to run nor face her past.
Be good. No—be better than good: be happy.”
