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(page 178 of 764)
"I'm a terrible reader of history. I perk up when something novelistic crops up--not even anecdotes, just, a letter that says to kill the bearer, or the grisly slo-mo comedy of hostile rampart construction duel, but otherwise, the slew of names and the hardnosed insights wash over me and past. I wish this book were not timely." — Mar 08, 2026 02:29PM
"I'm a terrible reader of history. I perk up when something novelistic crops up--not even anecdotes, just, a letter that says to kill the bearer, or the grisly slo-mo comedy of hostile rampart construction duel, but otherwise, the slew of names and the hardnosed insights wash over me and past. I wish this book were not timely." — Mar 08, 2026 02:29PM
“He had thought the story was *theirs*, People's, that he was in it by chance, somehow impelled into it by reasons not his, that it was a thing torn out of Ymr that shouldn't be in Ka at all. But Kits was right, it was he who'd been in it, not People, however much they wanted to be and he had not. It was his story, and the stories about the story were his too. He was girdled in story, trapped in story, and the only way out was through.”
― Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr
― Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr
“I become a spherical reflecting eye moving through the wilderness and ingesting it. Destroyer of the wilderness, I move through the land cutting a devouring path from horizon to horizon. There is nothing from which my eye turns. I am all that I see. Such loneliness! Not a stone, not a bush, not a wretched provident ant that is not comprehended in this traveling sphere. What is there that is not me? I am a transparent sac with a black core full of images and a gun.”
―
―
“My father is dead!" As soon as he'd said it, Fiskadoro saw he'd made it true again--again for the first time. Did it just go around and around? He began to see that his sorrow wasn't simple. It wasn't one thing, but a thousand things carrying him away to the Ocean: the work of a person's life was to drink it.”
― Fiskadoro
― Fiskadoro
“He had no name for it in the language of Ka; there was no name for it because he was the first Crow ever to feel it within him. Pity for them in the awful complications of the lives they built for themselves, laboring as helplessly and ceaselessly as bees building their combs, but their combs held no honey, he thought now. Useless, useless, and worse than useless, needless: the labor of their lives, the battles and deaths, and all their own doing. He lifted his wings to fly, to fly from this pity, but he could not; folded them in disorder; bowed with open mouth in pity.
If only he had not gone into Ymr. For out of Ymr he had brought pity into Ka, and now could never get it out.”
― Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr
If only he had not gone into Ymr. For out of Ymr he had brought pity into Ka, and now could never get it out.”
― Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr
“I couldn't be bothered to deal with fixing things. I preferred to wallow in the problem, dream of better days.”
― Eileen
― Eileen
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