Foundryside

All things have a value. Sometimes the value is paid in coin. Other times, it is paid in time and sweat. And finally, sometimes it is paid in blood. Humanity seems most eager to use this latter currency. And we never note how much of it we’re spending, unless it happens to be our own.

Pride…it’s so often an excuse for people to be weak.

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation.

Remember—move thoughtfully, give freedom to others, and you'll rarely do wrong ...

Do you feel free? Or do you feel, perhaps, like you have stolen yourself?

They said I was one thing. But I have changed my mind.

I did what was necessary to gain my freedom. Wouldn’t you?

The choices you make will change you over time, Sancia. Make sure they don’t change you into something you don’t recognize—or you might wind up like me.

Traditional," she echoed. "What a curious word that is. So bland, and yet often so poisonous.

There are many dangers here, child, she’d said once. Many. Many ugly things you’re going to have to do. It will be a great contest for you. And you’re going to think: How do I win? And the answer is—so long as you are alive, you are winning. The only hope you should ever have is to see the next day, and the next. Some here will whisper of liberty—but you can’t be free if you aren’t alive.

A struck match sounds like a kiss in the dark, sometimes. She remembered thinking that, watching the flame crack to life and then flutter down to the pools of alcohol running across the floor. No one had made it out. And as she’d sat and watched, she’d realized—master or slave, all screams sounded alike.

A struck match sounds like a kiss in the dark, sometimes.

Remember—move thoughtfully, give freedom to others, and you’ll rarely do wrong, Sancia. I’ve learned that now. I wish I’d known it in life.

Is this survival? Is this liberty? “Beats the hell out of me, kid,” said Clef’s voice, soft and sad.

Bad blood," he said, "is still blood.

You still define yourself as an item. That is only reason you can be controlled.

Sometimes you need a little revolution to make a lot of good.

To try to bind a person is like writing in the ocean.

Gregor Dandolo did his utmost to follow the laws: both the laws of the city, and his own moral laws of the universe. But more and more these days, one seemed to disagree with the other.

As if having you by force was the same as having you.

I survived. I keep surviving, it seems. It’s taught me many things. After Dantua…it was like a magic spell had been lifted from my eyes. We are making these horrors. We are doing this to ourselves. We have to change. We must change.

This is a rich man’s fight,” said Sancia. “A rich man’s game. And we’re all just pieces on the board to you. You think you’re different, Orso, but you’re just like all the rest of them!

Why are you out here risking your life? Is Justice such an odd thing to desire? Justice is a luxury. No said Gregor. It is not. It is a right. And it is a right that has long been denied. He stared out at the city...I would shed every drop of blood in my body for such a thing.

It’s like an eraser, only I designed it to be attracted to erase one specific thing... the tissue lining the human heart.

Justice is a luxury.” “No,” said Gregor. “It is not. It is a right. And it is a right that has long been denied.

That's what scriving is. Reality doesn't matter. If you can change something's mind enough, it'll believe whatever reality you choose.

Iron is iron. Stone is stone. Wood is wood. Objects have an uncomplicated sense of self, so to speak. Poeple, though, and living things... their sense of self is... complicated. Mutable. It changes. People don't think of themselves as just a bag of flehs and blood and bones, even if they basically are. They think of themselves as soldiers, as kings, as wives and husbands abd children... People can convince themselves to be anything, and because of that, the scrivings you bind them with can't stay anchored. To try to bind a person is like writing in the ocean.