Lord Foul's Bane

We didn't make the world. All we have to do is live in it.

Where do you get dreams like this?

Something in her expression made Covenant feel that he came from a very poor world, where no one knew or cared about the healing of stoneware pots.

Gradually, the night stumbled as if stunned and wandering aimlessly into an overcast day -- limped through the wilderland of transition as though there were no knowing where the waste of darkness ended and the ashes of light began. The low clouds seemed full of grief -- tense and uneasy with accumulated woe -- and yet affectless, unable to rain, as if the air clenched itself too hard for tears. And through the dawn, Atiaran and Covenant moved heavily, unevenly, like pieces of a broken lament.

Futility is the defining characteristic of life.

A real man—real in all the ways that we recognize as real—finds himself suddenly abstracted from the world and deposited in a physical situation which could not possibly exist: sounds have aroma, smells have color and depth, sights have texture, touches have pitch and timbre. There he is informed by a disembodied voice that he has been brought to that place as a champion for his world. He must fight to the death in single combat against a champion from another world. If he is defeated, he will die, and his world—the real world—will be destroyed because it lacks the inner strength to survive. The man refuses to believe that what he is told is true. He asserts that he is either dreaming or hallucinating, and declines to be put in the false position of fighting to the death where no "real" danger exists. He is implacable in his determination to disbelieve his apparent situation, and does not defend himself when he is attacked by the champion of the other world. Question: Is the man's behavior courageous or cowardly? This is the fundamental question of ethics.

Pacing back and forth now on the spur of his conflicting needs, Covenant growled, "Baradakas said just about the same thing. By hell! You people terrify me. When I try to be responsible, you pressure me -- and when I collapse you -- You're not asking the right questions. You don't have the vaguest notion of what a leper is, and it doesn't even occur to you to inquire. _That's_ why Foul chose me for this. Because I can't-- Damnation! Why don't you ask me about where I come from? I've got to tell you. The world I come from doesn't allow anyone to live except on its own terms. Those terms-- those terms contradict yours." "What are its terms?" the High Lord asked carefully. "That your world is a dream.

For a moment after his voice faltered and fell, the sanctuary was silent, and the voice throbbed like weeping, as if in his words the people recognized themselves, recognized the failure he described as their own. But then a new voice arose. Saltheart Foamfollower said boldly, "My Lord, we have not reached our end. True, the work of our lifetime has been to comprehend and consolidate the gains of our forebearers. But our labour will open the doors of the future. Our children and their children will gain because we have not lost heart, for faith and courage are the greatest gift that we can give to our descendants. And the Land holds mysteries of which we know nothing -- mysteries of hope as well as of peril. Be of good heart, Rockbrothers. Your faith is precious above all things.

He lay in darkness, like a sacrifice; he could hear the teeth of his leprosy devouring his flesh. There was a smell of contempt around him, insisting on his impotence. But his lips were bowed in a placid smile, a look of fondness, as if he had come at last to approve his disintegration.

It may be that hope misleads. But hate—hate corrupts. I have been too quick to hate. I become like what I abhor.

Covenant did not reply at once. He trembled also, and hand to clench himself before he could say without a tremor, "Why? Why do you trust me?" The Hirebrand's eyes gleamed as if he were on the verge of tears, but he was smiling as he said, "You are a man who knows the value of beauty.

But then a bubbling tenor voice said kindly, "Do not fear. It is a dream." The reassurance spread over him like a blanket. But he could not feel it with his hands, and the ambulance kept on moving. Needing the blanket, he clenched at the empty air until his knuckles were white with loneliness.

I’m not alive.” She heard fury climbing to the top of his voice. “I’m a leper. Outcast unclean. Lepers are ugly and filthy. And abominable.” His words filled her with horror and protest. “How can it be?” she moaned. “You are not—abominable. What world is it that dares treat you so?

The idea that his wedding band was some kind of talisman nauseated him like the smell of attar.

In perfect unison, all the townspeople vomited gouts of blood onto the pavement.

Soon Covenant was lost again; the complexities of the

for faith and courage are the greatest gift that we can give to our descendants. And the Land holds mysteries of which we know nothing mysteries of hope as well as of peril.

Joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks. The world has few stories glad in themselves, and we must have gay ears to defy Despite" Foamfollower from (Lord Foul's Bane; 1977)

power is a dreadful thing, and that the knowledge of power dims the seeing of the wise.

But we will trust you nonetheless. You are bitter, and bitterness is a sign of concern. I trust that.

he felt as tired as if he had spent the whole night shouting at himself. While

A real man—real in all the ways that we recognize as real—finds himself suddenly abstracted from the world and deposited in a physical situation which could not possibly exist: sounds have aroma, smells have color and depth, sights have texture, touches have pitch and timbre. There he is informed by a disembodied voice that he has been brought to that place as a champion for his world. He must fight to the death in single combat against a champion from another world. If he is defeated, he will die, and his world—the real world—will be destroyed because it lacks the inner strength to survive. The man refuses to believe that what he is told is true. He asserts that he is either dreaming or hallucinating, and declines to be put in the false position of fighting to the death where no “real” danger exists. He is implacable in his determination to disbelieve his apparent situation, and does not defend himself when he is attacked by the champion of the other world. Question: is the man’s behavior courageous or cowardly? This is the fundamental question of ethics. Ethics!

Their flat, unreadable faces showed no signs of youth or age, as if their relationship with time was somehow ambivalent; and

Admonitions took over the ravaged playground of his mind.

These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives: for all the scents of green things growing, each breath is but an exhalation of the grave. Bodies jerk like puppet corpses, and hell walks laughing— Laughing

But he was dreaming. The way to endure a dream was to flow with it until it ended.