“Other folk thought the Rage was simple bloodlust, a berserk savagery that neither knew nor cared what its target was, and so it was when it struck without warning. But when a hradani gave himself to it knowingly, it was as cold as it was hot, as rational as it was lethal. To embrace the Rage was to embrace a splendor, a glory, a denial of all restraint but not of reason. It was pure, elemental purpose, unencumbered by compassion or horror or pity, yet it was far more than mere frenzy.”
“Shergahn and friend lay like poleaxed steers, and the Daranfelian's greasy hair was thick with potatoes, carrots, gravy, and chunks of beef. His companion had less stew in his hair, but an equally large lump was rising fast, and Brandark flipped his improvised club into the air, caught it in proper dipping position, and filled it once more from the pot without even glancing at them. He raised the ladle to his nose, inhaled deeply, and glanced at the cook with an impudent twitch of his ears.
"Smells delicious," he said while the laughter started up all around the fire. "I imagine a bellyful of this should help a hungry man sleep. Why, just look what a single ladle of it did for Shergahn!”
“Hot, bright heat filled him like some ecstatic poison, and Hartan's pony shied in terror as a wordless howl burst from his throat. His dripping ears were flat to his skull, fire crackled in his brown eyes, his huge sword blurred in a whirring figure eight before him, and the brigand running at him gawked in sudden panic. The raider's feet skidded in mud as he tried to brake, but it was far too late. He was face-to-face with the worst nightmare of any Norfressan, a Horse Stealer hradani in the grip of the Rage, and a thunderbolt of steel split him from crown to navel.”
“The splendor of that moment, its transcendent glory and aliveness, haunted him. He could thrust it aside by day, but it poisoned his dreams by night, calling to him and pleading with him to unlock the chains he'd bound about it.”
“Well, thank the gods,' he sighed.
'Oh? And what would it be you're thanking them for?' Bahzell inquired, and Brandark grinned.
'For making roads and letting us find one. Not that I'm complaining, you understand, but this business of following you cross-country without the faintest idea where I am can worry a man.”
“If you think it's bad now, my friend, wait till we reach a town!' He shook his head and brushed at his tattered, dirty shirtsleeve. 'Do try to remember we're visitors-and not welcome ones-if you should feel moved to reason with anyone.”
“Falderson," he said quietly to Bahzell in passable Navahkan, "is as stupid as the day is long." He craned his neck to gaze up at the hradani and shook his head. "In fact, he's even stupider than I thought. You, sir, are the biggest damned hradani-no offense-I think I've ever seen.”
“Each and every one of these leaders was a Negro citizen of the United States. They had earned the right to guide us, help us, not because their colored forebears helped free us and defend us in the Revolutionary War, in the War of 1812, in the Union Army of Lincoln and Grant, in the First and Second World Wars, in Korea, but because they were part of our whole, part of each of us, with the same stakes and goals.”
“A good approach is to allow one dream per novel. Then, in the final revision, go back and get rid of that, too.”
“To be my wisdom, as Air, my steadiness, as Earth …” He took a deep breath. “And my passion and my heart, as Fire and Water. And if you would have it so, I would be these things to you.” He felt her trembling in his embrace: she, Aggra, strong and courageous. She pulled back a little and laid her hand on his chest, her eyes searching his. “Go’el, as long as you have this great heart to lead—and to love—then know that I will go with you to the ends of any world and beyond.” He placed a hand on her cheek, green skin against brown, then leaned forward slowly to rest his forehead gently against hers.”
“The self is a repeatedly reconstructed biological state.”
“In his own words Adorno said his music was Stalinist or Fascist and he used “big concepts to see if they sound right and fit the data.” In these words can be found the key to why he was engaged by Tavistock to write music based on the 12-atonal system of music that “sounded right” and he then “fit the data” namely, he wrote the lyrics to match, so that what emerged was an 18 album set he wrote for the Beatles. Underlying the whole Beatle music concept was Adorno’s long held belief that capitalism was evil, because it “fed the people with products of a culture industry to keep them passively satisfied and politically apathetic.” His “Beatle 12-atonal music” would throw a wrench into the works of the world’s biggest capitalist state, the United States of America.”
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