“I guess each of us, at some time, finds one person with whom we are compelled toward absolute honesty, one person whose good opinion of us becomes a substitute for the broader opinion of the world. And that opinion becomes more important than all our sneaky, sleazy schemes of greed, lust, self-aggrandizement, whatever we are up to while lying the world into believing we are just plain nice folks. I was her truth object, and she was mine.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“I guess each of us, at some time, finds one person with whom we are compelled toward absolute honesty, one person whose good opinion of us becomes a substitute for the broader opinion of the world.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“About you and me, Croaker and his gang, the Lady, Silent, Darling. About all the things we had in common but still couldn’t get along.” “I didn’t see all that much you had in common. Not once you got past having the same enemies.” “Neither did I for a long time. And none of them saw it, either. Else we all might have tried a little harder.” I tried to look like I gave a shit at three in the morning. “Basically we’re all lonely, unhappy people looking for our place, Case. Loners who’d really rather not be but don’t know how. When we get to the door that would let us in—or out—we can’t figure out how to work the latch string.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“Something he had heard some wise man say. About the three stages of empire, the three generations. First came the conquerers, unstoppable in war. Then came the administrators, who bound it all together into one apparently unshakable, immortal edifice. Then came the wasters, who knew no responsibility and squandered the capital of their inheritance upon whims and vices. And fell to other conquerers.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“My name is Case. Philodendron Case. Thanks to my Ma. I’ve never even told Raven about that. That’s why I joined the army. To get away from the kind of potato diggers that would stick a name like that on a kid. I had seven sisters and four brothers last time I got a head count. Every one is named after some damned flower. A girl named Iris or Rose, what the hell, hey? But I got a brother named Violet and another brother named Petunia. What kind of people do that do their kids? Where the hell are the Butches and Spikes? Potato diggers.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“One-Eye scowled at Goblin. “Keep it up, Barf Bag. You’ll be grocery shopping with the turtles.” What the hell did that mean? Some kind of obscure shop talk? But Goblin was as croggled as the rest of us. Grinning, One-Eye resumed gabbling with his relatives.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“There is nothing so unreasonable and irrational and blind—and just plain silly-looking—as a man who works himself into an obsessive passion.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“I admitted, “This might not have been one of my brighter ideas.” “On the contrary. It confirms our suspicions that there’s a greater interest in us than should be for simple travellers. They mean to use us.” She was disturbed. “Welcome to life in the Black Company, sweetheart,” I said. “Now you know why I’m cynical about lords and such. Now you know one of the feelings I’ve been trying to get across.” “Maybe I get it. A little. I feel demeaned. Like I’m not human at all but an object that might be useful.” “Like I said, welcome to the Black Company.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
“He’d described himself as looking like a child molester waiting for a chance to strike. He wasn’t comfortable with his appearance.”
― Glen Cook, quote from The Books of the South
Glen Cook
Born place: in The United States
Born date July 9, 1944
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“روحك تحكم جسدك، مثل ديكتاتور صارم”
― Ernesto Sabato, quote from On Heroes and Tombs
“Some things just take time to process, and one must have healthy boundaries of time and space in place in order to do so. Simply put: BOUNDARIES + PROCESSING = BUFFERING Buffering is that time you spend waiting for the pixels of your life to crystallize into a clearer picture; it’s a time of reflection, a time of pause, a time for regaining your composure or readjusting your course. We all have a limited amount of mental and emotional bandwidth, and some of life’s episodes take a long time to fully load.”
― Hannah Hart, quote from Buffering: Unshared Tales of a Life Fully Loaded
“It is so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like "Poo-tee-weet?”
― Kurt Vonnegut, quote from Slaughterhouse-five: The Children's Crusade, A Duty-dance with Death
“The light was going: some cloud cover arriving, as if summoned by drama.”
― China Miéville, quote from Kraken
“How long are you going to wait for this guy?”
I’m thrown by his sudden shift. “Ah . . . I don’t know.”
“Give me your keys.”
“What?”
“Give me your keys. I’m going to change your tire while we’re waiting.”
I fish in my purse and come up with a handful of keys. “You’re going to—”
“Stay in the car.” He grabs the keys and practically yanks them out of my fingers. Then he slams the door in my face.
I watch him in the path of his headlights, mystified. He opens my trunk, and, moments later, emerges with the spare tire. He lays it beside the car, then pulls something else from the darkened space. I’ve never changed a tire, so I have no idea what he’s doing. His movements are quick and efficient, though.
I shouldn’t be sitting here, just watching, but I can’t help myself. There’s something compelling about him. Dozens of cars have passed, but he was the only one to stop—and he’s helping me despite the fact that I’ve been less than kind to him all night.
He gets down on the pavement—on the wet pavement, in the rain—and slides something under the car. A hand brushes wet hair off his face.
I can’t sit here and watch him do this.
He doesn’t look at me when I approach. “I told you to wait in the car.”
“So you’re one of those guys? Thinks the ‘little woman’ should wait in the car?”
“When the little woman doesn’t know her tires are bald and her battery could barely power a stopwatch?” He attaches a steel bar to . . . something . . . and starts twisting it. “Yeah. I am.”
My pride flinches. “So what are you saying?” I ask, deadpan. “You don’t want my help?”
His smile is rueful. “You’re kind of funny when you’re not so busy being judgmental.”
“You’re lucky I’m not kicking you while you’re down there.”
He loses the smile but keeps his eyes on whatever he’s doing. “Try it, sister.”
― Brigid Kemmerer, quote from Letters to the Lost
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