The Hod King

All I know is that, at the end of the day, dreams don't matter, but neither does regret. We aren't what we want or wish for. We are only what we do.

The rich “learn lessons.” The poor commit crimes. “Mistakes” are generally considered a mark of the middle class.

My sense of being, my identity, whatever you want to call it, it doesn't reside in my parts. It lives in my past, and in the continuity of my present thoughts, and in my hopes for the future. I'm more afraid of losing a memory than a limb.

Sometimes a wheel squeaks not because it is faulty but because it bears the most weight.

The universe breathes in ragged breaths. The body dies. The fungus grows. The loam spreads. The tree roots. The forest burns. The cloud bursts. The flood drowns. The alluvium feeds the fields. In, out. In, out. There is no stasis, no stillness. The source of all misery lies in our insistence that tomorrow be like today. But if it were, if it ever were, it would spell the end of everything.

The mob does two things well: nothing and revolution.

The only event I'm certain to attend is my funeral, and I hope to arrive very, very late.

Don’t saw off your arm to feed a dog. You only have two arms, and the world is full of dogs.

We cannot raise a man up by lowering ourselves, no more than we can save a sunken ship by draining away the sea.

The wonderful thing about regrets is that it's never too late to have them.

She is imperfect, but absolutely peerless.

An earnest failure is superior to immaculate potential.

Only people who go to bed early believe in happy endings. We night owls understand that happiness does not dwell in finales. It resides in anticipation, in revelry, and in worn-out welcomes. Endings are always sad.

Why do we call a dishonest person two-faced? Is it really so honest to wear the same face day in, day out, regardless of our mood, our condition, or the event? We are not clocks! Have a face for every occasion, I say! Be honest: Wear a mask.

Memory is not like a box of stationery—easy to browse, reorder, and read. No, memories accumulate like leaves upon the forest floor. They are irregular and fragile. They crumble and break upon inspection. They turn to soil the deeper you go.

But Senlin knew that while tyrants had many strengths, their weakness was generally the same. They were gullible. For the tyrant, there were no reigning facts, no universal systems of inquiry, no demonstrable truths. Because they preferred their own rationalization to reason, their dogma to discourse, the main means a tyrant had for testing another man’s integrity and loyalty were oaths and intuition. But since the tyrants had no choice but to teach everyone exactly what they wished to hear, they were simple to pander to and easy to fool.

We aren’t what we want or wish for. We are only what we do.

If you lie loud and long enough, it eventually becomes the truth. —Oren Robinson of the Daily Reverie

A man may rot like an egg: His shell does not show it, but all that is within him has gone foul.

At the round table of color, orange sits supreme. Orange is sublime. Orange is ablaze. And seated across from Lady Orange, we have Sir Purple. I ask you, is any color more vulgar? The word alone emerges like something from a lavatory. Purple. Plopple. It’s all prunes, liver spots, and ink stains. If I ever utter a word of praise for that wretched hue, please snatch my pen away and gore me with it.

I distrust sweet cocktails and cheerful men for the same reason: It’s hard to tell how dangerous they are until they’ve knocked you on your ear.

But if I refused to engage anyone who I found the least bit detestable, corrupt, or stupid, I'd never work with anyone. Nothing would get done. The inability to compromise isn't a sign of moral rectitude - she spoke the phrase with haughty emphasis - "it's a sign of immaturity. You know who can't be bargained with? Little children and madmen.

I love a good scandal. There’s nothing more comforting than tut-tutting the public sins of another from the privacy of your own squalor.

Do you know what a treaty is, Captain Winters? It is a document that tells us what the next war will be over.

Songs are emotional. It’s better to play sincere mistakes than lifeless perfection.

Intimacy was not about maintaining the idealistic charade of courtship; it was about embracing and adoring the flaws.

A man who is not suspicious of a philosophy that appeals to his nature is like the bull comforted by the rutted path that leads to the slaughterhouse. —I Sip a Cup of Wind by Jumet

there’s nothing that threatens a bully’s delicate virility so much as the honest passions of other men

All I know is that, at the end of the day, dreams don’t matter, but neither does regret. We aren’t what we want or wish for. We are only what we do.

Voleta surveyed her options miserably. “I think humanity peaked at the spoon, don’t you? A spoon can serve as a fork, a knife, a ladle … A good spoon is all you need, really.” “And I will tell you again, if you ever eat your fish with a spoon, I will appear out of thin air wherever you are in the world, snatch the spoon from your hand, and rap you on the head with it!