“As the Weaver, so is the Thread”
“Listen to me, dear. When life hands you something, you take it, for in all likelihood, there’s a large crisis heading your way.”
“A day may come when all hope is lost; when the oceans run red with our blood, and our darkest hour is upon us— and when it comes, that red day of reckoning, we turn, my dears, not to our rulers-in-good-times, but to our leaders-in-bad-times.”
“Vivian’s first impression of Solidago was that she had travelled back in time, but not to a time where architecture had been invented. All houses were twisted out of shape, to say the least. Windows either too large to open or too small to make a difference peppered the city in places one would never dream of having one.
The walls were mostly cast in brickwork by the kind of stonemason whose day job was financial advising. Skewed walls with more bricks than mortar, knotted chimneys keeping the smoke inside and cupping rooftops whose main purpose was to gather rainwater – Solidago had it all and more.
As the oldest civilization of the cosmos, Alarians might have been excellent at healing, philosophizing and weaving into the fabric of reality, but they were very poor city builders.”
“By weaving their thoughts and feelings into the substance of reality, the Weavers had ensured anyone writing about them would secure an instant bestseller – which wasn’t particularly difficult, considering the Weavers held the strings on the one holding the pen.
Those who controlled the Pattern, controlled reality.”
“Her attention was now drawn upon a boy whose imagination had the potential to change the face of reality. Unfortunately for him, Ærinna liked reality the way it was: fluid, slippery and with a brick in it. The case was quickly resolved by giving the young boy an appetite for procrastination.”
“Beyond a thin veil of space stretched Existence, the frailest and most imbalanced reality of the cosmos. No one was really sure why it was imbalanced, but some believed it had something to do with the general alcohol consumption per capita.”
“Why have you climbed all the way up here? What were you looking for? Would I be too presumptuous to assume you were looking for help? That you hoped you would hear something that would be of guidance – of relevance – to you, young members of a reality that is running out of time?”
“The multiverse has selected its champions – had selected you – and yet under the blazing suns, here we stand: self-seeking and imperfect, lacking in wisdom, lacking in courage, afraid of death and of pain; afraid of our choices and the consequences they bring—’
‘—and you ask yourselves: if only I could be that one person that makes it all better; that stops the degrading of worldly values. If only I could be that brave person that brings out the good in the bad.”
“Your badges represent just that: your choice, your conscious choice to place yourselves outside a predefined path; beyond the care of omniscient beings, and into your own capable hands.
For a Weaver’s freewill is absolute; a Weaver is a master of their own life; a Weaver creates their own reality – but more importantly – a Weaver is responsible for reality.”
“At the Twilight of Gods bides the Weaver of Odds.”
“Our dream of happiness is waiting for another universe to collide with our own, and change what we ourselves cannot.”
“Yeah,” Nicole said, her straw noisily hitting the
bottom of her Gut Buster. “Well, I would have
appreciated it if you guys had wrecked a little less
stuff. Because my house smelled like smoke for
months. And construction on the Tarantinos’ new
garage starts at eight on the dot every morning, and
it’s still going on, and you know how I get if I don’t
have my full ten hours of beauty sleep.”
“So that’s what happened to your face,” Cody said.
“I was wondering.”
“La vie n'est pas assez grande pour y faire entrer tout ce que le désir peut imaginer.”
“The important people in our lives leave imprints. They may stay or go in the physical realm, but they are always there in your heart, because they helped form your heart. There's not getting over that.”
“For the murder of Jest, the court joker of Hearts, I sentence this man to death.’
She spoke without feeling, unburdened by love or dreams or the pain of a broken heart. It was a new day in Hearts, and she was the Queen.
‘Off with his head”
“Before, they had been beasts, their instincts fitly adapted to their surroundings, and happy as living things may be. Now they stumbled in the shackles of humanity, lived in a fear that never died, fretted by a law they could not understand; their mock-human existence, begun in an agony, was one long internal struggle, one long dread of Moreau —”
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