Citati citati

^ Kad bi htela Robin Hob da čitaš umesto što je konstantno izbegavaš, videla bi od koga je Rotfus ovako lepo prepisivao, pa bi stalno nju citirala... 

Elem, odlučio sam da ovo bude mesec citata Stivena Eriksona. Eto zato.  


"There had been plenty of altars before which she had knelt over the years, and from them, one and all, Torahaval Delat had discovered something she now held to be true. All that is worshipped is but a reflection of the worshipper. A single god, no matter how benign, is tortured into a multitude of masks, each shaped by the secret desires, hungers, fears and joys of the individual mortal, who but plays a game of obsequious approbation.

Believers lunged into belief. The faithful drowned in their faith.

And there was another truth, one that seemed on the surface to contradict the first one. The gentler and kinder the god, the more harsh and cruel its worshippers, for they hold to their conviction with taut certainty, febrile in its extremity, and so cannot abide dissenters. They will kill, they will torture, in that god's name. And see in themselves no conflict, no matter how bloodstained their hands."

Nju cu tamo sledece godine Prvo se mora ocistiti ono sto je za faks a zatim ono sto mi je na policama.

Dobar citat *thumbs up*

Baš se vidi koliki je uticaj imala na njega. Rotfus je jedan od boljih pisaca proze, znaš to i sama, ali Robin čak i njega nadmašuje.  

Što se Eriksona tiče, čitav serijal mu je alegorija na (ne)prilike u svetu tokom istorije. Opšta kritika civilizacije i osvrt na sve njene nesavršenosti. Ilijada 3000.  
Sa originalnim svetom, magijom i likovima, serijal koji nema ama baš niti jedan jedini kliše poznat u ovom žanru.
Pričam ja često za Malašku Knjigu Palog da je najbolji serijal epske fantastike, toliko superiorniji od svih ostalih da im beži barem 20 godina. 
I nastaviću to da govorim o njemu, pošto sam u pravu, razume se. 

+ i + !

KrleTuđin ::Baš se vidi koliki je uticaj imala na njega. Rotfus je jedan od boljih pisaca proze, znaš to i sama, ali Robin čak i njega nadmašuje.  

Što se Eriksona tiče, čitav serijal mu je alegorija na (ne)prilike u svetu tokom istorije. Opšta kritika civilizacije i osvrt na sve njene nesavršenosti. Ilijada 3000.  
Sa originalnim svetom, magijom i likovima, serijal koji nema ama baš niti jedan jedini kliše poznat u ovom žanru.
Pričam ja često za Malašku Knjigu Palog da je najbolji serijal epske fantastike, toliko superiorniji od svih ostalih da im beži barem 20 godina. 
I nastaviću to da govorim o njemu, pošto sam u pravu, razume se. 

Prosto te moram upoznati sa Nemanjom. Kao da njega čitam

Citat Stivena Eriksona iz Serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 2:

“Save your explanations, I got some questions for you first and you'd better answer them!', slurred Hellian.
'With what?', Banaschar sneered. 'Explanations?'
'No. Answers. There's a difference-'
'Really? How? What difference?'
'Explanations are what people use when they need to lie. Y'can always tell those,'cause those don't explain nothing and then they look at you like they just cleared things up when really they did the opposite and they know it and you know it and they know you know and you know they know that you know and they know you and you know them and maybe you go out for a pitcher later but who picks up the tab? That's what I want to know.'
'Right, and answers?'
'Answers is what I get when I ask questions. Answers is when you got no choice. I ask, you tell. I ask again, you tell some more... Then I break your fingers, 'cause I don't like what you're telling me, because those answers don't explain nothing!”

A ko je Nemanja?

Verovatno Jastrebov drug koji takođe blagonaklono gleda na ovaj serijal.

Kako god.

Jbg Trešnja ne moraš sve znati... Znaš ono mačka, radoznalost, ubistvo, ovo ono

Kada je Krle u pitanju onda moram

KrleTuđin ::Citat Stivena Eriksona iz Serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 2:

“Save your explanations, I got some questions for you first and you'd better answer them!', slurred Hellian.
'With what?', Banaschar sneered. 'Explanations?'
'No. Answers. There's a difference-'
'Really? How? What difference?'
'Explanations are what people use when they need to lie. Y'can always tell those,'cause those don't explain nothing and then they look at you like they just cleared things up when really they did the opposite and they know it and you know it and they know you know and you know they know that you know and they know you and you know them and maybe you go out for a pitcher later but who picks up the tab? That's what I want to know.'
'Right, and answers?'
'Answers is what I get when I ask questions. Answers is when you got no choice. I ask, you tell. I ask again, you tell some more... Then I break your fingers, 'cause I don't like what you're telling me, because those answers don't explain nothing!”

Helian carica!

Voliš Hellian, a? E pa onda, kad stigneš do desete knjige volećeš je još više jer

Citat Stivena Eriksona iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 3:

"‘No spiders,’ said Hellian, settling her head back on the bedroll. ‘This is the best there is. This desert, it’s paradise. Let the flies and capemoths take my corpse. Even those damned meat-eating locusts. You won’t find a spider making a nest in my skull’s eye sockets – what could be better than that?’ 

‘What got you so scared of ’em, Sergeant?’ 

She thought about that. But then her mind wandered away, and she saw heaps of skulls, all of them smiling. And why not? Oh, yes, no spiders. ‘My father tells a story, especially when he’s drunk. He thinks it’s damned funny, that story. Oh, wait, is that my father? Could be my uncle. Or even my stepfather. Might even be my brother’s father, who lives down the lane. Anyway, it was a story and how he laughed. You got to know Kartool, Maybe. Spiders big enough to eat gulls, right?’ 

‘Been there once, aye, Sergeant. Creepy place.’ 

‘The redbacks are the worst. Not big, not much poisonous by themselves. One at a time, I mean. Thing is, when they hatch, there’s thousands, and they stick together for days, so they can kill big prey and all of them feed on it, right? And the egg-sacs, why, they can be hidden anywhere. ‘So, I was maybe two. Spent all day in a crib, every day, since my mother had another baby on the way only she kept getting fevers and eventually she went and lost it, which was stupid, since we had a good healer down the street, but Father drank up all the coin he made. Anyway. I had this doll—’ 

‘Oh gods, Sergeant—’ 

‘Aye, they came out of its head. Ate right through the stuffing, and then out through the eyes and the mouth and everywhere else. And there I was: food. It was my half-brother who came in and found me. My head was swollen to twice its size – couldn’t even see my eyes – and I was choking. Counted two hundred bites, maybe more, since they were mostly in my hair. Now, as far as prey goes, I was too big even for a thousand redback babies. But they tried damned hard.’ 

‘And that story made him laugh? What kind of fucked-up—’ 

‘Watch it, that’s my father you’re talking about there. Or uncle, or stepfather, or the guy down the lane.’ 

‘Now I see it, Sergeant,’ said Touchy. ‘It’s all right. I see it. That’d scar anyone for life.’ 

‘The story ain’t finished, Corporal. I ain’t got to the whole point of it. Y’see, I was eating them damned spiders. Eating ’em like candy. They said my belly was more swollen than my head, and that’s why I was choking so bad – they were biting me all the way down. So they brought in the healer, and she conjured up big chunks of ice. Into my mouth. Back of the throat. And all around my neck, too. Story goes that I had a stroke, from all that ice. Killed the part of my brain that knows when it’s time to stop.’ 

She stared up at the brightening sky. ‘They say I stole my first jug from my father’s stash when I was six. Got so drunk they needed to bring the healer back a second time. And that’s when she scried me inside and said I was in for a life of trouble.’ A hand brushed her upper arm. 

‘That’s a heartbreaking tale, Sergeant.’ 

‘Is it?’ I suppose it is. Of course, I just made it up. Tug those heartstrings, see all that sweet sympathy in their sweet little faces. They’ll forgive me anything now. Why do I hate spiders? Gods, who doesn’t? What a stupid question.'"

Boji se čovjek paukova. Hm je li iko imao u glavi Rona iz Harija Potera dok je čitao ovo?

@Jastreb Zena, zena a ne covek

@Krle Ima ona jos slicnih ispovesti, koliko se secam

Ima ih dosta.  Ali najjači su mi oni dijalozi recimo između Krupa i Iskarala Pusta, Tehola i Baga i Kurdl i Telorasta. Oh, Kurdl i Telorast... 

Zevs86 ::@Jastreb Zena, zena a ne covek

@Krle Ima ona jos slicnih ispovesti, koliko se secam

Sram te bilo zevse zar žene nisu ljudi? -

Dobro Jastrebe, pošto si izrazio volju da čitaš Plime Ponoći, evo ti prilike da se upoznaš sa Teholom i Bagom i fantastičnim dijalozima koji te tamo očekuju.
Malo (su) duži citat(i), ali je pisac stvorio sjajnu dinamiku odnosa ova dva lika i igru reči kojom se njih dvojica igraju doveo do savršenstva.
Ako se dobro sećam, Zevsu su ova dvojica omiljeni likovi?  

Citat(i) Stivena Eriksona iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 4:

"Tehol set his bowl down: 'It occurs to me, Brys, that you are more at risk than I am.'
‘I am well guarded, brother, whilst you are not.’
‘Nonsense! I have Bugg!’
The manservant looked up at Brys with a bland smile.
‘Tehol, this is no time for jokes—’
‘Bugg resents that!’
‘I do?’
‘Well, don’t you? I would, if I were you—’
‘It seems you just were.’
‘My apologies for making you speak out of turn, then.’
‘Speaking on your behalf, master, I accept.’
‘You are filled with relief—’
'Will you two stop it!' Brys shouted, throwing up his hands.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My apologies, Shurq Elalle, greetings.  Would you care for some tea?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Ah yes.  Thoughtless of me.  Your pardon.”  Bugg walked over with the tray.
Tehol collected his cup and cautiously sniffed.  Then he frowned at his manservant.
Who shrugged.  “We don’t have no herbs, master.  I had to improvise.”
“With what?  Sheep hide?”
Bugg’s brows rose.  “Very close, indeed.  I had some leftover wool.”
“The yellow or the grey?”
“The grey.”
“Well, that’s all right, then.”  He sipped.  “Smooth.”
“Yes, it would be.”
“We’re not poisoning ourselves, are we?”
“Only mildly, master.”
“There are times,” Shurq Elalle said, “when I regret being dead.  This is not one of those times, however.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'So, if you could kill all those warriors. Heal me. Walk under a river. Answer me this then. Why didn’t you kill all of them? Halt this invasion in its tracks?”
“I have my reasons.”
“To see Lether conquered? Don’t you like us?”
“Lether? Not much. You take your natural vices and call them virtues. Of which greed is the most despicable. That and betrayal of commonality. After all, whoever decided that competition is always and without exception a healthy attribute? Why that particular path to self-esteem? Your heel on the hand of the one below. This is worth something? Let me tell you, it’s worth nothing. Nothing lasting. Every monument that exists beyond the moment – no matter which king, emperor or warrior lays claim to it – is actually a testament to the common, to co-operation, to the plural rather than the singular.”
“Ah,” Tehol interjected, managing to raise a finger to mark his objection, “without a king, general or whomever – without a leader, no monument gets built.”
“Only because you mortals know only two possibilities. To follow or lead. Nothing else.”
“Hold on. I’ve seen consortiums and co-operatives at work, Bugg. They’re nightmares.”
“Aye, breeding grounds for all those virtues such as greed, envy, betrayal and so on. In other words, each within the group seeks to impose a structure of followers and leaders. Dispense with a formal hierarchy, and you have a contest of personalities.”
“So what’s the solution?”
“Would you be greatly disappointed to hear that you’re not it?”
“Who? Me?”
“Your species. Don’t feel bad. None have been, as of yet. Still, who knows what the future will bring?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘All right, then.’ Tehol reached down and plucked the hapless insect from the fulcrum. Its heads swiveled about. ‘Anyway,’ he said as he peered closely at the creature, ‘that wasn’t the depravity I was talking about. How goes the construction business, by the way?”
‘Sinking fast.’
‘Ah. Is that an affirmation or decried destitution?’
‘We’re running out of buyers. No hard coin, and I’m done with credit, especially when it turns out the developers can’t sell the properties. So I’ve had to lay everyone off, including myself.’
‘When did all this happen?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Typical. I’m always the last to hear. Is Ezgara hungry, do you think?’
‘He ate more wax than you did-where do you think all the waste goes?’
‘His or mine?’
‘Master, I already know where yours goes, and if Biri ever finds out---‘
‘Not another word, Bugg. Now, by my observations, and according to the notations you failed to make, Ezgara has consumed food equivalent to a drowned cat. Yet he remains tiny, spry, fit, and thanks to our wax lunch today his heads no longer squeak when they swivel, which I take to be a good sign, since now we won’t be woken up a hundred times a night.’
‘Master.’
‘Yes?’
‘How do you know how much a drowned cat weighs?’
‘Selush, of course.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You must remember. Three years ago. That feral cat netted in the Rinnesict Estate, the one raping a flightless ornamental duck. It was sentenced to Drowning.’
‘A terrible demise for a cat. Yes, I remember now. The yowl heard across the city.’
‘That’s the one. Some unnamed benefactor took pity on the sodden feline corpse, paying Selush a small fortune to dress the beast for proper burial.’
‘You must be mad. Who would do that and why?’
‘For ulterior motives, obviously. I wanted to know how much a drowned cat weighs, of course. Otherwise, how valid the comparison? Descriptively, I’ve been waiting to use it for years.’
‘Three.’
‘No, much longer. Hence my curiosity, and opportunism. Prior to that cat’s watery end, I feared voicing the comparison, which, lacking veracity on my part, would invite ridicule.’
‘You’re a tender one, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t tell anyone.’"

@Jastreb

@Krle Daaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Citat Stivena Eriksona (meni omiljeni) iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 5:

“There is something profoundly cynical, my friends, in the notion of paradise after death. The lure is evasion. The promise is excusative. 
One need not accept responsibility for the world as it is, and by extension, one need do nothing about it. 
To strive for change, for true goodness in this mortal world, one must acknowledge and accept, within one's own soul, that this mortal reality has purpose in itself, that its greatest value is not for us, but for our children and their children. 
To view life as but a quick passage alone a foul, tortured path – made foul and tortured by our own indifference – is to excuse all manner of misery and depravity, and to exact cruel punishment upon the innocent lives to come.

I defy this notion of paradise beyond the gates of bone. 
If the soul truly survives the passage, then it behooves us – each of us, my friends – to nurture a faith in similitude: what awaits us is a reflection of what we leave behind, and in the squandering of our mortal existence, we surrender the opportunity to learn the ways of goodness, the practice of sympathy, empathy, compassion and healing – all passed by in our rush to arrive at a place of glory and beauty, a place we did not earn, and most certainly do not deserve.” 

Citat Stivena Eriksona iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 6:

“Destiny is a lie. Destiny is justification for atrocity. It is the means by which murderers armor themselves against reprimand. 
It is a word intended to stand in place of ethics, denying all moral context.

To achieve peace, destruction is delivered. To give the gift of freedom, one promises eternal imprisonment. Adjudication obviates the need for justice. 
This is a studied, deliberate embrace of diametric opposition. It is a belief in balance, a belief asserted with the conviction of religion. 
But in this case, the proof of a god’s power lies not in the cause but in the effect. 
Accordingly, in this world and in all others, proof is achieved by action, and therefore all action – including the act of choosing inaction – is inherently moral. No deed stands outside of the moral context. At the same time, most morally perfect is the one taken in opposition to what has occurred before.”

Citat Stivena Eriksona iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 7:

"People do not understand power. They view it exclusively as a contest, this against that; which is the greater? Which wins, which fails? 
Power is less about actual conflict—recognizing as it does the mutual damage conflict entails, with such damage making one vulnerable—less about actual conflict, then, than it is about statements. 
Presence, Acquitor, is power’s truest expression. And presence is, at its core, the occupation of space. An assertion, if you will. 
One that must be acknowledged by other powers, lesser or greater, it matters not." 

Citat Stivena Eriksona iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 8:

"It seemed so easy for so many people to divide war from peace, to confine their definitions to the unambivalent. 
Marching soldiers, pitched battles and slaughter. Locked armouries, treaties, fêtes and city gates opened wide. 

But Fiddler knew that suffering thrived in both realms of existence – he'd witnessed too many faces of the poor, ancient crones and babes in a mother's arms, figures lying motionless on the roadside or in the gutters of streets – where the sewage flowed unceasing like rivers gathering their spent souls. 

And he had come to a conviction, lodged like an iron nail in his heart, and with its burning, searing realization, he could no longer look upon things the way he used to, he could no longer walk and see what he saw with a neatly partitioned mind, replete with its host of judgments – that critical act of moral relativity – this is less, that is more. 

The truth in his heart was this: he no longer believed in peace.

It did not exist except as an ideal to which endless lofty words paid service, a litany offering up the delusion that the absence of overt violence was sufficient in itself, was proof that one was better than the other. 
There was no dichotomy between war and peace – no true opposition except in their particular expressions of a ubiquitous inequity. 
Suffering was all-pervasive. Children starved at the feet of wealthy lords no matter how secure and unchallenged their rule.

There was too much compassion within him – he knew that, for he could feel the pain, the helplessness, the invitation to despair, and from that despair came the desire – the need – to disengage, to throw up his hands and simply walk away, turn his back on all that he saw, all that he knew. 
If he could do nothing, then, dammit, he would see nothing. What other choice was there?

And so we weep for the fallen. We weep for those yet to fall, and in war the screams are loud and harsh and in peace the wail is so drawn-out we tell ourselves we hear nothing.

And so this music is a lament, and I am doomed to hear its bittersweet notes for a lifetime.

Show me a god that does not demand mortal suffering.
Show me a god that celebrates diversity, a celebration that embraces even non-believers and is not threatened by them.
Show me a god who understands the meaning of peace. In life, not in death."

Citat Stivena Eriksona iz serijala Malaška Knjiga Palog, broj 9:

"Bullies learn nothing when bullied in turn; there are no lessons, no about-face in their squalid natures. 
The principle of righteous justice is a peculiar domain where propriety and vengeance become confused, almost indistinguishable. 
The bullied bully is shown but the other side of the same fear he or she has lived with all his or her life. 
The about-face happens there, on the outside, not the inside. 
Inside, the bully and everything that haunts the bully’s soul remains unchanged. It is an abject truth, but conscience cannot be shoved down the throat. 
If only it could."

Ma daaaaj