# Desolation Road

- Author: [Ian McDonald](https://www.leafyquotes.com/ian-mcdonald.md)
- Quotes: 11
- Book page: https://www.leafyquotes.com/ian-mcdonald/desolation-road

## Quotes

> The five minutes ticked away on Limaal Mandella’s fob watch and the tension wound tight around Corporation Plaza. Rael Mandella Jr., sweating in his father’s best championship suit, was horrified to realize how few of such brief five-minute periods went to make up a lifetime.

p. 238

> These songs were the true names of things, spoken by the soul, so easily buried under the little busynesses of everyman everyday.

p. 111

> She had not won a clean victory. Tinkering with time and history offended her political sensibilities. History was written in the stones. It was not a numinous thing to be tossed sparkling in the air to lie where it fell. She did not like to think of her life and world as a mere mutability of potentials.

p. 327

> A chilly piety leaked into the air.

p. 248

> Once muddying subjectivities are removed from the issue, the decision becomes clear.

p. 247

> Ghosts? Pah. We are the most substantial things in the world, the foundations of the present. We are memories.

p. 270

> “Hey!” the people cried in their dreams. “Give us back our ghosts!” for ghosts are as much a part of a community as its plumbing or its library, for how can a community be without its memories?

p. 94

> She had trapped the bird of salvation, sung to it, tamed it and wrung its neck.

p. 168

> Profit, Empire, Industry. What was a dead lake, a few poisoned rivers, a few slagged hillsides? Priorities, that was what it was about. Priorities and Progress.

p. 276

> She knew what she was now. She had a purpose. Freedom was still hers, but it was a purposeful freedom. She would seek responsibility, for freedom without responsibility was worthless, and to that duality she would add power, for responsibility without power was impotence. She would go to Wisdom and enthrone the trinity of liberties within herself.

p. 162

> It was fate, and being angry at fate was as futile as being angry at the weather.

p. 116