From a distance, death seems the end of a story. But when you are near, when you can smell the burning skin… — Pierce Brown
From a distance, death seems the end of a story. But when you are near, when you can smell the burning skin, see the entrails, you see death for what it is. A traumatic cauterization of a life thread. No purpose. No conclusion. Just snip.
I knew war was dreadful, but I did not expect to fear it.
How can anyone not, when death is just a blind giant with scissors?
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More from this book
To see them from above: the roving herds of beasts, the rivers carving stone, the rituals of man in all their varied panoply, to see the clouds roil over the patchwork latifundia of Asian plains, to see the mines of our home, is to remember the patterns of the world, and the majesty and complication and impermeable obscurity of distant lands. It is to remember how few people you know. How many do not know you. How many will soon forget you. How many praise you today to offer contempt tomorrow. Permanence of fame, power, dominion of the individual, are illusions. All that will be measured, all that will last, is your mastery of yourself.
That is what my father told me. It was his warning about power, though he sought it to his end. I've never understood how a man so wise could be so undone by himself. Perhaps I never will, and that is what has always frightened me. Not that I cannot control my own fate - that is impossible - but that I cannot control myself.
The tragedy of the gifted is the belief they are entitled to greatness, Lysander. As a human, you are entitled only to death.
"You know the curse of this world?" I ask, looking at the body the Carver made for me. "The greatest gifts were given to the worst of us."
"Not realizing they are gifts is what makes them the worst," he replies.
