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“Thou too art doomed..”
― Non disturbare il sonno dei morti
― Non disturbare il sonno dei morti
“I'm going to need some cactus-of-tongues. The shaman screwed up his eyes, making a hissing sound that expressed both shock and disapproval.
It's very strong, he said, something to try once in a lifetime, maybe twice, and this would be the fourth or fifth time I've given you one; you might get lost on the trip. The huey tlatoani closed his eyes.
The empire weighs on one's shoulders, he said, sometimes too heavy; help is needed. What do you want it for? My meeting is with the chief of the Caxtilteca. Who? Make it ready, that's an order: two pieces, no more. The shaman shrugged. You're the boss, he said, but don't say later that I didn't warn you.”
― You Dreamed of Empires
It's very strong, he said, something to try once in a lifetime, maybe twice, and this would be the fourth or fifth time I've given you one; you might get lost on the trip. The huey tlatoani closed his eyes.
The empire weighs on one's shoulders, he said, sometimes too heavy; help is needed. What do you want it for? My meeting is with the chief of the Caxtilteca. Who? Make it ready, that's an order: two pieces, no more. The shaman shrugged. You're the boss, he said, but don't say later that I didn't warn you.”
― You Dreamed of Empires
“From the age of six I had a mania for drawing the shape of things.
When I was fifty I had published a universe of drawings.
But all I have done before the age of seventy is not worth bothering with.
At seventy three I have learned something of the pattern of nature, of animals, of plants, of trees, birds, fish and insects.
When I am eighty you will see real progress.
At ninety I will have cut my way deeply into the mystery of life itself.
At one hundred, I will be a marvellous artist.
At one hundred and ten, everything I create - a dot, a line - will come alive.
I call on those who still may be alive to see if I keep my word.”
― The Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji
When I was fifty I had published a universe of drawings.
But all I have done before the age of seventy is not worth bothering with.
At seventy three I have learned something of the pattern of nature, of animals, of plants, of trees, birds, fish and insects.
When I am eighty you will see real progress.
At ninety I will have cut my way deeply into the mystery of life itself.
At one hundred, I will be a marvellous artist.
At one hundred and ten, everything I create - a dot, a line - will come alive.
I call on those who still may be alive to see if I keep my word.”
― The Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji
“Out of bedrooms and wards
long lines of the dead walk towards you
asking you,
‘Who were you to decide
that our innings was over?
Who gave you the umpire’s white coat
and upraised finger?’
Did you think we would never speak
from the graves you gave us?”
―
long lines of the dead walk towards you
asking you,
‘Who were you to decide
that our innings was over?
Who gave you the umpire’s white coat
and upraised finger?’
Did you think we would never speak
from the graves you gave us?”
―
“I love this room, said Moctezuma, you can't imagine how I miss being a priest. Where there were splotches of blood, he saw sprays of flowers. The withered fingers of the hands of great warriors sacrificed during the year's festivals swayed pleasingly like the branches of a small tree to the beat of some music he couldn't place, though in a possible future we would have recognized it. It was T. Rex's "Monolith."
The priest was also up to his ears in whatever he had taken to carry out his temple duties, so he bent his magic powers of hearing to the music and caught the sexy crooning of Marc Bolan.
He smiled. That's good stuff, he said.
Moctezuma swung his hips to the beat.
It's nothing I've ever heard before, he replied, but I like it. He pulled his elbows in tight and shimmied, moving his head gravely from side to side, transfixed by pleasure. The priest, swaying his own ass to the beat—he was nearly eighty, but on mushrooms he was a jaguar-said, I was thinking about you, believe it or not; look at this.”
― You Dreamed of Empires
The priest was also up to his ears in whatever he had taken to carry out his temple duties, so he bent his magic powers of hearing to the music and caught the sexy crooning of Marc Bolan.
He smiled. That's good stuff, he said.
Moctezuma swung his hips to the beat.
It's nothing I've ever heard before, he replied, but I like it. He pulled his elbows in tight and shimmied, moving his head gravely from side to side, transfixed by pleasure. The priest, swaying his own ass to the beat—he was nearly eighty, but on mushrooms he was a jaguar-said, I was thinking about you, believe it or not; look at this.”
― You Dreamed of Empires
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