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“It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment.”
― The Great Gatsby
― The Great Gatsby
“Write. Don't talk about writing. Don't tell me about your wonderful story ideas. Don't give me a bunch of 'somedays'. Plant your ass and scribble, type, keyboard. If you have any talent at all it will leak out despite your failure to pay attention in English."
[The Instrumentalities of the Night: An Interview with Glen Cook, The SF Site, September 2005]”
―
[The Instrumentalities of the Night: An Interview with Glen Cook, The SF Site, September 2005]”
―
“No word matters. But man forgets reality and remembers words.”
― Lord of Light
― Lord of Light
“In that last dance of chances
I shall partner you no more.
I shall watch another turn you
As you move across the floor.
In that last dance of chances
When I bid your life goodbye
I will hope she treats you kindly.
I will hope you learn to fly.
In that last dance of chances
When I know you'll not be mine
I will let you go with longing
And the hope that you'll be fine.
In that last dance of chances
We shall know each other's minds.
We shall part with our regrets
When the tie no longer binds.”
― Fool's Fate
I shall partner you no more.
I shall watch another turn you
As you move across the floor.
In that last dance of chances
When I bid your life goodbye
I will hope she treats you kindly.
I will hope you learn to fly.
In that last dance of chances
When I know you'll not be mine
I will let you go with longing
And the hope that you'll be fine.
In that last dance of chances
We shall know each other's minds.
We shall part with our regrets
When the tie no longer binds.”
― Fool's Fate
“What I heard was but the melody of children at play, nothing but that, and so limpid was the air that within this vapor of blended voices, majestic and minute, remote and magically near, frank and divinely enigmatic—one could hear now and then, as if released, an almost articulate spurt of vivid laughter, or the crack of a bat, or the clatter of a toy wagon, but it was all really too far for the eye to distinguish any movement in the lightly etched streets. I stood listening to that musical vibration from my lofty slope, to those flashes of separate cries with a kind of demure murmur for background, and then I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita’s absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from that concord.”
― Lolita
― Lolita
Gantzgantz’s 2025 Year in Books
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