Louise Blackwick Quotes
“Vivian’s first impression of Solidago was that she had travelled back in time, but not to a time where architecture had been invented. All houses were twisted out of shape, to say the least. Windows either too large to open or too small to make a difference peppered the city in places one would never dream of having one.
The walls were mostly cast in brickwork by the kind of stonemason whose day job was financial advising. Skewed walls with more bricks than mortar, knotted chimneys keeping the smoke inside and cupping rooftops whose main purpose was to gather rainwater – Solidago had it all and more.
As the oldest civilization of the cosmos, Alarians might have been excellent at healing, philosophizing and weaving into the fabric of reality, but they were very poor city builders.”
“By weaving their thoughts and feelings into the substance of reality, the Weavers had ensured anyone writing about them would secure an instant bestseller – which wasn’t particularly difficult, considering the Weavers held the strings on the one holding the pen.
Those who controlled the Pattern, controlled reality.”
“Step, step, step, I fall and they lift me, slip-slop, slip-slop, through the watery mud. Each step is a heartbeat on my way to the grave, and the longest walk I will ever take. Plip, plip, I slip and they gather me. How strong are these savages, and how tight is their grip! Plip, plip, plip patters the rain, and I fall, and I call, and I stall for more time.
But my time has run out.”
“What time is it?’
‘Whatever time you want it to be,’ she gave him a cheeky wink. ‘Now be honest, did you ask for free will?’
‘How did you—?’
Amanita joined Mario beneath the covers. The ethereal Threads tethering her wrists phased through the thick wool blankets like sunlight through a windowpane.
‘The bird that acknowledges its cage only ever sings of freedom,’ she said dreamily.”
“Sometimes we must allow our locked-and-tethered inner demon a short glimpse beyond the bars,” thought Mario, “lest we forget the full extent of our virtue. One’s power does not reside in the length of their demon’s claw, but in the strength of its manacle. The unleashed demon is worthless, lest it’s controlled.”
His reflection did not.
“That’s the odd thing about depression,” Mario reflected, “a human can survive anything, as long as they have a clear end in sight. A purpose. Take that away and they sink like pennies in mire: gently at first and then engulfed without notice by the dark waters of the bog.”
“Get this: how many Weavers does it take to screw in a light bulb?'
Kate folded her arms, her expression aloof. Acciper pensively scratched his beard, withholding his ignorance.
'One?' ventured Vivian.
Lucian's boyish face split into a grin. His body filled up with the imminent rumble of laughter.
'Two Weavers. One holds the light bulb and the other one spins reality around it.”
“Your badges represent just that: your choice, your conscious choice to place yourselves outside a predefined path; beyond the care of omniscient beings, and into your own capable hands.
For a Weaver’s freewill is absolute; a Weaver is a master of their own life; a Weaver creates their own reality – but more importantly – a Weaver is responsible for reality.”
“Puppets and paintbrushes...
Mario was well on his thousandth decapitation when it occurred to him these simple objects were mere symbolic manifestations of his deep-seated phobias: fear of failure and fear of success. The first one had stopped him from following his dream; the second had stopped the dream from following him.
“To be simultaneously afraid of success and of failure is like going to bed scared and waking up terrified,” he reflected. “Your mind’s all wooden, your head’s screwed on backwards and before you know it, you’re a vermillion blotch on someone else’s canvas and the entire world is pulling your strings.”
“The Weaveress squinted at the loom. While any other person would merely see a thickset of colour-flashing Threads, Ærinna saw cosmic events, destinies and the collective soul of countless beings. Some of them were about to kick the bucket and kick it well. They weren’t to die of any expected natural causes either – unless one counted being “woven out of the Pattern” either natural or expected.”
“The multiverse has selected its champions – had selected you – and yet under the blazing suns, here we stand: self-seeking and imperfect, lacking in wisdom, lacking in courage, afraid of death and of pain; afraid of our choices and the consequences they bring—’
‘—and you ask yourselves: if only I could be that one person that makes it all better; that stops the degrading of worldly values. If only I could be that brave person that brings out the good in the bad.”
“It is only through an altered state of consciousness that a lesser being can see into the invisible and the immaterial. In our understanding, middling, certain substances are known to alter the manner a choice has been made. Some drugs will make one decide things one normally would not.’
‘And choices are our domain,’ explained another Master. ‘The fabric of reality is stringed together by the unseen Threads of choice and consequence. As actors, storytellers and audience of reality, we cannot afford reality to unwire.”
“The demon looked insulted. ‘You don’t like the Underworld, brother?’
‘Can’ff ssay I do,’ spoke Mario through the curved claw held firmly between his teeth. ‘Much bffetter up tffhere!’ he pointed at the amber-glowing canopy perched at the very top of the World Tree.
‘Yeah but that seems like—,’ the green-eyed demon paused, as though he was bracing himself for something. ‘–work,’ he finally said. The word alone seemed to cause him unimaginable disgust. ‘How about you put that rock down and come waste time with us at the pit?”
“So you put me through all this suffering just to taunt me?’
‘Humans suffer because they take seriously that which we create for entertainment.’
‘Oh really? Because let me tell you, I wasn’t the least bit entertained!’
‘That’s because you were not being entertained, Mr Fantoccio, you were being enlightened,’ stated the Mistress through a pair of foggy eyes. ‘You want to know why painting never worked for you? Because painters are creators and you, Mr Fantoccio, are an overseer. You don’t care about setting up the puppet show; you are merely interested in giving it a good ending. For you, Mr Fantoccio, creating the world was never enough; you aspire to run it. With every breath, you want to shape it. With every choice, you need to control it.”