2
" Sought we the Scrivani word-work of Surthur
Long-lost in ledger all hope forgotten.
Yet fast-found for friendship fair the book-bringer
Hot comes the huntress Fela, flushed with finding
Breathless her breast her high blood rising
To ripen the red-cheek rouge-bloom of beauty.
“That sort of thing,” Simmon said absently, his eyes still scanning the pages in front of him.
I saw Fela turn her head to look at Simmon, almost as if she were surprised to see him sitting there.
No, it was almost as if up until that point, he’d just been occupying space around her, like a piece of furniture. But this time when she looked at him, she took all of him in. His sandy hair, the line of his jaw, the span of his shoulders beneath his shirt. This time when she looked, she actually saw him.
Let me say this. It was worth the whole awful, irritating time spent searching the Archives just to watch that moment happen. It was worth blood and the fear of death to see her fall in love with him. Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love, so light she probably didn’t notice it herself. It wasn’t dramatic, like some bolt of lightning with a crack of thunder following. It was more like when flint strikes steel and the spark fades almost too fast for you to see. But still, you know it’s there, down where you can’t see, kindling. "
― Patrick Rothfuss , The Wise Man's Fear (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #2)
6
" Happiness fades by design, precisely because it’s a means to an end, not an end in itself. We continually need to meet our psychological, emotional, and physical needs to remain healthy. If one meal were enough to provide lasting happiness, we would slowly starve to death afterward … Consequently, there’s a limit to our happiness, which is defined by the amount required to satisfy a biological need. Exceed this amount, and the result isn’t more happiness but the discomfort and disease that follow from overindulgence. While some may be good, more isn’t necessarily better, and too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. "
16
" Death isn't empty like you say it is. Emptiness is life without freedom, Darrow. Emptiness is living chained by fear, fear of loss, of death. I say we break those chains. Break the chains of fear and you break the chains that bind us to the Golds, to the Society. Could you imagine it? Mars could be ours. It could belong to the colonists who slaved here, died here." Her face is easier to see as the night fades through the clear roof. It is alive, on fire. " If you led the others to freedom. The things you could do, Darrow. The things you could make happen." She pauses and I see her eyes are glistening. " It chills me. You have been given so, so much, but you set your sights so low." " You repeat the same damn points," I say bitterly. " You think a dream is worth dying for. I say it isn't. You say it's better to die on your feet. I say it's better to live on our knees." " You're not even listening!" she snaps. " We are machine men with machine minds, machine lives …" " And machine hearts?" I ask. " That's what I am?" " Darrow …" " What do you live for?" I ask her suddenly. " Is it for me? Is it for family and love? Or is it just for some d "
