For me, myth is the 'common' language of us all.
Gods and politics are the tools with which the godless and unprincipled manipulate the gullible.
What would the world be without him, and those like him?
Why is it we are always the targets of the angry Fates? Twice as many men of ours met harm as did theirs, since we've come here.
Very little in science fiction can transcend the gimmickry of a technical conceit, yet without that conceit at its heart a book is not truly science fiction. Furthermore, so little emerging thought and technology is employed by sf writers today that the genre is lagging far behind reality both in the cosmology area and the technology area: sf is no longer a place to experiment, but is now very derivative.
Wanting neither too much to live, nor too much to die.
So some will be left who remember.
Survival's the thing, isn't it?
Every man's in his own hands, with a little help from his brothers.
Here Stormbringer spies the Stepsons, the Theban fighters, and the 3rd Commando, attending to their own. In the face of such unflinching determination and unswerving devotion, the hurricane pauses and calms. Its ravings turn to mutters.
Time to unite the Sacred Bands, Thebans and his people: one unit, one heart, one swing through life.
Niko's angular face caught a flicker of firelight and Tempus saw his future there: sharp purpose, discipline, and power in perfect balance; love of man and gods, and mercy transcending all. If war ever wore a more humane face, this one would make it so.
Some nights, one wants to tell beloveds everything that's been waiting to be said. Some nights, a man needs flesh and blood and warm breath and a loving heart.
Niko and his women will be the death of all the Stepsons yet.
Some nights, valor and cold purpose aren't enough.
You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.
Gods and men honor those who have fought in battle.
"Godling? Demigod?" Lysis nearly howled. "You'd be beaten black and blue in Thebes, and staked out overnight for claims like that. In Sparta, the secret police would ambush you, violate you, skin you alive and use your skull for a drinking cup."
Men live, and then they die. It is the quality of the process of living which matters, that and that alone.
When I write what publishers call 'fantasy' I am writing in what I think is the most important tradition of fiction: starting with Homer and up through Shakespeare and Milton, the most important themes to tackle are those of the mythopoeic domain, tales of the body and mind seen through a temperament and a cosmos divorced from current reality so what is said can be more clear.
Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.
One man can make another's life so much better.
The city guardsmen were like the keres, doom-bringers of merciless vengeance.
Only so much can be borne from men, so much from gods
Vengeance is disappointing, always.
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