Quotes from Roger Zelazny

Any of the others can clutch a phantom!

I am not normally claustrophobic and my life was not in imminent peril, but something about this shining prison annoyed me out of all proportion to the situation itself.

I saw my face in your own. It was strange. I wanted to know you better.

I would have taken genuine delight in looking helpless while actually pulling the strings that made all the others dance. Any of us would, though. We all have our motives, our ambitions.

Something was approaching from beyond the shrub-lined bend. His stream of consciousness fell still. His was now the passive eye of the hunter, discerning everything before it without reflection. His breathing slowed even further. Time ceased to exist. Now .

For a moment, I felt that I saw something of pity and a strong love reflected there-and perhaps a touch of humor.

We were more alike than we were different, he and I.

He was dressed in green, and blades must not have bothered him the way they do me, for a good-sized one hung at his right side. He seemed to be using a rolled cloak for a backpack, and he wore its clasp like a decoration upon his left breast-an elaborate thing, a golden bird of some sort.

I grasped after the ghost of a memory. It vanished.

How come whatever it was that just spoke has your voice?

I had run out of causes and was close as I ever might be to peace.

Bleys, you are still a figure clad in light to me-valiant, exuberent, and rash. For the first my respect, for the second, my smile.

You always surprise me-right at the end.

On jest moim bratem. Ale to nie moja wina.

Above me, my mother, Dara, stood upon a low balcony in her natural form, looking down at me in her awful power and beauty.

experiencing the resurgence of childhood fears. Better to give in and rationalize later than to brave them out for no reason. But they are real, he reflected. I am the shapeshifter who could strike you down without effort. I could have stepped from your nightmare legends. . . .

Luke's head and shoulders were limmed above me, his hair a crown of coppery flame in what could be the light of early morning or evening. He was smiling again.

There were obviously missing pieces to the puzzle, but I felt as if they were minor, as if the smallest bit of new information and the slightest jiggling of the pattern would suddenly cause everything to fall into place, with the emerging picture to be something I should have seen all along.

It is him, Random. Him. That's all.

My foolproof plan might not be proof against this-meaning I was the fool.

My Trumps do not work here, not even the Trumps of Doom. My magic is useless to me, limited as it is by walls the color of Luke's ring. I begin to feel that I might enjoy even the escape of temporary insanity, but my reason refuses to surrender to it, there being too many puzzles to trouble me: Dan Martinez, Meg Devlin, my Lady of the Lake…Why?

In a moment, she would be gone, taking with her my chance of obtaining some answers on which my life might depend.

Somewhere there must be a gap in the icy blue logic that surrounds me, against which I hurl my mind, my cries, my bitter laughter.

Unless the giddy Heaven fall, And Earth some new Convulsion tear; And, us to joyn, the World should all Be cramp'd into a Planisphere.