Quotes from Lois McMaster Bujold

Pero el dolor... no me parece motivo suficiente para dejar que la vida pase de largo. Cuando uno está muerto no siente dolor. Al igual que el tiempo, el dolor pasará de todos modos. La pregunta es, ¿cuántos momentos gloriosos eres capaz de arrebatarle a la vida a pesar del dolor?

Why are you wearing slippers?" She stared down at her feet. "I'm—sorry, Pilot Officer Mayhew. That's classified.

What, everyone knows of Royesse Iselle's clever secretary, the man who keeps his own counsel—and hers—the Bastion of Gotorget—utterly indifferent to wealth—" "No, I'm not," Cazaril assured him earnestly. "I just dress badly. I quite like wealth.

As the week wore on, Ivan contemplated the merits of inertia as a problem-solving technique with growing favor.

I admit, he has far too much on his mind at the moment. Suppressed panic turns him into a prick every time; it's what he does instead of running in circles screaming. A way of coping, I suppose.

In fifteen years, all those disturbing biological blobs would be out on Kareenburg's streets, wearing strange fashions, listening to annoying music, and disagreeing politically with their beleaguered parents.

There are a lot of senseless things in the world, but not all of them are sorrows. Everybody knows some light, even if they forget when they're down in the dark. Something everyone else thinks is stupid, but you know is wonderful.

Beloved, god-touched, great-souled… a saint, even?  The true sort, who moved through the world as silently as fishes, unnoticed by carnal eyes that focused only on outward domination and display.  Never on a small woman in a small town, being kind.  Soul by soul. And

Admiral Naismith, said Quinn stiffly, is not a dwarf. He's nearly five feet tall. And I am not 'in love' with him, you low-minded twit; I merely admire his brilliance. Professionally.

T]he route of a pilgrimage should serve its spiritual goal. Which may be simple or manifold, but which will partake of at least one of five aims: service, supplication, gratitude, divination, and atonement.

Mark's ideas tended to the bland, and there was no point in asking Miles, whose embittered suggestions all ran to things like Vomit Vanilla and Cockroach Crunch.

To use the machineries of justice to commit injustice is the deepest offense to the Father of Winter." He

Although upon reflection, Jole wasn't sure of the advisability of introducing a keen young officer to Vorkosigan notions of initiative. Metaphors about fighting fire with gasoline rose to his mind.

Four men entered Gregor's office. Miles recognized them at once; he was Barrayaran enough that his first thought was a conscience-stricken, My God, what have I done wrong? Good sense reasserted itself; his feats of evil would have had to have been downright heroic to rate the attention of four Imperial Auditors at one time.

That's nickering, not snickering. Miles grinned. He tapped Fat Ninny behind his left foreleg, and the horse obediently grunted down onto one knee. Miles clambered up readily to his conveniently lowered stirrup. Does mine do that? asked Dr. Dea, watching with fascination. Sorry, no. Dea glowered at his horse. This animal is an idiot. I shall lead it for a while. As

Nothing worth doing is fun all the time. But it's still worth doing all the time.

Exile, for no other reason than ease, would be the last defeat, with no seed of future victory in it.

Desperately, Cordelia stuck her foot through the whatchamacallit foot-holder, stirrup, grabbed, and heaved. The saddle slid slowly around the horse's belly, and Cordelia with it, till she was clinging underneath among a forest of horse legs. She fell to the ground with a thump and scrambled out of the way. The horse twisted its neck around and peered at her, in a dismay much milder than her own, then stuck its rubbery lips to the ground and began nibbling up weeds.

Stop gibbering. The Countess took his arm, and began more-or-less frog-marching him upstairs. Roic made a mental note of her technique, for future reference. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Roic a reassuring, if rather unexpected, wink. The

What did it say that Nikys had better luck getting a straight answer from a chaos demon than a man? Nothing new, more's the pity.

Same jobs over and over, all have to be done again tomorrow or something dies? Despite the weather or the hurting, or, or whatever. Yeah, I guess there are some parallels." While he was weighing this, his mouth kept moving without him. "Or maybe it's just called being a grownup.

Miles watched the evening shadows flowing up along the backbone of the Dendarii range, high and massive in the distance. How small those mountains looked from space! Little wrinkles on the skin of a globe he could cover with his hand, all their crushing mass made invisible. Which was illusory, distance or nearness? Distance, Miles decided. Distance was a damned lie. Had his father known this? Miles suspected so.

The demon settled like a dog cowering before a stern master, and no wonder; it had been a dog, or rather been in a dog, at one time, Pen was certain. The new-hatched elemental had found its early way through lesser animals before that, maybe, but mostly it was doggish.

Tell her about it," he whispered to the doctor. "I can't." "Need we distress—" "Now. Get it over with." His voice cracked and croaked.