Quotes from K.J. Parker

I'd finally given her what she wanted, the elixir of eternal youth, effected by the removal of her internal fire (the catalyst of change) through the agency of death.

Age is irrelevant where two people have deep, sincere feelings for each other.

Like I said, I'm a disappointment to her. She wanted me to be a murderer and an extortionist, like my father.

The past would be useful if you could use it like that, as a place where you could bury dead bodies, shovelling this convenient loss of memory into the grave to cover up their faces. That's not what the past was for, though. It was where the present went to rot down, so you could use it to grow the future. He smiled; nice piece of imagery, but it was too glib to fool anyone.

but anyone who tells you it's impossible to be madly in love with two people at the same time clearly doesn't go to the theatre.

The more she sticks the knife in, the more I resent it, the less I actually think about what she's been saying. That, of course, presupposes that the object of the exercise from her point of view is to change my mind about what I'm doing, as opposed to beating me to a pulp.

And lies, of course - It's like astronomy, I always say. Clever fellows, the astronomers, they can tell ever such a lot about something they can't see by the shadow it casts over something they can. Same with lies. The shape of a lie will often give you the truth.

Comedy to observers, tragedy to participants; I consider myself an observer. I fly over my life like a migrating bird, and I only ever play for beans or counters, never for real money.

I gather you play chess, he'd said, and she'd given him a look, later he'd ralised it was fair warning; yes, she played chess. The had a mignificent coral and ivory set, worth a thousand acres of good arable land. He'd made soft opening, the way you do when you're playing a girl, and suddenly he found himself staring defeat in the facs - he'd never los a game except three times, to Senza.

Ah well. He'd beaten her twice sind then: once on their honeymoon, though he still suspected her of throwing the game, and once on the day she lost the baby. And two out of eight hundred and six wasn't too bad, against such an opponent.

You remember the old parable about the holy prophet who got thrown into the lions' den. I felt like a lone lion in a den of prophets.

The way I see it, the truth is just barren moorland, all useless bog and heather. It's only when you break it up and turn it over with the ploughshare of the Good Lie that you can screw a livelihood out of it. Isn't that what humans do? They take a dead landscape and reshape it into what they need, and want, and can use. I've never hesitated to adapt the world to suit me, when I can get away with it.

My belief is, either you understand things or you understand people. Nobody can do both. Frankly, I'm happier with things.

He stared at the coin in his hand, then at me. Then he ran. I've seen men running for their lives, but he was faster. Incentive is everything.

It's the way my mind works, when it works at all. Things to do today: settle down, achieve serenity, live happily ever after. Tick the box and move on.

I had my pick of three. Never ceases to amaze me, the insane things people will do for money.

Still, and even so; if it's a choice between lions and wolves and jackals and foxes, give me lions any day. You can't ever justify what they do, but they've got style.

He never makes notes, he just remembers it all, like a barmaid.

like a cartwheel over a hedgehog,

the guilty are innocent, only the innocent can commit crimes.

I stared at him. I kid myself that I understand people, that I can predict what stupid, pathetic thing they're going to do next.

Why, when he'd been a kid . . . The mail coach arrived before Corvolo had a chance to tell Poldarn the complete history of his life, which was probably just as well. Corvolo had an amazing memory and could recall trivial conversations from thirty years ago, apparently word for word. If the coach had been even a quarter of an hour late, Poldarn was sure he'd have murdered the old man.

Here they fight with messers. God help them.

The way I see it, the truth is just barren moorland, all useless bog and heather. It's only when you break it up and turn it over with the ploughshare of the Good Lie that you can screw a livelihood out of it. Isn't that what humans do? They take a dead landscape and reshape it into what they need, and want, and can use.