Quotes from Stephen R. Donaldson

Destruction was easier than preservation, and when destruction had risen high enough, mere men and women could not be condemned if they failed to throw back the tide.

Your mother would break my pate if she knew how I risked you. Father, Myste replied like a sun, all children must be risked. Mother knows that. How else are we to discover ourselves? King Jose and Myste (p. 908)

All power is an articulation of its wielder. There is no other source than life—and the desire of that life to express itself.

All you need to avoid despair is irremediable stupidity or unlimited stubbornness.

There's only one way to hurt a man who's lost everything. Give him back something broken.

Are you a storyteller, Thomas Covenant?" Absently he replied, "I was, once." "And you gave it up? Ah, that is as sad a tale in three words as any you might have told me. But a life without a tale is like a sea without salt. How do you live?" ... Unconsciously, he clenched his fist over his ring. "I live." "Another?" Foamfollower returned. "In two words, a story sadder than the first. Say no more -- with one word you will make me weep.

I respect my limitations, but I don't use them as an excuse.

He who waits for the sword to fall upon his neck will surely lose his head.

Any belief that puts itself beyond doubt nurtures its own collapse.

Stone and sea are deep in life Two unalterable symbols of the world Permanence at rest And permanence in motion Participants in the power that remains

It is wrong to ask for more than you give freely. In this way, we come to resemble what we hate.

And he who wields white, wild magic gold is a paradox For he is everything and nothing Hero and fool Potent, helpless And with one word of truth or treachery He will save or damn the earth Because he is mad and sane Cold and passionate Lost and found

We didn't make the world. All we have to do is live in it.

This you have to understand. There's only one way to hurt a man who's lost everything. Give him back something broken.

Where do you get dreams like this?

Part of him wanted to weep... but his purpose was rigid within him. He felt he could not bend to gentleness without breaking.

Gradually, the night stumbled as if stunned and wandering aimlessly into an overcast day -- limped through the wilderland of transition as though there were no knowing where the waste of darkness ended and the ashes of light began. The low clouds seemed full of grief -- tense and uneasy with accumulated woe -- and yet affectless, unable to rain, as if the air clenched itself too hard for tears. And through the dawn, Atiaran and Covenant moved heavily, unevenly, like pieces of a broken lament.

Do not hurt where holding is enough; do not wound where hurting is enough; do not maim where wounding is enough; and kill not where maiming is enough; the greatest warrior is he who does not need to kill.

The story of Terisa and Geraden began very much like a fable. She was a princess in a high tower. He was a hero come to rescue her. She was the only daughter of wealth and power. He was the seventh son of the lord of the seventh Care. She was beautiful from the auburn hair that crowned her head to the tips of her white toes. He was handsome and courageous. She was held prisoner by enchantment. He was a fearless breaker of enchantments. As in all the fables, they were made for each other.

Something in her expression made Covenant feel that he came from a very poor world, where no one knew or cared about the healing of stoneware pots.

Futility is the defining characteristic of life.

Be true, unbeliever.

And you require no answers", Foamfollower was laughing in his gladness, "You are sufficient to every question".

He was too many things at once - a boy, a man, and everything in between - and the differing parts of himself seldom came into balance. She found him attractive in that way. Yet the perception saddened her: she herself wasn't too many things, but too few.