Quotes About Ambiguity

That's for the Captain to know," Treasure snapped, and if my story makes her seem unpleasant and paranoid and a suck-up, that's because she was unpleasant and paranoid and a suck-up.

Arthur liked limbo. He thrived on it. He'd built a life around fuzzy boundaries, overlapping identities, conflicts of interest. Limbo was his element.

We were none of us particularly drunk. But then again, none of us were particularly sober either. Our exact positioning between these two points is a matter of pointless conjecture, and I will waste no time on it.

When a man gives you a rose what you see may not be what he intends. You may think he sees you as delicate or frail. Perhaps you dislike a suitor who considers you sweet and nothing else. Perhaps the stem is thorn, and you assume he thinks you likely to hurt a hand too quick to touch. But if he trims the thorns you might think he has no liking for a thing that can defend itself with sharpness. There's so many ways a thing can be interpreted.

Wilem: 'What is the word for that here? A man who is intimate with both women and men?' 'Lucky?' Denna suggested. 'Tired? Ambidextrous?' 'Ambisextrous,' I corrected.

I do not understand this man," [Tempi] said. "Is he attempting to buy sex with me? Or does he wish to fight?

She tried to slide it back to proper true, but couldn't see the shape of it and couldn't tell the way of things and if it was a place where it was right.

Does six strike you as a good number?" I didn't know what he was getting at. "Six isn't exactly a lucky number," I hedged. "If I were looking for a good number I'd have to go up to seven." I shrugged. "Or down to three.

How could I even begin? I would have more luck trying to steal the moon.

I thought I might be a little crazy." "You still might be," she said. "I'm not a good touchstone to use for judging your sanity." "Do you feel crazy?" She shook her head, a half smile curling the corner of her mouth. "No. How about you?" "Not particularly." "That's either good or bad, depending," she said. "How do you propose we go about solving the mystery of the ages?

I just don't understand what you see in her," Sim said carefully. "I know she's charming. Fascinating and all of that. But she seems rather," he hesitated, "cruel." I nodded. "She is.

Once she even referred to them as Grimward and Grinning, but something about the way she said it made me suspect it was a joke.

Re'lar Ambrose, are you a donkey?

She nodded seriously. "That's as much as I've guessed too." She paused to look at the circle the horizon made around us. The wind caught her hair and she brushed it back again. "Do you happen to know where I'm going?

When a man gives you a rose what you see may not be what he intends. You may think he sees you as delicate or frail. Perhaps you dislike a suitor who considers you all sweet and nothing else. Perhaps the stem is thorned, and you assume he thinks you likely to hurt a hand too quick to touch. But if he trims the thorns you might think he has no liking for a thing that can defend itself with sharpness.

could indicate she doesn't know who she is," he said. "Or that she does know, and doesn't like it." He looked up and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "It could indicate restlessness and dissatisfaction. It could mean her nature is changeable and she shifts her name to fit it. Or it could mean she changes her name with the hope it might help her be a different person.

Yes. No. Maybe. Elsewhere. Soon.

I'm sorry? Congratulations?" He made a shy smile at me. "Do I buy you a bandage or a beer?

a sounten or a peveret or something else. You pay your money, the barman gives her water, and at the end of the night she splits the money with the

We talked through the long hours of night. I spoke subtle circles around the way I felt, not wanting to be overbold. I thought she might be doing the same, but I could never be sure. It

I do not understand this man," he said. "Is he attempting to buy sex with me? Or does he wish to fight?

In other words," I said. "If someone asked you why you hang around that sadist, you'll say 'beats me.

He wasn't certain whether he was a good or bad person. Whether he was altruistic. Whether he was demonic. But he was certain of one thing. He was an artist. And for that he would never apologize.

A few hours later, she was back. As she slipped off her slingback heels and rubbed her ankles, she said, "Boy, when he says, 'Come up and see my etchings,' he means 'Come up and see my etchings.