David Gemmell (1948 – 2006)
Bestselling British author of heroic fantasy.
I remember a tutor who told me that all the world's hunters have eyes that faced front: lions, hawks, wolves, men ... He said man was no different from the tiger. We are nature's killers, and we have great appetites for it ... Listen, Rayvan, the beast is in all of us. We do our best in life, but often we are mean, or petty, or needlessly cruel. We don't mean to be, but that's the way we are.
"We irritated him, he told me. Why did he get himself killed for us?" "Because he was a hero. And that is what heroes do. You understand?"
We are not made for life at all, old horse. It is made for us. We live it. We leave it.
We are full of dreams [...] We long for the unattainable. We believe in the nonsense of fables. There is no pure love; there is lust and there is need.
But from now on act the part. You will be amazed at the number of people you fool. Don't share your doubts! Life is a game, Scaler. Play it like that.
'Love is for fools. It is a surging of blood in the loins ... there is no mystery, and no magic. Find someone else, my boy.'
Evil will never be countered while good men do nothing.
Some people are born ugly. It's not their fault, and I for one have never held it against a man that he is ugly. but others — and I count myself among them — are born with handsome features. That's a gift that should not be lightly taken away.
"... But men don't come in just two groups, one of gold and the other of lead. They are a mix of both." "And what about women?" "Pure gold, my girl," Rayvan answered with a chuckle.
This enterprise was doomed, but we do what we can and do what we must. So a young farmer with wife and children decides to go home. Good! He shows a sense that you and I will never understand. They will sing songs about us, but he will ensure that there are people to sing them. He plants. We destroy.
Look around you: see the people as they touch and show their love. But don't watch coldly, like an observer. Don't hover outside life—take part in it. There are people waiting to love you. It is not something you should turn down lightly.
It would be a fine thing if war could be conducted as a game where no lives were lost. At the end of a battle combatants could meet [...] and drink and talk.
Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails at something.
'By my lights, my son, you are a young man. [...] there should be love in your life. Am I at fault in my thinking?' 'Not at fault, Senior Brother. I loved once, and in truth I could love again. But the pain of loss was too much for me. I would rather live alone than suffer for it.' 'Then you are here to hide, Charreos, and it is not a good reason. The gift of life is too great to waste in such a fashion...'
All things in the world are created for man, yet all have two purposes. The waters run that we might drink of them, but they are also symbols of the futility of man. They reflect our lives in rushing beauty, birthed in the purity of the mountains. As babes they babble and run, gushing and growing as they mature into strong young rivers. Then they widen and slow until at least they meander, like old men, to join with the sea.
It is a rare man who notices a handsome woman.
What is life if a man cannot count on his friends when he has gone mad?
"Why am I taking seduction advice from a man whose idea of foreplay is to slam coins on the table and shout: 'Who wants to ride the big horse?'" "Because he knows best, Tinker."
No one can take away the freedom of a man's soul.