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Sisto V, accorso a vedere il miracolo di un Ges? Cristo di legno che inondava sangue dalle ferite, lo ruppe dicendo: – Come Cristo ti venero, ma come legno ti rompo! – E il Cristo rotto mostr? che al suo interno era stata collocata una spugna inzuppata di liquido rosso, per simulare il sangue grondante.
--
Author unknown; reported in Dante Leonardi, Spighe d'oro, Remo Sandron Editore, 1924.

 

Sixtus V (pope)

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We were at last in Monte Cristo's country, fairly into the country of the fabulous, where extravagance ceases to exist because everything is extravagant, and where the wildest dreams come true.

 

Willa Cather

 

Mal si puo trar da la rapa sangue.

 

Agnolo Firenzuola

 

Men che dramma
di sangue m'? rimaso, che no tremi;
conosco i segni dell' antica fiamma.

 

Dante Alighieri

 

For the moment, it's called the Dagger and the Coin, but with any luck, that'll swap out for a better name. There are some things in the proposal that need to get smoothed out so that everyone's on board, but I think it'll happen.
It's a very different from the Long Price books. It looks and feels more like traditional epic fantasy -- quasi-Europe, ferinstance, and some dragons in the background, no 15-year gaps between books -- but the plot structure is packed with everything I think is cool. There are echoes I'm intentionally building in of from things as familiar as Firefly and The Count of Monte Cristo and as obscure as Tevis' Queen's Gambit and Reck-Malleczewen's Diary of a Man in Despair. And the magic system is all about faith and deception, which will be tricky and fun both.
What I want to do is write something that I could read now (39 years old, married, raising a kid, 10 year IT career behind me, post 9-11, post-Bush, etc.) with the same joy I read the Belgariad when I was 16.

 

Daniel Abraham

 

Allí en Rangoon comprendí que los dioses
eran tan enemigos como Dios
del pobre ser humano.
Dioses
de alabastro tendidos
como ballenas blancas,
dioses dorados como las espigas,
dioses serpientes enroscados
al crimen de nacer,
budhas desnudos y elegantes
sonriendo en el coktail
de la vacía eternidad
como Cristo en su cruz horrible,
todos dispuestos a todo,
a imponernos su cielo,
todos con llagas o pistola
para comprar piedad o quemarnos la sangre,
dioses feroces del hombre
para esconder la cobardía,
y allí todo era así,
toda la tierra olía a cielo,
a mercadería celeste.

 

Pablo Neruda