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Quote by Luke Rhinehart

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The Search for the Dice Man

This novel explores the psychological depths of a man who relies on dice to guide his life choices, leading to a gripping narrative that challenges the reader's understanding of free will and fate. more

Author

Luke Rhinehart
Luke Rhinehart

Luke Rhinehart, born John Robert Schindler, is an influential American writer. Born on November 15, 1932, in New York City, Rhinehart is known for his unique writing style and profound insights into social phenomena. more

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“He wanted to be loved for being just what he was. In this community of Yskalnari there was harmony, but no love. He no longer wanted to be the greatest, strongest or cleverest. He had left all that far behind. He longed to be loved just as he was, good or bad, handsome or ugly, clever or stupid, with all his faults - or possibly because of them. But what was he actually? He no longer knew. So much have been given to him in Fantastica, and now, among all these gifts and powers, he could no longer find himself.”

Has BeensWantedLeftGivenCommunityBehindsStupidHarmonyFaultsUglyCleverStrongestHandsomeNo LoveWanted To Be LovedNever Ending Story
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“As they advanced (towards the fountain) one after another of Bastian's Fastastican gifts fell away from him. The strong, handsome, fearless hero became the small, fat, timid boy. (...) But then he jumped into the crystal-clear water... He drank till his thrist was quenched. And joy filled him from head to foot, the joy of living and the joy of being himself. He was new born. And the best part of it was that he was now the very person he wanted to be. If he had been free to choose, he would have chosen to be no one else.”

IfsPersonsWantedJoyStrongWaterBornBoysClearFeetHeroFilledChosenFatsFearlessFountainHandsomeCrystalsDrankJoy Of LivingClear Water
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“The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.”

FirstsHeartWaterWhiteSilenceMorningFiveImpossibleWindBirdHotGuitarEveningUselessDawnBranchesSandTargetSouthernYearningWoundedArrowsWeepingCamellias
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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