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F Quotes

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All F Quotes

“Fable Town's door is set in a sprawling live oak whose knobby trunk rivals the size of the largest mausoleum in our cemetery-- I suppose the door has to be this large to fit a dragon, after all-- with a canopy of serpentine branches that extended like the wizened, swollen-knuckled fingers of a witch. The knots are so smooth to the touch that I know this tree must be hundreds of years old. Thousands, even. Maybe even the first tree to ever exist in the Hinterlands. For what is older than fables themselves? a voice whispers in my mind. Distant tinkles of laughter like fairy bells rustle the shimmering leaves. Everything about this tree whispers of ancient storybooks and steaming spicy tea and castle halls filled with lute music. A picture of an open storybook is carved into the door, along with words so timeworn that I have to trace them with my finger to read them. "Once... upon... a... time..." I recite aloud in a voice as breathy as a spell.”

“Fables should be taught as fables, myths as myths, and miracles as poetic fancies. To teach superstitions as truths is a most terrible thing. The child mind accepts and believes them, and only through great pain and perhaps tragedy can he be in after years relieved of them. In fact, men will fight for a superstition quite as quickly as for a living truth — often more so, since a superstition is so intangible you cannot get at it to refute it, but truth is a point of view, and so is changeable.”

“Fabre stood up. He placed his fingertips on d‘Anton’s temples. “Put your fingers here,” he said. “Feel the resonance. Put them here, and here.” He jabbed at d’Anton’s face: below the cheekbones, at the side of his jaw. “I’ll teach you like an actor,” he said. “This city is our stage.” Camille said: “Book of Ezekiel. ‘This city is the cauldron, and we the flesh’ ...” Fabre turned. “This stutter,” he said. “You don’t have to do it.” Camille put his hands over his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he said. “Even you.” Fabre’s face was incandescent. “Even you, I am going to teach.” He leapt forward, wrenched Camille upright in his chair. He took him by the shoulders and shook him. “You’re going to talk properly,” Fabre said. “Even if it kills one of us.” Camille put his hands protectively over his head. Fabre continued to perpetrate violence; d’Anton was too tired to intervene.”

“Fabric of Stars (The Sonnet) Rise or fall doesn’t matter, If you've helped a few people. Live or die doesn’t matter, If you've helped a few people. The point of life is not to live, Any more than it is to just eat. The point of life is to lift lives, In their smile is victory, in tears defeat. To win over enemies is ridiculously easy, To win over hearts is the real act of valor. Muscles wither, clothes get torn to pieces, Valor and virtue can’t be bound by no graveyard. Graves are for animals and gutter-crawling worms. Helpers get forever etched upon the fabric of stars.”

“Fabrication of necessary illusions for social management is as old as history. But in the democratic system, the necessary illusions cannot be imposed by force. Rather they must be instilled in the public mind by more subtle means. A totalitarian state can be satisfied with lesser degrees of allegiance to required truths. It is sufficient that people obey. What they think is a secondary concern. But in a democratic political order, there's always the danger that an independent thought might be translated into political action. So it is important to eliminate the threat at its root.”

“Fabritius is thirty-two, and I was the same age when I first wrote about his self-portrait. He and I remain the same age whenever we meet. He is dead, I am still alive, so the existential maths [sic] is now absurd. But a person in a portrait does not age, even if the painting does. The picture removes the person from time's harm and fixes them in the moment; and so it does for me. I never go to a gallery and think that these people are dead and gone, no matter how long ago they were depicted. The painting fuses the person in the moment and that moment somehow includes me, and you, and everyone to come. Here he is now, Carel Fabritius, and so he will remain; the artist appearing in and as his own painting.”

“Fabrizio sperava di separarsi da quel gruppo di stronzi e andare via per sempre. Sognava di essere solo lui con Mimì, a fare musica e, finalmente, dare un calcio a quel posto dimenticato da Dio che è l’hinterland di Milano. Invece due anni dopo sono ancora lì, a suonare e sudare, sputando sangue su spartiti di canzoni che non sono mai abbastanza belle, mai abbastanza buone. Non per lui, almeno. Mimì dice che sono spettacolari e lo guarda come se ci credesse davvero, ma Fabrizio sa che è molto probabile sia solo frutto della sua immaginazione. Perché anche se a volte gli sembra che Mimì lo guardi, anche se è sempre accanto a lui quando sono al pub, anche se quando suonano gli va sempre vicino, Fabrizio sa anche che il suo amico ha una fidanzata. Più di una, a dire il vero. Come se fosse possibile il contrario, poi. Più passano gli anni, più Mimì diventa bello. E più passano gli anni, più Fabrizio si innamora di lui.”

“Facciamo a braccetto gli ultimi passi. Siamo su. Ci abbracciamo. E’ mezzogiorno. Abbiamo raggiunto la meta dei nostri desideri, poco sotto il cielo. Oswald è completamente euforico. Grida “Siamo su, siamo su” dietro la sua maschera. Io sono felice, perché la vetta comporta anche la fine della penosa salita. La vetta significa non dover più fare nessun passo verso l'alto. Non riesco ancora ad esserne consapevole, solo le mie conoscenze mi dicono: “Questo è il punto più alto della terra”. Scattiamo le fotografie per l'album di famiglia: io, il vincitore della vetta, io, il superuomo. Io, la creatura senza fiato, io, il Reinhard su un mucchio di neve. Pian piano realizzo il freddo, il vento, la mia stanchezza. Pian piano, dopo la gioia, viene la tristezza, viene una sensazione di vuoto: una utopia è diventata realtà. Intuisco che anche l'Everest è solo un'anticima. La vera cima non la raggiungerò mai.”

“Faccio una piroetta e torno dentro, non mi farò rovinare la serata, ho preso i voti che meritavo, ho un ragazzo ricco, ho un’estate davanti, e per chi ha la mia età, l’estate è come la messa, la chiesa, la riva del fiume a fine nuotata, la boccata d’aria dopo un viaggio a finestrini chiusi, è il paese che si veste a festa.”