Цитаты из книги Katabasis

The universe's events are doomed to repeat over and over. There is finite energy and material in infinite time, so combinations repeat. The eternal hourglass turns again and again.

Christians are right about souls living forever but wrong about everything else. Buddhists, Hindus, and ancient Greeks understand better. Living and dying are two sides of the same coin. It makes more sense to think of souls as flowing from one world to another than stuck forever underground.

As Socrates said, "If the living were always being born and always dying, what would prevent everything being used up in death?"

Hell is a campus.

“The true lover of philosophy is always thinking about death.” — PLATO

Можна було б подумати, що частіше це буде чоловік. Але завжди дівчина. Вона завжди боїться. Вона хоче йому вірити, та не може. Він занадто багато разів підводив її у минулому. Вона знає, що він зробить це знову. І зрештою вона мусить подбати про себе.

Wickedness felt better when you had a coconspirator; otherwise it was just you and your conscience.

You could do anything if you were delusional.

Favoritism was well and fine if she was the favorite.

But magicians lived in air, dancing on a tentative staircase of ideas, and it was a source of endless delirium, to know that the instant the world began to bore you, you could snap your fingers, and you’d be in free fall once again.

Magick taunts physics and makes her cry.

Alice Law, you naughty girl. You’re trying to go to Hell.

Orpheus’s notes, already in archaic Greek, were largely in shreds like the rest of him.

One was hurt most by what one knew.

Everyone knew that the nicer a library was, the better the work you did within it.

Ludwig Wittgenstein had once argued there were no philosophical problems, just problems of language.

Immortality here was no gift. Nothing was fleeting, precious, and so nothing was valuable. Not even thoughts, for none of their thoughts were original, but mere echoes of one another, everything they would ever be capable of thinking in a gilded box with the spotlight merely roving. Nothing added; no discovery, no delight. No growth here. Just withered stumps of time.

There was no line in the sand, nothing that declared a hard and fast distinction between the cruel man’s blows and the tyrant’s cunning manipulation.

Where Violence was harsh and mindless, Cruelty was littered with intention. Cruelty fucked with you on purpose.

But it had never been about the recommendation letters. It was only about revenge, and bloody control, and having Grimes understand at last how it felt to be someone else’s toy.