Sean Russell Quotes

The carriage, Tristam realized, was becoming the metaphor for this period of his life: he neither owned, drove, nor directed one in any way but was simply carried along.

Roderick has been known to have titles and estates granted to those in his circle for accomplishing nothing more than constant agreement with his opinions, but those he has not befriended could save the kingdom and hardly receive a note of thanks. It is the way of the court and courtiers. But not everyone is so blind.

To wait for life is the pathway to death.

There were no sounds of men, here; only the whisperings of the world of nature, which men often called silence.

Never, he said firmly, be intimidated by a person because of the size of house in which they were born.

“I have tried to find some explanation that does not rely on logic, but once the borders of rationality have been removed I cannot imagine what should take their place. How does one begin to measure? What standards should one apply?”
The prince understood what she meant. Once reason was no longer your guide, you were like a man stranded in a featureless landscape. There were no landmarks to use. One direction was as likely to yield results as any other.

Experience taught him that the future was uncertain and one could prepare for it only by learning indifference to disappointment and loss.

No man of the first rank is ever satisfied with his accomplishments, no matter what others make of them.

Soldiers, Your Highness. Men trained not to think for themselves.

I am a trained empiricist, sir. Superstition is not compatible with my pursuits.

Their superstitions will allow them to believe things without much critical thought.

Ironically, or so it seemed to Tristam, the day was perfect and the green countryside rolled past in ordered tranquillity, the death of a single man having shockingly little impact on the larger world.

It was difficult to believe these things had taken place such a very long time ago. The events seemed distant, as though he had only read about them and not experienced them at all. He knew that at this point his death was far closer, far more tangible. That was something he could almost touch. One could feel one’s mortal form progressing slowly to ruin, like that old abbey—the signs were undeniable. Things went wrong inside a man and did not come right again. That was the truth that hung over one’s head like a blade. Injuries and illnesses were no longer easily repaired. And as with some part of a painting that he could never get right, the great danger was to see nothing but what was wrong. The trap of age.

"Tristam," the old man said softly. "If I may be completely candid, you are the poorest liar. Lack of experience, no doubt—which is to your credit."

There was no question in Tristam’s mind now that if one stared into the semidarkness long enough one would find whatever one sought. What the eye could not locate the mind would manufacture.