Tanith Lee (19 September 1947 – 24 May 2015) was a British writer of science fiction, horror and fantasy. She also wrote under the pseudonym Esther Garber.
Why aid me?" "God has moved me to help you. Or, if you prefer, it was my reasonless inclination to do so.
There is, too, a sort of relief in admitting defeat. Struggling to drag a mountain from my path, acknowledging at last the mountain would remain, lying down beneath the mountain, thankful for the shade of it.
It is a phenomenon of such spots that any noise is encapsulated in this ringing stillness, and made strangely tiny, however loud. The shouts of bandits and the squeaks of fauna sound as if confined in bubbles, a symbol of their impermanence. Only the desert endures.
The absolute, as I had finally been shown, does not need the accompaniment of pipes and drums.
A tomb contains the dead, who are properly immobile and unspeaking. Though Masrians leave lamps for the ghosts, nobody expects they will be lighted.
The grape of truth is often bitter, but not to taste it in its season would be to waste the vine.
I had a rare wine in my blood. Expiation was over, guilt washed out, terror canceled.
The plague came to be called Yellow Mantle. Men must name everything, as if, by giving it a name, they will decrease the nameless horror they experience.
Far too soon a man is in his grave, and how small are the hurricanes and mountains of his life—vengeance, love, might, and conquest—compared to that tiny heap of bone dust at its end.
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Nothing breaks more quickly than corroded steel.
I have seen women who thought they loved me look at me that way, and wolves which were hungry.
There is no swifter way to make an enemy of a woman. You may tell her she is a clod or a bitch; as long as you lust for her, it will be forgiven. But say she is the wonder of the world and show her cold loins, and she will hate you till the sun goes out.
Some god must be laughing somewhere." "Some god is always laughing. That is, if you believe in them, which is surely enough to make them laugh.
Such is the civilizing effect of city life upon men. It kills the instincts and replaces them with extended noses.
Power is the wine after which all other wine is mud.