You blame the gods, then?" "I blame the despair that the gods brought. - Michael Moorcock

Nothing is known for certain, Isarda. All knowledge is illusion—purpose is a meaningless word, a mere sound, a reassuring fragment of melody in a cacophony of clashing chords. All is flux—matter is like these jewels. (She throws a handful of gleaming gems upon the golden surface; they scatter. When the last jewel has ceased to move, she looks up at him.) Sometimes they fall into a rough pattern, usually they do not. So as this moment, a pattern has been formed—you and I stand here speaking. But at any moment that which constitutes our beings may be scattered again.

The hardest compromise to make is when you decide to appear to compromise. Often the deception becomes the reality long before you realize it.

If your people spent less time maintaining their own devalued myths about themselves and more upon studying the world as it is I think your city would have a greater chance of surviving. As it is, the place is crumbling beneath the weight of its own degraded fictions. The legends which offer a race their sense of pride and history eventually become putrid..."
"We are unconcerned with matters of philosophy," Manag Iss said with evident poor temper. "We do not question the motives or the ideas of those who employ us. That is written in our charters."
"And therefore must be obeyed!" Elric smiled. "Thus you celebrate your decadence and resist reality.