Foundryside Quotes

All things have a value. Sometimes the value is paid in coin. Other times, it is paid in time and sweat. And finally, sometimes it is paid in blood. Humanity seems most eager to use this latter currency. And we never note how much of it we’re spending, unless it happens to be our own.

Pride…it’s so often an excuse for people to be weak.

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation.

Remember—move thoughtfully, give freedom to others, and you'll rarely do wrong ...

Do you feel free? Or do you feel, perhaps, like you have stolen yourself?

They said I was one thing. But I have changed my mind.

Traditional," she echoed. "What a curious word that is. So bland, and yet often so poisonous.

I did what was necessary to gain my freedom. Wouldn’t you?

The choices you make will change you over time, Sancia. Make sure they don’t change you into something you don’t recognize—or you might wind up like me.

A struck match sounds like a kiss in the dark, sometimes.

Is this survival? Is this liberty? “Beats the hell out of me, kid,” said Clef’s voice, soft and sad.

Remember—move thoughtfully, give freedom to others, and you’ll rarely do wrong, Sancia. I’ve learned that now. I wish I’d known it in life.

Bad blood," he said, "is still blood.

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation. This is simply the life cycle of how human ingenuity manifests in the material world. What goes forgotten, though, is that those who partake in this system undergo a similar transformation: people begin as comrades and fellow citizens, then become labor resources and assets, and then, as their utility shifts or degrades, transmute into liabilities, and thus must be appropriately managed.

A struck match sounds like a kiss in the dark, sometimes. She remembered thinking that, watching the flame crack to life and then flutter down to the pools of alcohol running across the floor. No one had made it out. And as she’d sat and watched, she’d realized—master or slave, all screams sounded alike.

There are many dangers here, child, she’d said once. Many. Many ugly things you’re going to have to do. It will be a great contest for you. And you’re going to think: How do I win? And the answer is—so long as you are alive, you are winning. The only hope you should ever have is to see the next day, and the next. Some here will whisper of liberty—but you can’t be free if you aren’t alive.

To try to bind a person is like writing in the ocean.

As if having you by force was the same as having you.

You still define yourself as an item. That is only reason you can be controlled.

It’s like an eraser, only I designed it to be attracted to erase one specific thing... the tissue lining the human heart.

Gregor Dandolo did his utmost to follow the laws: both the laws of the city, and his own moral laws of the universe. But more and more these days, one seemed to disagree with the other.

This is a rich man’s fight,” said Sancia. “A rich man’s game. And we’re all just pieces on the board to you. You think you’re different, Orso, but you’re just like all the rest of them!

I survived. I keep surviving, it seems. It’s taught me many things. After Dantua…it was like a magic spell had been lifted from my eyes. We are making these horrors. We are doing this to ourselves. We have to change. We must change.

Why are you out here risking your life? Is Justice such an odd thing to desire? Justice is a luxury. No said Gregor. It is not. It is a right. And it is a right that has long been denied. He stared out at the city...I would shed every drop of blood in my body for such a thing.

I ... suppose I find you ... refreshingly uncontained.

There, she thought, shaking off another rat and brushing away the turds. That wasn’t so bad.

Is this survival? Is this liberty? said Clef’s voice, soft and sad.

Please provide location and density of mass!

There are many dangers here, child, she’d said once. Many. Many ugly things you’re going to have to do. It will be a great contest for you. And you’re going to think: How do I win? And the answer is—so long as you are alive, you are winning. The only hope you should ever have is to see the next day, and the next. Some here will whisper of liberty—but you can’t be free if you aren’t alive.

She needed money. She always needed money. Money to bribe someone, money to buy tools to get more money, money to get a safe place to store her damned money. Life was cheap, and cash, as ever, remained dauntingly expensive.

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation. This is simply the life cycle of how human ingenuity manifests in the material world. What goes forgotten, though, is that those who partake in this system undergo a similar transformation: people begin as comrades and fellow citizens, then become labor resources and assets, and then, as their utility shifts or degrades, transmute into liabilities, and thus must be appropriately managed. This is a fact of nature just as much as the currents of the winds and the seas. The flow of force and matter is a system, with laws and maturation patterns. We should harbor no guilt for complying with those laws—even if they sometimes require a little inhumanity. —TRIBUNO CANDIANO, LETTER TO THE COMPANY CANDIANO CHIEF OFFICER’S ASSEMBLY

Any given innovation that empowers the individual will inevitably come to empower the powerful much, much more.

It’s an opportunity we can’t pass up! With his blood, the damned thing should open for her like a schoolgirl’s legs!

People, though, and living things ... their sense of self is ... complicated. Mutable. It changes. People don't think of themselves as just as bag of flesh and blood and bones, even if that's what they basically are. They think of themselves as soldiers, as kings, as wives and husbands and children ... People can convince themselves to be anything.

People, though, and living things ... their sense of self is complicated. Mutable. It changes ... they think of themselves as soldiers, as kings, as wives and husbands and children ... People can convince themselves to be anything...

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation. This is simply the life cycle of how human ingenuity manifests in the material world. What goes forgotten, though, is that those who partake in this system undergo a similar transformation: people begin as comrades and fellow citizens, then become labor resources and assets, and then, as their utility shifts or degrades, transmute into liabilities, and thus must be appropriately managed. This is a fact of nature just as much as the currents of the winds and the seas. The flow of force and matter is a system, with laws and maturation patterns. We should harbor no guilt for complying with those laws—even if they sometimes require a little inhumanity.

We don’t have time to amend your dogshit educations!

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation. This is simply the life cycle of how human ingenuity manifests in the material world.

Sancia then quickly attempted to explain that a scrum hole on a ship referred to the vents that allowed waves to wash out the fecal matter in the latrines. But some matter inevitably built up in the scrum hole, so crewmen would have to shove poles down into the holes to clear it out, which, sailors being somewhat filthy-minded people, inevitably became slang for the sexual practice of… said Clef.

Justice is a luxury.” “No,” said Gregor. “It is not. It is a right. And it is a right that has long been denied.

said Clef as she set him down.

yet she could not help but feel a tremendous, powerful intelligence in those blank, golden eyes, a mind that watched her with a disturbing indifference, like Sancia were no more than a raindrop wriggling its way down a windowpane…

Then she felt his hands. One on her knee, slowly slipping to the inside of her thigh and sliding up to her crotch. The other gripped her wrist, his fingers biting into her flesh and bone. “One hand gentle,” he whispered to her. “And one hand firm. That’s the wisdom of kings—yes?

Sancia raged in disgust against the invisible bonds on her mind.

Click.

Traditional,” she echoed. “What a curious word that is. So bland, and yet often so poisonous.

Sancia had no idea what she had done. But she did understand one thing, in some wordless fashion: the Sancia that the stars touched right now was slightly less human than the one they had touched the night before.

Every innovation—technological, sociological, or otherwise—begins as a crusade, organizes itself into a practical business, and then, over time, degrades into common exploitation

All things have a value. Sometimes the value is paid in coin. Other times, it is paid in time and sweat. And finally, sometimes it is paid in blood. Humanity seems most eager to use this latter currency. And we never note how much of it we’re spending, unless it happens to be our own.

Iron is iron. Stone is stone. Wood is wood. Objects have an uncomplicated sense of self, so to speak. Poeple, though, and living things... their sense of self is... complicated. Mutable. It changes. People don't think of themselves as just a bag of flehs and blood and bones, even if they basically are. They think of themselves as soldiers, as kings, as wives and husbands abd children... People can convince themselves to be anything, and because of that, the scrivings you bind them with can't stay anchored. To try to bind a person is like writing in the ocean.

She looked out at the city. All of Tevanne was smeared with starlit smoke and steam, a ghostly cityscape sinking into the fog. The huge white campo walls surfaced among the ramble of the Commons like the bones ofa bleached whale. Behind them stood the towers of the campos, which glowed with soft, colorful luminescence. Among them was the Michiel clock tower, its face a bright, cheery pink, and beyond that was the Mountain of the Candianos, the biggest structure in all of Tevanne, a huge dome that reminded her of a fat, swollen tick, sitting in the center of the Candiano campo. She felt lonely, and small. Sancia had always been alone. But feeling lonely was different from just being alone.

Sometimes you need a little revolution to make a lot of good.

That's what scriving is. Reality doesn't matter. If you can change something's mind enough, it'll believe whatever reality you choose.

Midnight, she thought to herself. When the world grinds to a stop, and then restarts.