Ptolemy's Gate Quotes

According to some, heroic deaths are admirable things. I've never been convinced by this argument, mainly because, no matter how cool, stylish, composed, unflappable, manly, or defiant you are, at the end of the day you're also dead. Which is a little too permanent for my liking.

A dozen more questions occurred to me. Not to mention twenty-two possible solutions to each one, sixteen resulting hypotheses and counter-theorems, eight abstract speculations, a quadrilateral equation, two axioms, and a limerick. That's raw intelligence for you.

The mercenary finished his coffee in a single gulp, It must have been piping hot, too. Boy, he was tough.

A typical master. Right to the end, he didn’t give me a chance to get a word in edgeways. Which is a pity, because at that last moment I’d have liked to tell him what I thought of him. Mind you, since in that split second we were, to all intents and purposes, one and the same, I rather think he knew anyway.

He was a worried man (I'm stretching the term a bit here, I know. By now, in his mid to late teens, he might just about have passed for a man. When seen from behind. At a distance. On a very dark night).

Burned and squashed to death in a silver vat of soup. There must be worst ways to go. But not many.

Much has happened since last we met, Bartimaeus," he went on. "Do you remember how we parted?" "No." I did. "You set light to me, old friend. Struck a match and left me burning in a copse." The crow shifted uneasily beneath the cleaver."That's a gesture of endearment in some cultures. Some hug, some kiss, some set each other on fire in small patches of woodland...

Believe me, I know all about bottle acoustics. I spent much of the sixth century in an old sesame oil jar, corked with wax, bobbing about in the Red Sea. No one heard my hollers. In the end an old fisherman set me free, by which time I was desperate enough to grant him several wishes. I erupted in the form of a smoking giant, did a few lightning bolts, and bent to ask him his desire. Poor old boy had dropped dead of a heart attack. There should be a moral there, but for the life of me I can't see one.

Pardon me, Highness, a women waits whithout." "Whithout what?

We communicated with pithy, rather monosyllabic thoughts: viz. Run, Jump, Where? Left, Up, Duck, ect. (This latter was an observation I made on the edge of a lake. Nathaniel unfortunately took it as a command, which resulted in our temporary immersion.) We didn't ever quite say Ug, but it was a close-run thing.

The Hermit was known to be pretty sniffy about disciples who returned in failure. There was a wall of the institute layered with their skins- an ingenious display that encouraged vigor in his students, as well as nicely keeping out the drafts.

What was it that drew you back? My marvellous personality, I suppose? Or my sparkling conversation?

listen, a goad's anything that provokes or incites an enemy --- let me have a go: cursed deamon! you have met your end! the shivering fire awaits you! i shall spread your vile essance across this hall like... um, like margarine, a very think layer of it... --- ye-es... im not sure he'll pick up on that analogy. never mind, keep going.

You think so?" The boy looked down at his cross-legged form. He was sitting straight-backed, legs folded neatly in the manner of an Egyptian scribe. "It's two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years since Ptolemy died," he said. "He was fourteen. Eight world empires have risen up and fallen away since that day, and I still carry his face. Who do you think's the lucky one?

Fifty years isn’t too bad. With luck you might see it happen when you’re a sweet, old granny, dandling big fat babies on your knee. Actually”—he held up a hand, interrupting Kitty’s cry of protest—“no, that’s wrong. My projection is incorrect.” “Good.” “You’ll never be a sweet old granny. Let’s say, ‘sad, lonely old biddy’ instead.

To my astonishment I saw him standing at a table with Kitty Jones. It was the Kitty Jones bit that was astonishing. Not the table. Though it was very nicely polished.

It was Nathaniel's boundless capacity for stating the obvious that made him so charmingly human.

Listen,” I began, “this is an established, traditional form that—” “Traditional nothing. Where are your clothes?” “Clothes?” I said weakly. “I don’t normally bother with them in this guise.” “Well, you could put on a pair of shorts, at least. You’re not decent.” “I’m not sure they’d go with the wings….” The demon frowned, blinked. “Hold on, enough of this!” “Lederhosen would. They’d compliment the leather.

I thought I told you to stop doing that," he snapped. A thin-lipped mouth opened; the jutting chin and nose knocked together indignantly. "Do what?" "Taking on such a hideous appearance. I've just had my breakfast." A section of brow lifted, allowing an eyeball to roll forward with a squelching sound.The face looked unapologetic."Sorry, mate," it said. "It's just my job." "Your job is to destroy anyone entering my study without authority. No more, no less." The door guard considered. "True. But I seek to preempt entry by scaring trespassers away. To my way of thinking, deterrence is more aesthetically satisfying than punishment." Mr. Mandrake snorted. "Trespassers apart, you'll likely frighten Ms. Piper here to death." The face shook from side to side, a process that caused the nose to wobble alarmingly. "Not so. When she comes alone, I moderate my features. I reserve the full horror for those I consider morally vicious." "But you just looked that way to me!" "The contradiction being...?

There was a devotion to detail here that could only come with genuine affection, perhaps even with love.

Isn't it hard to maintain an argument when you can read each other's mind?

Well, with luck we'll miss the beginning of the performance.

Strong characters of their sort tend to gravitate together. Pride has a part to play in it, and other emotions too. Neither wishes to fail; each redoubles their effort to impress. Things get done - but not always the right things or not always the things expected. and there's not much you can do to stop it.

The object that was pinning me haplessly to the ground, like a butterfly on a collector's tray, was of twentieth-century origin and of very specific function. Oh, all right, it was a public lavatory.

That didn't last long, of course. "Oh Bartimaeus, could you just irrigate the Fertile Cresent?""Could you just divert the Euphrates HERE and HERE?""Look, while you're at it, do you mind just planting a few million wheat seeds up and down the flood plain? Thanks." Didn't even give me a dibble. By the time I got to Ur I wasn't surging with any of that terrible joy, oh no. My back was KILLING me.

John Mandrake was an attractive young man, and the scent of power hung about him, sweet and intoxicating, like honeysuckle in the evening air.

Kitty shook her head. "You're wrong. Your apology isn't irrelevant and you're a fool if you can't see it. I'm grateful that you stopped Makepeace from having me killed. Now stop being such a wet blanket and try to think of something to do." He looked at her. "Hold on—was there a thanks buried in that pile of invective?

Thus, those with long and glittering careers (e.g. me) tend to look down on those (e.g. Ascobol) whose names have been unearthed more recently, and haven't amassed so many fine achievements.

He turned to face her, his body tingling. She gave a little shudder. "Did you feel that too?" she asked. "Yes," he said softly, "but don't talk." She pushed him away. "It was our sensor webs, you fool. Something's triggered them.

That's just it. I'm the first. And if my venture goes well, and I return to record it, many others will follow after me. There will be a new era between djinn and men. I've made some of the notes already, Rekhyt-my book will take pride of place in every library on the Earth. I won't be there to see it-but who knows, perhaps you will.

Which is a pity, because at that last moment I’d have liked to tell him what I thought of him. Mind you, since in that split second we were, to all intents and purposes, one and the same, I rather think he knew anyway.

At last, he was being decisive once again. Playing for the highest stakes, shrugging off the inertia of the last few years. He felt almost as he had done as a child, thrilling in the audacity of his actions. That was how it had often been before politics and the stultifying role of John Mandrake had closed in on him. And he no longer wished to play that part.

He prided himself on blunt speaking. Mind you, he did have a weakness for boasting. If you believed all his stories, you’d have thought him responsible for most of the world’s major landmarks as well as being advisor and confidant to all the notable magicians. This, as I once remarked to Solomon, was a quite ridiculous claim.

Manche behaupten ja, der Heldentot sei etwas Bewundernswertes. Diese Ansicht hat mich nie recht überzeugt. Hauptsächlich darum nicht, weil man beim Heldentod, ganz gleich wie gelassen, stilvoll, ruhig, unerschütterlich, männlich oder trotzig man ihn angeht, irgendwann tot ist, und das ist für meinen Geschmack eine Spur zu entgültig.

Nathaniel's trying to get hold of it right now. All very well, but could he use—Wait a minute! The radiant features of the boy contorted, slipped out of true, as if the condoling intelligence had drawn back in shock; an instant later they were as perfect as before. Let's get this straight. He told you his name? Yes. Now— I like that . . . I like that! He's been giving me gyp for years, simply because I could have spilled the beans, and now he's telling any old broad he meets, free of charge! Who else knows? Faquarl? Nouda? Did he deck his name out in neon lights and parade it round the town? I ask you! And I never told anyone! You let it slip last time I summoned you. Well, apart from that. But you could have told his enemies, couldn't you, Bartimaeus? You'd have found a way to harm him if you'd really wished it. And Nathaniel knows that too, I think. I had a talk with him.

In principle, there’s nothing shameful about struggling when a building falls upon you. I’ve had such problems before. It’s part of the job description.

But don’t worry though, Nat, you’re not totally alone. You’ve always got me.

But don’t worry though, Nat<\i>, you’re not totally alone. You’ve always got me.

viz.

Nothing that she had known about demons had quite prepared her for Bartimeaus’ personality. Their conversations, framed against a backdrop of fear and danger, remained fresh in her mind. Full of vitality, insight, and above all, an unexpected rapport.

The slime looked about for Mandrake. If things were bad for me, they weren’t too sunny for him either. To my astonishment, I saw him standing at a table with Kitty Jones. It was the Kitty Jones bit that was astonishing, not the table. Though it was very nicely polished.

Bartimaeus: By-name of the demon Sakhr al-Jinni, mentioned in Procopius and Michelot. A middle-ranking djinni of ancient standing, great ingenuity, and no little power. First recorded in Uruk; later in Jerusalem. Fought at the battle of al-Arish against the Assyrians. Known masters have included: Gilgamesh, Solomon, Zarbustibal, Heraclius, Hauser.

It is a mistake to be too concerned with names and titles, my dear Rekhyt. Such things are never more than rough approximations; matters of convenience. The people speak this out of ignorance. It’s when they understand your nature and are still abusive that you will have to worry.” He grinned at me side-long, “Which is always possible, let’s face it.

It’s when they understand your nature and are still abusive that you will have to worry.