Yutes Quotes

Yute told me a great writer once said that fiction was easy—all you have to do is sit in front of a blank page and bleed.” Livira snorted. “Yute said there was a people who took that literally. They wrote everything in blood, which he felt was trying too hard, but perhaps a good way to conserve paper and make sure you get to the point quickly.

A car pulled up behind us ... some yutes stepped from it. They all wore masks and gloves; it was like a surgeons' convention. And in many ways it was; everyone had blood on their hands.

No sabía cuál era la realidad, la de adentro o la de afuera, si había inventado lo que pensaba o lo que pensaba había inventado lo que sus ojos veían. Era un mundo sellado, ahogante, como vivir adentro de un saco tratando de morder el yute para buscar una salida o darle una entrada al aire y ver si era afuera o adentro o en otra parte donde estaba su destino, beber un poco de aire fresco no confinado por sus obsesiones, dónde comenzaba a ser él y dejaba de ser los demás... por eso el dolor, el mordisco necesario para salir, o para dejar entrar el aire.

Yute walked past the old man, clapping him on the shoulder as he went, 'You don't think you had enough to read already, my friend?' Synoth managed a wry smile through his beard. 'It's always the books you don't have that call to you, you know that. Not the ones already on your shelf. They can wait.' It was Yute's turn to shake his head as he walked away. 'Even as a trainee, Synoth, even as a trainee. Always hungry for the next book before you finished the first page of the one before you.

There would be some small risk, the story was also a paradox, but stories are strange creatures, more flexible than paper and ink. And risk, Yute acknowledged, was part of life, along with sorrow and joy, cats and dogs, dusty books and glorious sunsets.

You see, Malar,” Yute said. “I told you she was tenacious.” “Brothel-crabs are tenacious,” Malar grunted. “W—” “I feel you’re undervaluing her.” Yute cut off the first of Livira’s questions about brothels, crabs, and brothel-crabs.

Yute told me a great writer once said that fiction was easy—all you have to do is sit in front of a blank page and bleed.

prism can divide white light into an infinity of shades. The colours of the rainbow are simply a taxonomy applied reductively for convenience of use. Where indigo ends and violet begins is a debate that might be substituted for any shelving argument amongst librarians seeking to place a novel. Even fact and fiction can bleed into one another. A promise: A Librarian’s Tale, by Davris Yute

A prism can divide white light into an infinity of shades. The colours of the rainbow are simply a taxonomy applied reductive for convenience of use. Where indigo ends and violet begins is a debate that might be substituted for any shelving argument amongst librarians seeking to place a novel. Even fact and fiction can bleed into one another. Compromise: A Librarian's Tale, by Davris Yute

A prism can divide white light into an infinity of shades. The colours of the rainbow are simply a taxonomy applied reductive for convenience of use. Where indigo ends and violet begins is a debate that might be substituted for any shelving argument amongst librarians seeking to place a novel. Even fact and fiction can bleed into one another. Compromise: A Librarian's Tale, by Davris Yute

Immortal?” A smile. “I’m not and I’m glad of it.” “Glad? Why? Why would anyone–” “It can be hard to show someone the answer. Sometimes it’s easier if approached from a different angle. Consider: We can journey to Crath City and to the library, we can put this book on its shelf. We can return the book because it hasn’t changed – but we ourselves can’t return, we can only move forwards like a clockwork toy, because time has us. And I have stood outside this stream. I saw every story this book has to offer in one many-facetted whole held within time’s jewel. But trading that vision for a place in the river, borne along with the rest of you, was a deal I would make again in a heartbeat. There is in the possibility of loss, and in every transient second of existence, a value and a beauty that cannot be seen from without. Never mistake the idea that something won’t last long, for the notion that it has little value. Rejoice in the temporary, Heeth.” Yute put his hand to Heeth’s shoulder, a gesture so unlike him that Heeth almost stumbled. “We never know when or how it will end. And there’s a kindness in that too.

I didn’t mean…” “Of course. I understand.” Yute sighed. “When a sore spot is poked, even accidentally, its owner will flinch.

None of us really know what we're here for or what we are supposed to be doing. So we shout out, hoping someone will hear, hoping someone will hear, hoping someone will see us and reveal the great secret." Yute The Book That Wouldn't Burn

The library has never been about taking charge. It's a memory, it's ideas. It might have hoped to stop what is happening here but it's too late. There will be blood and horror and probably all the worst things that humanity is capable of. The library can make sure that nobody has a good excuse for forgetting what happens and striving to prevent repetition. But it cannot stop even that. People have to want to know. I wish I could tell you that free and easy access to to information solves these problems, it doesn't. People find their own wells of poison to drink from." "Who decides what truth is and which truths to hand out? We take to ourselves the power of the almighty when we control it. So, not intending to rule, the library just gives access. The truth is there on the self. You just have to reach out and take it. Information is like water. Without it you won't live long; too much and you'll drown. And there's a difference between truth and information. Even correct information is not the same as truth. Truth does not mislead. Correct information bereaved of context, can be more dangerous than a lie." "... those who want to lead humanity down the darkest paths it can walk, their first instinct is to burn books. Close the gates of information, allow no voices of descent. Prevision of information might not cure these ills but it is an impediment to their formation. The wind can't stop the advance of armies but eventually it wins. In the end mountains become dust and the wind still blows. It is my faith that the library will save us in the end." -Yute