Sleep, when deep enough, is indistinguishable from vigilance.

R. Scott Bakker


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... fot he sin of the idolater is not that he worships stone, but that he worships one stone over others.

R. Scott Bakker


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The vulgar think the God by analogy to man and so worship Him in the form of the Gods. The learned think the God by analogy to principles and so worship Him in the form of Love or Truth. But the wises think the God not at all. They know that thought, which is finite, can only do violence to the God, who is infinite. It is enough, they say, that the God thinks them.

R. Scott Bakker


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Whore. How many men had embraced her? How many gritty chins against her cheek? Always something to be endured. All of them punishing her for their need. Monotony had made them seem laughable, a long queue of the weak, the hopeful, the ashamed, the angered, the dangerous. How easily one grunting body replaced the next, until they became abstract things, moments of a ludicrous ceremony, spilling bowel-hot libations upon her, smearing her with their meaningless paint. One no different from the next.

R. Scott Bakker


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Suffer not a whore to live, for she maketh a pit of her womb.

R. Scott Bakker


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Of course he could see only blackness, such was the treachery of fire, which iluminated small circles by darkening the entire world.

R. Scott Bakker


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He struck his own fire, listened to the night wind roar through the trees. Sometimes, when he could see it, he stared at the Conriyan encampment and counted fires like an idiot child. „Always number your foemen,“ his father had once told him, „by the glitter of their fires.“ Sometimes he gazed at the stars and wondered if they too were his enemies.

R. Scott Bakker


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Helplessness. If women were hope´s oldest companions, it was due to helplessness. Certainly women often exerciced dreadful power over a single hearth, but the world between hearths belonged to men.

R. Scott Bakker


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Mystery made thing gigantic. Knowledge made small.

R. Scott Bakker


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When one believed, one´s soul moved. When one didn´t, everything else moved.

R. Scott Bakker


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