Glen Charles Cook (born July 9, 1944) is an American writer of science fiction and contemporary fantasy, known for The Black Company and Garrett P.I. fantasy series.
. . . and the thing that you know to be true is the lie that will kill you.
Write. Don't talk about writing. Don't tell me about your wonderful story ideas. Don't give me a bunch of "somedays. " Plant your ass and scribble, type, keyboard. If you have any talent at all, it will leak out despite your failure to pay attention in English.
If one chooses sides on emotion then the rebel is the guy to go with. He is fighting for everything men claim to honour, freedom, independance, truth, the right. . . . . . . all the subjective illusions. All the eternal trigger words. We are minions of the villan of the piece. We confess the illusion and deny the substance.
I believe in our side and theirs, with the good and evil decided after the fact, by those who survive. Among men you seldom find the good with one standard and the shadow with another.
Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.
More evil gets done in the name of righteousness than any other way.
Even when we know things, sometimes it takes words to make them concrete.
There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.
Any man who barely sustains an armistice with himself has no business poking around in an alien soul.
I'm an incurable romantic. The essence of romance is an unshakable conviction that next time will be different.
No religion I ever encountered made any sense. None are consistent. Most gods are megalomaniacs and paranoid psychotics by their worshippers' description. I don't see how they could survive their own insanity. But it's not impossible that human beings are incapable of interpreting a power so much greater than themselves. Maybe religions are twisted and perverted shadows of truth. Maybe there are forces which shape the world. I myself have never understood why, in a universe so vast, a god would care about something so trivial as worship or human destiny.
There were dreams once upon a time, dreams now all but forgotten. On sad days I dust them off and fondle them nostalgically, with a patronizing wonder at the naivete of the youth who dreamed them.
There is no vengeance as terrible as the vengeance a coward plots in the dark of his heart.
Oh, 'twould be marvelous if the world and its moral questions were like some game board, with plain black players and white, and fixed rules, and nary a shade of grey.
My favorite sport is female and my favorite food is beer.
I guess each of us, at some time, finds one person with whom we are compelled towards absolute honesty, one person whose good opinion of us becomes a substitute for the broader opinion of the world. And that opinion becomes more important than all our sneaky, sleazy schemes of greed, lust, self-aggrandizement, whatever we are up to while lying the world into believing we are just plain nice folks.
I guess I suffer from an impoverishment of the sociopathic spirit necessary to go big time.
Rich men have dreams. Poor men die to make them come true.
A world ought to have a few genuine good guys, and not just a spectrum of people running from bad to worse.
I can laugh at peasants and townies chained all their lives to a tiny corner of the earth while I roam its face and see its wonders, but when I go down, there will be no child to carry my name, no family to mourn me save my comrades, no one to remember, no one to raise a marker over my cold bit of ground.