Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.
Peter S. BeagleRead
Whatever can die is beautiful — more beautiful than a unicorn, who lives forever, and who is the most beautiful creature in the world. Do you understand me?
Interpretation
The quote suggests that mortality enhances the beauty of life, making it more precious than eternal existence.
Peter S. Beagle's quote reflects on the nature of beauty and mortality, positing that things which are transient and have an end are inherently more beautiful than those that are immortal. The idea is that the finite nature of life makes our experiences and relationships more cherished, contrasting the allure of eternal beings like unicorns, which, despite their beauty, lack the depth that comes from the inevitability of death.
In practice
This quote could be shared during a funeral to celebrate the beauty of a person's life.
Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.
Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.
You were the one who taught me," he said. "I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling. I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you.
...because in a way it happened to someone else. I don't really speak that person's language anymore, and when I think about her, she embarrasses me sometimes, but I don't want to forget her, I don't want to pretend she never existed. So before I start forgetting, I have to get down exactly who she was, and exactly how she felt about everything. She was me a lot longer than I've been me so far.
I feel a whole country growing inside me, thousands of years, millions of people, stupid, crazy, shrewd people, and all of them me. I never felt like that before, I never felt that there was anything inside me, even myself.
Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy tale.
I want to confess as best I can, but my heart is void. The void is a mirror. I see my face and feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live now in a world of ghosts, a prisoner in my dreams.
Look through the whole history of countries professing the Romish religion, and you will uniformly find the leaven of this besetting and accursed principle of action - that the end will sanction any means.
What feeling feels like over time. An attempt to screw up what feeling feels like over time. Heartbreak and a high C.... The often welcome melodic lie.... The soul's undersong. The orchestration of randomness, a flirtation with the boundaries of silence and space.... a reminder that the self wants to disappear, be taken away from itself and returned.
We cannot suppose therefore that God has made an order of beings, with such mental qualities and powers, for the sole purpose of being used as beasts, or instruments of labour.
Time is the River on which the leaves of our thoughts are carried into oblivion.
Much of the social history of the Western world over the past three decades has involved replacing what worked with what sounded good. In area after area - crime, education, housing, race relations - the situation has gotten worse after the bright new theories were put into operation. The amazing thing is that this history of failure and disaster has neither discouraged the social engineers nor discredited them.
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