Cyan Worlds
- Myst
I realized, the moment I fell into the fissure, that the Book would not be destroyed as I had planned. It continued falling into that starry expanse, of which I had only a fleeting glimpse. I have tried to speculate where it might have landed - I must admit, however, such conjecture is futile. Still, the question of whose hands might one day hold my Myst Book are unsettling to me.
Brandon Sanderson
- Hoid - The Way of Kings
Nonsense. Balderdash. Figgldygrak. Isn't it odd that gibberish words are often the sounds of other words, cut up and dismembered, then stitched into something like them-yet wholly unlike them at the same time? I wonder if you could do that to a man. Pull him apart, emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk. Then combine them back together into something else.
