Jack Vance Quotes

Well, I think everything I've ever read contributes to the background from which I write.

Earth . . . A dim place, ancient beyond knowledge . . . Ages of rain and wind have beaten and rounded the granite, and the sun is red and feeble . . . A million cities have lifted towers, have fallen to dust. In place of the old peoples a few thousand strange souls live. There is evil on Earth . . . Earth is dying . . .

Candor is never indiscreet. Truth, which is to say, the reflection of life, is beautiful.

Within and about the Forest of Tantrevalles existed a hundred or more fairy shees, each the castle of a fairy tribe. Thripsey Shee on Madling Meadow, little more than a mile within the precincts of the forest, was ruled by King Throbius and his spouse Queen Bossum. His realm included Madling Meadow and as much of the forest surrounding as was consistent with his dignity. The fairies at Thripsey numbered eighty-six.

My clever baton holds your unnatural sorcery in abeyance.

Alastor Cluster is thousands of years old; men by the trillions fill the galaxy. Great mentors here, there, everywhere, across the whole pageant of existence have propounded problems and solved them. Everything conceivable has been achieved and all goals attained: not once, but thousands of times over. It is well known that we live in the golden afternoon of the human race; hence, in the name of the Thirty Thousand Stars, where will you find a fresh area of knowledge which must urgently be advanced from Rabendary Meadow?

This flattery has been rather slow in coming. I think all of sudden late in life now I'm getting some credit for what I've done. Which is gratifying, but it's kind of a little late.

I do not care to listen; obloquy injures my self-esteem and I am skeptical of praise.

The Vine of Life grows a single melon. The color of the heart is unknown until the rind is split.

On the heights above the river Xzan, at the site of certain ancient ruins, Iucounu the Laughing Magician had built a manse to his private taste: an eccentric structure of steep gables, balconies, sky-walks, cupolas, together with three spiral green glass towers through which the red sunlight shone in twisted glints and peculiar colors.

The forest of Tantrevalles shades a deep dank soil; somewhere under this mold lies the carcass of a snake which in better times used the name Visbhume; he no longer tippety-taps and moves and jerks to the rhythms of a propulsive inner music; and sometimes one wonders in cases like this: here is the dead thing; where has the music gone?

The void is a mouth crying to be filled, a blank mind aching for thought, a cavity desperate for shape. What is not implies what is.

Beauty is a luster which love bestows to guile the eye. Therefore it may be said that only when the brain is without love will the eye look and see no beauty.

But I'm so slow on it because I find it terribly hard writing blind on computers. The computer speaks to me, but it's just so slow, I'm so terribly slow using it.

The life we've been leading couldn't last forever. It's a wonder it lasted as long as it did.

If religions are diseases of the human psyche, as the philosopher Grintholde asserts, then religious wars must be reckoned the resultant sores and cankers infecting the aggregate corpus of the human race. Of all wars, these are the most detestable, since they are waged for no tangible gain, but only to impose a set of arbitrary credos upon another's mind.

Why make plans? The sun might well go out tomorrow.

The pre-dawn air was quiet and cool; the sky showed the colors of citron, pearl, and apricot, which were reflected from the sea. Out from the Tumbling River estuary drifted the black ship Smaadra, propelled across the water by its sweeps. A mile offshore, the sweeps were shipped. The yards were raised, sails sheeted taut and back-stays set up. With the sunrise came breeze; the ship glided quickly and quietly into the east, and presently Troicinet had become a shadow along the horizon.

Bending, she kissed Glawen's cheek. "Thank you for a lovely day." "Wait!" cried Glawen. "Come back!" "I think not," said Wayness, and ran off up the path to Riverview House.

I understand that in your youth you contrived a few outrages of your own."
"In my youth?" sputtered Navarth. "I have contrived outrages all my life!

At the last moments of the universe, with eternal darkness converging from all sides, surely someone will arise and cry out: 'Hold back the end for a final moment, while I pay tribute to the gallant brewmasters who have provided us a pathway of golden glory down the fading corridors of time!' And then, is it not possible that a bright gap will appear in the dark, through which the brewmasters are allowed to proceed, to build a finer universe?

I suspect that the word (art) was invented by second-rate intelligences to describe the incomprehensible activities of their betters.

I don't read other science fiction. I don't read any at all.

I haven't been to a movie since somebody gave me free tickets to Star Wars, which I went to.

But Roy Rockwood, it was science fiction for the sake of science fiction.

But I've sure worked at jobs where I have been under inspection.

Let us leave this room, said Melancthe. It reeks of the brain.

Light slanting down across Alode the Cliff illuminated a hundred forests; the irradiated foliage seemed to glow with internal light: bitter lime, intense gray-blue given pointillist fire by scarlet seed-pots, dark umber, black-blue, black-green

I never worked in an office in my life.

My talismans are not obviously useless.

Cease the bickering! I am indulging the exotic whims of a beautiful princess and must not be distracted.

So I'll write it, and then I'll find out that I actually wrote something that is utterly useless. You can't use it in the story and it doesn't fit. So I just throw it away. I've done that countless times.

She seems somewhat morose and out of sorts. Do you beat her often?'
'I must admit that I do not.'
'There is the answer! Beat her well; beat her often! It will bring roses to her cheeks! There is nothing better to induce good cheer in a woman than a fine constitutional beating.

The story was such that I couldn't make a graceful ending and then make a graceful new beginning. I could have, but I didn't want to. So, it isn't the most graceful way of writing a story. This new story is, I think, is pretty good stuff. I'm pleased with it anyway.

An inch of foreknowledge is worth ten miles of after-thought.

If there were no fools,' said Circumbright, 'either among us or among them, we could co-inhabit the earth.
there's the flaw in any compromise negotiation - the fact of fools, both among the Teleks and the common men.

Human interactions, stimulated as they are by disequilibrium, never achieve balance. In even the most favorable transaction, one party whether he realizes it or not must always come out the worse.

Jack Vance's Lyonesse books are the greatest fairy tale of the twentieth century.

The world is a place of marvels

If there were no such creatures as minstrel-maidens, it would be necessary to invent them.

I was a carpenter for a time and everybody watches what you do.

Mischief moves somewhere near and I must blast it with my magic.

Since we are not permitted to act, we are obliged to know.

It is useless, after all, to complain against inexorable reality.

I'd never been published when I was young.

Right now I'm so old that if I had a big gush of money, I don't know what I'd do with it. I don't travel anymore. I don't need anything, don't want anything. I'd give it to my son, I guess, and let him enjoy it.

The banquet proceeded. The first course, a mince of olives, shrimp and onions baked in oyster shells with cheese and parsley was followed by a soup of tunny, cockles and winkles simmered in white wine with leeks and dill. Then, in order, came a service of broiled quail stuffed with morels, served on slices of good white bread, with side dishes of green peas; artichokes cooked in wine and butter, with a salad of garden greens; then tripes and sausages with pickled cabbage; then a noble saddle of venison glazed with cherry sauce and served with barley first simmered in broth, then fried with garlic and sage; then honey-cakes, nuts and oranges; and all the while the goblets flowed full with noble Voluspa and San Sue from Watershade, along with the tart green muscat wine of Dascinet.

One becomes sated with platitudes no less than honey, so that one often breaks another's bones in one's vexation.

The woman behind the bar called out: 'Why do you stand like hypnotized fish? Did you come to drink beer or to eat food?'

'Be patient,' said Gersen. 'We are making our decision.'

The remark annoyed the woman. Her voice took on a coarse edge. "Be patient,' you say? All night I pour beer for crapulous men; isn't that patience enough? Come over here, backwards; I'll put this spigot somewhere amazing, at full gush, and then we'll discover who calls for patience!

Death is the heritage of life; a man's vitality is like air in a bladder. Poinct this bubble and away, away, away, flees life, like the color of fading dream.

Truth is contained in the preconceptions of him who seeks to define it. Any organization of ideas whatever presupposes a judgment on the world.

Observe! I hold the magic tablet of truth! You are Monster; I am Man. Each is alone; each sees dawn and dusk; each feels pain and pain's ease. Why should one be victor and the other victim? We will never agree; never shall you know gain by the toil of man! Submit to the what-must-be! If you fail to heed, then you must taste a bitter brew and never again walk the sands of dark Sigil.

Who are our basic enemies? This is a secret, unknown even to these basic enemies. - Xaviar Skolcamp, Over-Centennial Fellow of the Institute, indulgently, in response to a journalist's too-searching question

Then there was Clark Ashton Smith, who wrote for Weird Tales and who had a wild imagination. He wasn't a very talented writer, but his imagination was wonderful.

I was an omnivore at reading, so that everything I ever read contributed.

I am a dull fellow ... my person reeks, my conversation consists of insipid platitudes.

What is an evil man? The man is evil who coerces obedience to his private ends, destroys beauty, produces pain, extinguishes life.

Someone who conceals his curiosity, is overwhelmed with information.

You are young; you have hopes. One by one they will go, and nothing will be left but the bare fact of life.

The police mentality cannot regard a human being in terms other than as an item or object to be processed as expeditiously as possible.

It seems to limit you; when you're working in an office, you're a creature in a small cell under somebody's supervision and surveillance.

Law cannot reach where enforcement will not follow. - Popular aphorism.

You are sauntering along the back streets of Avallon; you step into a tavern for a cup of wine. A great lummox claims that you have molested his wife; he takes up his cutlass and comes at you. So now! With your knife! Draw and throw! All in a single movement! You advance, pull your knife from the villain's neck, wipe it on his sleeve. If in fact you have molested the dead churl's wife, bid her begone! The episode has quite dampened your spirit. But you are attacked from another side by another husband. Quick!

Star-watching: at night the stars of Alastor Cluster blaze in profusion. The atmosphere refracts their light; the sky quivers with beams, glitters, and errant flashes. The Trills go out into their gardens with jugs of wine; they name the stars and discusses localities. For the Trills, for almost anyone of Alastor, the night sky was no abstract empyrean, but rather a view across prodigious distances to known places: a vast luminous map.

I never made lots of money at it, but I sold enough.

Two hours of loose philosophizing will never tilt the scale against the worth of one sound belch.

Happiness is fugitive; dissatisfaction and boredom are real.

There was a writer in the '20s called Christopher Morley, who I remember a little bit of, who had some influence on me, but I couldn't tell you what it was.

Somebody else's ignorance is bliss.

Only the fact of my broken limbs prevents me from leaping at your throat.

I will say little more. Cugel, you have small acquaintance with the trade, but I take it as a good sign that you have come to me for training, since my nethods are not soft. You will learn or you will drown, or suffer a blow of the flukes, or worse, incur my displeasure. But you have started well and I will teach you well. Never think me harsh, or over-bearing; you will be in self-defeating error! I am stern, yes, even severe, but in the end, when I acknowledge you a worminger, you will thank me."
"Good news indeed," muttered Cugel

In the end, death came uniformly to all, and all extracted as much satisfaction from their dying as this essentially graceless process could afford.

But, for instance, when I was awfully young, I read all the Oz books. They were an enormous influence on me.

When the ships had lifted, they returned across the river to the silence of death. Then his grandfather told him, "Many fine things your father had planned for you: learning and useful work and a life of satisfaction and peace. Do you recall this?"
"Yes, Grandfather."
"The learning you shall have. You will learn patience and resource, the ability of your hands and your mind. You will have useful work: the destruction of evil men. What work could be more useful? This is Beyond; you will find that your work is never done - so therefore you may never know life of peace. However, I guarantee you ample satisfaction, for I will teach you to crave the blood of these men more than the flesh of woman."
The old man had been as good as his word.

The symbologist made a cryptic sign. That remains to be seen, as the cat said who voided into the sugar bowl.

The dead man's companions at the counter started to their feet, but halted as Voynod with great aplomb turned to face them. "Take care, you dunghill cocks! Notice the fate of your fellow! He died by the power of my magic blade, which is of inexorable metal and cuts rock and steel like butter. Behold!" And Voynod struck out at a pillar. The blade, striking an iron bracket, broke into a dozen pieces. Voynod stood non-plussed, but the bravo's companions surged forward.

"What then of your magic blade? Our blades are ordinary steel but bite deep!" And in a moment Voynod was cut to bits. The bravos now turned upon Cugel. "What of you? Do you wish to share the fate of your comrade?"
"By no means!" stated Cugel. "This man was but my servant, carrying my pouch. I am a magician; observe this tube! I will project blue concentrate at the first man to threaten me!" The bravos shrugged and turned away. Cugel secured Voynod's pouch, then gestured to the landlord. "Be so good as to remove these corpses; then bring a further mug of spiced wine.

I am not Cugel the Clever for nothing!

I give dignity second place to expedience.

Beauty compelled admiration and erotic yearning; such was its organic function. But never by itself could it command love.

I worked for half a cent a word. I'm not a fast writer to begin with, so for the first few years I had do other things.

Conversation! Supple sentences, with first and second meanings and overtones beyond, outrageous challenges with cleverly planned slip-points, rebuttals of elegant brevity; deceptions and guiles, patient explanations of the obvious, fleeting allusions to the unthinkable. As a preliminary, the conversationalist must gauge the mood, the intelligence and the verbal facility of the company. To this end, a few words of pedantic exposition often prove invaluable.

I live in a constant flux; I am unable to make fixed plans.

What is peace? Balance three iron skewers tip to tip, one upon the other; at the summit, emplace an egg, so that it too poises static in mid-air, and there you have the condition of peace in this world of men.

I know that the history of man is not his technical triumphs, his kills, his victories. It is a composite, a mosaic of a trillion pieces, the account of each man's accommodation with his conscience. This is the true history of the race.

A man is like a rope: both break at a definite strain ... The solution is not splicing the rope; it's lessening the tension.

I thought that automobiles were going to have mufflers and go fast and airplanes were going to fly fast.

How can we do this? We are told that our world is too small for men of eternal life. This is true. We must become pioneers again, we must break out into new territories! The men of old carved living space from the wilderness; we must do the same, and let this be the condition for eternal life! Is it not sufficient? When a man creates his living space and guarantees his sustenance, is he not entitled to life?

The Brinktown jail is one of the most ingenious ever propounded by civic authorities. It must be remembered that Brinktown occupies the surface of a volcanic butte, overlooking a trackless jungle of quagmire, thorn, eel-vine skiver tussock. A single road leads from city down to jungle; the prisoner is merely locked out of the city. Escape is at his option; he may flee as far through the jungle as he sees fit: the entire continent is at his disposal. But no prisoner ever ventures far from the gate; and, when his presence is required, it is only necessary to unlock the gate and call his name.

Have been prisoner, slave, fugitive, and now king, which I prefer.

An enemy, perhaps. Ah, so simple. Liane will kill you ten men. Two steps forward, thrust - thus!" He lunged. "And souls go thrilling up like bubbles in a beaker of mead.

It is an unthinkable discrepancy that fifty-four men should consume the food intended for fifty-three.

How to know, oh how to know! All is relative ease and facility in orthodoxy, yet how can it be denied that good is in itself undeniable? Absolutes are the most uncertain of all formulations, while the uncertainties are the most real ...

Public convenience or dignity means nothing; police prerogatives assume the status of divine law. Submissiveness is demanded. If a police officer kills a civilian, it is a regrettable circumstance: the officer was possibly over-zealous. If a civilian kills a police officer all hell breaks loose. The police foam at the mouth. All other business comes to a standstill until the perpetrator of this most dastardly act is found out. Inevitably, when apprehended, he is beaten or otherwise tortured for his intolerable presumption ... The police complain that they cannot function efficiently, that criminals escape them. Better a hundred unchecked criminals than the despotism of one unbridled police force.

I categorically declare first my absolute innocence, second my lack of criminal intent, and third my effusive apologies.

I become drunk as circumstances dictate.

The world now lacks a " Sir Pom-pom", with all his funny ways! I wonder where he is now? Or is he anywhere at all? Can someone be nowhere?

Living creatures, if nothing else, have the right to life. It is their only truly precious possession, and the stealing of life is a wicked theft

Good music always defeats bad luck.

Extraordinary that those who command the perquisites of place are those most ready to ignore them! It is as if the blessings of Providence are specious, and notable only in their absence. Ah well, I refuse to speculate.

I will be glad to go. There is no poetry here. It is as I have always set forth: joy comes of its own free will; it cannot be belabored.