Ursula Le Guin

Belief in the lie is the life of the lie

As in the dark of winter night
The eyes seek dawn,
As in the bonds of bitter cold
The heart craves sun,
So blinded and so bound, the soul
Cries out to thee:
Be our light, our fire, our life,
Liberty!

. How could I? Why should I?”

After a pause she said, “I see your magic is not good only for large things.”

“Hospitality,” he said, “kindness to a stranger, that’s a very large thing. Thanks are enough,

Where I go, I must go alone. So long as you need me, I’ll be with you in Havnor. And if you ever need me again, call me. I will come. I would come from my grave if you called me, Tenar! But I cannot stay with you.”

What she had begun to learn was the weight of liberty. Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake. It is not easy. It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one. The road goes upward towards the light; but the laden traveler may never reach the end of it.

Listen, Tenar. Heed me. You were the vessel of evil. The evil is poured out. It is done. It is buried in its own tomb. You were never made for cruelty and darkness; you were made to hold light, as a lamp burning holds and gives its light.

So the first step out of childhood is made all at once, without looking before or behind, without caution, and nothing held in reserve.

Whether the wizardry that serves a better end may always prove the stronger, we do not know. We hope

He was to be depended on.

He was worth all the love Arren had for him, and all the trust.

What you undertake, you will complete. You are a fulfiller of hope; you are to be relied on. But seventeen years give little armor against despair... Consider, Arren. To refuse death is to refuse life.