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This Is How You Lose the Time War
It feels harder to write than it should. It feels easier to write than it should, as well.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
But which egg preceded what platypus? The ends don’t always resemble our means.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
Some days Blue wonders why anyone ever bothered making numbers so small; other days she supposes even infinity needs to start somewhere.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
The sun set. The stars rose. (They are a rose, right? Or something? Dante said that.)
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
The sun rose. I found no revelation. I’m not Socrates. (I know Socrates, I served with Socrates, and you, senator… But I digress.)
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
London Next—the same day, month, year, but one strand over—is the kind of London other Londons dream: sepia tinted, skies strung with dirigibles, the viciousness of empire acknowledged only as a rosy backdrop glow redolent of spice and petalled sugar. Mannered as a novel, filthy only where story requires it, all meat pies and monarchy—this is a pla
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(Adventure works in any strand—it calls to those who care more for living than for their lives.)
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
But when I think of you, I want to be alone together. I want to strive against and for. I want to live in contact. I want to be a context for you, and you for me. I love you, and I love you, and I want to find out what that means together.