At the lowest ebb, of a person or a nation, the first seeds of later glory may sometimes be seen, looking back with a careful eye. At the absolute summit of accomplishment the insects chewing from within at the most extravagant sandalwood may be heard, if the nights are quiet enough.
Most of us are foolish in our dreams. The trouble comes when we bring folly out of dream.
A person can adapt to more than he might have thought he could. What he is uncertain about is when that stops being a virtue and turns to something else, leaving you too much changed, undefined, unanchored, like a fisherman's empty boat drifting on a river, with no way to be returned to where it belongs. (abridged)
from Under Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay.
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