You asked me to teach you chess, and I've done that. It's a useful mental exercise. Through the years, many thinkers have been fascinated by it. But I don't enjoy playing. Do you know why not?
Because it was a game that was born during a brutal age when life counted for little and everyone believed that some people were worth more than others. Kings and pawns.
I don't think that anyone is worth more than anyone else. I don't envy you the decisions you're going to have to make. And one day I'll be gone, and you'll have no one to talk to. But if you remember nothing else, please remember this:
Chess is just a game. Real people aren't pieces. You can't assign more value to some of them than to others. Not to me. Not to anyone. People are not a thing that you can sacrifice.
The lesson is: Anyone who looks on the world as if it were a game of chess deserves to lose.
— Harold Finch, not knowing how to explain to his AI offspring that it should care about people (but doing his best), Person of Interest 4x11 “If-Then-Else”
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please tell me y’all remember within the woods
this is just a little what if scenario because i fr think that whole ep had a lot of potential. like?? no one was really that bothered when Raph turned into a FLOWER??? HELLO???? like c’mon, what if you couldn’t just drain his body back into him???? (idek how that worked) what then??????????
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Sometimes the Travelling Symphony thought that what they were doing was noble. There were moments around campfires when someone would say something invigorating about the importance of art, and everyone would find it easier to sleep that night. At other times it seemed a difficult and dangerous way to survive and hardly worth it, especially at times when they had to camp between towns, when they were turned away at gunpoint from hostile places, when they were travelling in snow or rain through dangerous territory, actors and musicians carrying guns and crossbows, the horses exhaling great clouds of steam, times when they were cold and afraid and their feet were wet. Or times like now when the heat was unrelenting, July pressing down upon them an the blank walls of the forest on either side, walking by the hour and wondering if an unhinged prophet or his men might be chasing them, arguing to distract themselves from their terrible fear.
“All I'm saying,” Dieter said, twelve hours out of St. Deborah by the Water, “is that quote on the lead caravan would be way more profound if we hadn't lifted it from Star Trek.” He was walking near Kirsten and August.
Survival is insufficient: Kirsten had had these words tattooed on her left forearm at the age of fifteen and had been arguing with Dieter about it almost ever since. Dieter harboured strong anti-tattoo sentiments. He said he'd seen a man die of an infected tattoo once. Kirsten also had two black knives tattooed on the back of her right wrist, but these were less troubling to Dieter, being much smaller and inked to mark specific events.
“Yes,” Kirsten said, “I'm aware of your opinion on the subject, but it remains my favourite line of text in the world.” She considered Dieter one of her dearest friends. The tattoo argument had lost all of its sting over the years and had become something like a familiar room where they met.
Midmorning, the sun not yet broken over the tops of the trees. The Symphony had walked through most of the night. Kirsten's feet hurt and she was delirious with exhaustion. It was strange, she kept thinking, that the prophet's dog had the same name as the dog in her comic books. She's never heard the name Luli before or since.
“See, that illustrates the whole problem,” Dieter said. “The best Shakespearean actress in the territory, and her favourite line of text is from Star Trek.”
“The whole problem with that?” Kirsten felt that she might actually be dreaming at this point, and she longed desperately for a cool bath.
“It's got to be one of the best lines ever written for a TV show,” August said. “Did you see that episode?”
“I can't say I recall,” Dieter said. “I was never a fan.”
“Kirsten?”
Kirsten shrugged. She wasn't sure if she actually remembered anything at all of Star Trek, or if it was just that August had told her about it so many times that she's started to picture his stories in her head.
“Don't tell me you've never seen Star Trek: Voyager,” August said hopefully. “That episode with those lost Borg and Seven of Nine?”
“Remind me,” Kirsten said, and he brightened visibly. While he talked she allowed herself to imagine that she remembered it. A television in a living room, a ship moving through the night silence of space, her brother watching beside her, her parents—if she could only remember their faces—somewhere near.
Emily St John Mandel, “Station Eleven”
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Holy fuck, man. What a trip Fearne has been on, huh?
You tell her how grateful you are to have her in your life, you flatter her, you tell her you need her, that you have to do this together. You have her make a promise that has this woman, born of chaos and fey, agreeing through shaking hands and a trembling voice.
You make her deceive your friends; you make her follow where they cannot know; you make her help you into this contraption; you make her feed this thing into you despite the fact that you both have been warned extensively of the risks. You make her watch you crumble and splinter and shatter and fracture and burst and implode. You make her watch you die, over and over and over and over, for a minute in agonizing bullet time.
You make her do all these things, because when she tries to back out, when she tries to not be the one who let you do this—how could you do this—
you tell her, "YOU PROMISED."
Because if there's one thing you know, it's that the fey do not break a promise.
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"My best friend has Alzheimer's... He is a grand lover of life, and will be for some time. I believe even when his mind starts to really go he'll still fish, he'll laugh and love. And as it progresses, he'll still want to live—because there'll be value for him in a friendship, in a cigar. The truth is, I don't think he'll ever come to me and say, 'This is the day I want to die.'
"But the day is coming. And he won't know it. This is perhaps the most insidious thing about Alzheimer's. But you see, he trusts me to know when that day has arrived. He trusts me to safeguard his dignity, his legacy and self-respect. He trusts me to prevent his end from becoming a mindless piece of mush. And I will. It will be an unbearably painful thing for me—but I will do it because I love him. I will end his suffering. Because it's the only decent, humane, and loving thing a person can do."
BOSTON LEGAL 4.16 "The Mighty Rogues"
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