#george orr

[evelasco-art]

Alternate cover illustration for The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin. Made as personal portfolio project. You can see the rest of my work here.

What can be said besides the fact that I love Jor Jor with my whole soul.

If you want prints of this illustration, you can find them at INPRNT.

[sharksinabattlevest]

I’m almost done reading the Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K LeGuin, and I’ve lightly pursued reviews and discussions of the book bc I’m curious what other think of it. And my people think that it is a story advocating for centrism, that changing the world is a waste of time and the dreams of assholes. That’s not what it’s about to me.

I’m reading it and Dr. Haber is not everyone who wants a better world. He’s one guy. Throughout my entire reading I have just been thinking, thank fuck that no one can snap their fingers and make the world a “better place” because for one person to be able to do that, it would not be what they wish it to be. To change the world for the better can never be the sole mission and of one person. It must be done imperfectly by many people with many ideologies and needs and thoughts to actually improve things for eachother.

To make change, we need to work together fight together.

[andreai04]

The only solid partitions left were inside the head.

Those whom heaven helps we call the sons of heaven. They do not learn this by learning. They do not work it by working. They do not reason it by using reason. To let understanding stop at what cannot be understood is a high attainment. Those who cannot do it will be destroyed on the lathe of heaven.

Orr felt in him a wish to be liked and a desire to be helpful; the doctor was not, he thought, really sure that anyone else existed, and wanted to prove they did by helping them. He boomed "Good afternoon!" so loud because he was never sure he would get an answer.

…the questioner cannot withdraw himself from the question, assuming objectivity—as if the answers were an object. Orr did not speak these thoughts, however; he was in a doctor's hands, and surely the doctor knew what he was doing.

He felt exposed, used. And to what end?

To cross a river, ford it, wade it, swim it, use boat, ferry, bridge, airplane, to go upriver, to go downriver in the ceaseless renewal and beginning of current: all that makes sense. But in going under a river, something is involved that is, in the central meaning of the word, perverse. There are roads in the mind and outside it the mere elaborateness of which shows plainly that, to have got into this, a wrong turning must have been taken way back.

He felt the heaviness upon him, the weight bearing down endlessly. He thought, I am living in a nightmare, from which from time to time I wake in sleep.

"I have no right to change things. Nor he to make me do it."

"That's what strikes humans as uncanny about sleep. Its utter privacy. The sleeper turns his back on everyone. 'The mystery of the individual is strongest in sleep,' a writer in my field said."

"Did you ever happen to think, Dr. Haber," he said, quietly enough but stuttering a little, "that there, there might be other people who dream the way I do? That reality's being changed out from under us, replaced, renewed, all the time—only we don't know it? Only the dreamer knows it, and those who know his dream. If that's true, I guess we're lucky not knowing it."

It may remain for us to learn... that our task is only beginning, and that there will never be given to us even the ghost of any help, save the help of unutterable and unthinkable Time. We may have to learn that the infinite whirl of death and birth, out of which we cannot escape, is of our own creation, of our own seeking;—that the forces integrating worlds are the errors of the Past;—that the eternal sorrow is but the eternal hunger of insatiable desire;—and that the burnt-out suns are rekindled only by the inextinguishable passions of vanished lives.

“Things don't have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function. What's the function of a galaxy? I don't know if our life has a purpose and I don't see that it matters. What does matter is that we're a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are. What we do is like wind blowing on the grass."

He had never had any choice. He was only a dreamer.

The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means.

The dream is the aquarium of Night.

He never spoke with any bitterness at all, no matter how awful the things he said. Are there really people without resentment, without hate? she wondered. People who never go cross-grained to the universe? Who recognize evil, and resist evil, and yet are utterly unaffected by it?

A person who believes, as she did, that things fit: that there is a whole of which one is a part, and that in being a part one is whole; such a person has no desire whatever, at any time, to play God. Only those who have denied their being yearn to play at it.

The quality of the will to power is, precisely, growth. Achievement is its cancellation. To be, the will to power must increase with each fulfilment, making the fulfillment only a step to a further one. The vaster the power gained, the vaster the appetite for more.

You have to help another person. But it's not right to play God with masses of people.

Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.

But now his dry and silent grieving for his lost wife must end, for there she stood, the fierce, recalcitrant, and fragile stranger, forever to be won again.

[sharry-arry-odd]

In bed, they made love. Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new. When it was made, they lay in each other's arms, holding love, asleep.

The Lathe of Heaven, by Ursula K. Le Guin

[harrypotterhousequotes]

RAVENCLAW: “But it’s not right to play God with masses of people. To be God you have to know what you’re doing. And to do any good at all, just believing you’re right and your motives are good isn’t enough. You have to be in touch. He isn’t in touch. No one else, no thing even, has an existence of its own for him; he sees the world only as a means to his end. It doesn’t make any difference if his end is good; means are all we’ve got.” –Ursula K. Le Guin (George Orr: The Lathe of Heaven)

[abraidoffrostandfelt]

Oh, George Orr, these are holy words ....all excerpts from Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved

[evelasco-art]

TLHOD interiors have been put on hold—very unsure about the kind of finish I want for them—but in the meantime I can offer you some The Lathe of Heaven content.

Certainly entering my ‘pretty men destroyed by life’ era. Give me a soft sad dude, and it will sustain my mental health for a month.

Now, George is very much what I call a proper man. With all his fear and sad eyes and soft voice and tiredness and vulnerability and self-doubt and having his hopes relentlessly crushed every chapter and

[evelasco-art]

Almost there with Jor Jor!!!

Been a ride, but so worth it. Hope to share the finished piece soon.