I am an artist,” Wit said. “I should thank you not to demean me by insisting my art must be trying to accomplish something. In fact, you shouldn’t enjoy art. You should simply admit that it exists, then move on. Anything else is patronizing.
History is like that, always gobbling up the present.
You’re always willing to give others more charity than you extend yourself.
You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to talk. But if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well do it with friends.
Extinction is the natural escalation of this war,” Leshwi whispered. “If you forget why you are fighting, then victory itself becomes the goal.
No army, no matter how clean its reputation, walked away from war untainted. And no leader, no matter how noble, could help but sink into the crem when he stepped into the game of conquest.
I don’t struggle with feelings of insecurity any longer.” “Good.” “I’d say I’m pretty good at them.
I know how you feel. Dark, like there’s never been light in the world. Like everything in you is a void, and you wish you could just feel something. Anything. Pain would at least tell you you’re alive. Instead you feel nothing. And you wonder, how can a man breathe, but already be dead?
Do try to focus.” “Well, I do try. I simply fail.
Was he happy? He wasn’t sad. For now, he’d accept “not sad.
Radiant,” he said. “How? How do you still fight?” “The same way you do,” Kaladin said. “One day at a time, always taking the next step.
Few men have the wisdom to realize when they need help. Fewer still have the strength to go get it.
Science was all about lines, about imposing order on chaos. Navani reveled in her careful preparations, without anyone to tease her for keeping her charts so neat or for refusing to skip any steps.
Yet the misery did lessen around others, and it required Kaladin to keep up a semblance. To pretend. It might be a front, but he’d found that sometimes the front worked even on himself.
You should have been the surgeon Adolin,” Kaladin said. “Not me. You care about people.” “Don’t be silly,” Adolin said, pulling open the door as he gestured at Kaladin’s work clothing. “I could never dress like that.” He left Kaladin with a wink.
Strength before weakness. He was coming to understand that part of his first oath. He had discovered weakness in himself, but that wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Because of that weakness, he could help in ways nobody could.
In space, you don’t really fly. You just don’t fall.
Maybe I’m my own brand of wrong.
The most important step a man can take. It’s not the first one, is it? It’s the next one. Always the next step, Dalinar. Trembling, bleeding, agonized, Dalinar forced air into his lungs and spoke a single ragged sentence. “You cannot have my pain.
More wars are lost to lack of information than are lost to lack of courage.