Dalinar tried to stand, straight-backed and at atention, beneath the weight of it all. Unfortunately, he knew too well that if you locked your knees and stood too straight, you risked fainting. Why was it that trying to stand tall should make you so much more likely to fall?
We can’t go back, Mat. The Wheel has turned, for better or worse. And it will keep on turning, as lights die and forests dim, storms call and skies break. Turn it will. The Wheel is not hope, and the Wheel does not care, the Wheel simply is. But so long as it turns, folk may hope, folk may care. For with light that fades, another will eventually grow, and each storm that rages must eventually die. As long as the Wheel turns.
Pulling and Pushing against metals usually felt less like flying than it did like falling – only in the wrong direction.
Kelsier had, apparently, insisted on laughing, no matter how bad the situation. It had been a form of rebellion to him.
I represent that one thing you’ve never been able to kill, no matter how hard you try. I am hope – Kelsier.
You have good ideas, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said. “Regal ideas. However, you are not a king. A man can only lead when others accept him as their leader, and he has only as much authority as his subjects give to him. All of the brilliant ideas in the world cannot save your kingdom if no one will listen to them.
Death is the end of all men!” Dalinar bellowed. “What is the measure of him once he is gone? The wealth he accumulated and left for his heirs to squabble over? The glory he obtained, only to be passed on to those who slew him? The lofty positions he held through happenstance? “No. We fight here because we understand. The end is the same. It is the path that separates men. When we taste that end, we will do so with our heads held high, eyes to the sun.
Apparently, gods could cry.
Si dejas que alguien se te acerque, solo te lastimara mas cuando te traicione.
It seems odd that a place so remarkably agrarian could have produced the prophecies and theologies upon which the entire world now relies.
He was running through mists again. Walls, people, buildings faded. Nothing but dark, swirling mists. But the mists had never been his enemy.
Claim the stars, Spensa,” he said.
I hear you stabbed my floor,′ she noted. ‘That’s good hardwood, I’ll have you know. Honestly. Men and their weapons.
The pact between Preservation and Ruin is a thing of gods, and difficult to explain in human terms. Indeed, initially, there was a stalemate between them. On one hand, each knew that only by working together could they create. On the other hand, both knew that they would never have complete satisfaction in what they created. Preservation would not be able to keep things perfect and unchanging, and Ruin would not be able to destroy completely.
It hadn’t been for the money, the fame, or even – as most suspected – for revenge. Kelsier knew Mare’s heart. He’d known that she dreamed of days when plants flourished and the sky was not red.
Kelsier was right again. I wonder if he ever gets tired of that.
But merely being tradition does not make something worthy.
When has any man ever been content with what he has?
We can’t just assume that because something is old it is right.
He is a good man – despite it all, he is a good man. A sacrificing man. In truth, all of his actions – all of the deaths, destructions, and pains that he has caused – have hurt him deeply. All of these things were, in truth, a kind of sacrifice for him.