Waxillium had seen some odd things in his life. He’d visited koloss camps in the Roughs, even been invited to join their numbers. He’d met and spoken with God himself and had received a personal gift from Death. That did not prepare him for the sight of a pretty young woman’s chest turning nearly transparent, one of the breasts splitting and offering up the hilt of a small handgun.
I was grown-up. I’d packed my own backpack and had left Bloodletter, my stuffed bear, at home. Stuffed bears were for babies, even if you’d fashioned your own mock power armor for yours out of string and broken ceramics.
But must not even a madman rely on his own mind, his own experience, rather than that of others?
The first step to being in control was to see yourself as capable of being in control.
Wouldn’t tennis be way more interesting with explosive balls?
Journey before destination,” Dalinar said. “It cannot be a journey if it doesn’t have a beginning.
You have a plan?” she asked. “There isn’t much time for a plan. This is more of a hunch with scaffolding.
A rifle is elegant. It’s an extension of your will. Take aim, squeeze the trigger, make things happen. In the hands of an expert with stillness inside of him, there’s nothing more deadly than a good rifle.
Sparks. Good metaphor. Walking on crumpled tinfoil. I’d have to remember that one.
When you can’t have both freedom and safety, boy, which do you choose?
Perhaps it was time, for once, to stop letting the rain dictate his mood. He couldn’t banish the seed of darkness inside him, but Stormfather, he didn’t need to let it rule him either.
Being given it so easily seemed to devalue the years she had spent relishing her brief moments of solitude.
Blushweaver sighed. “You avoid thinking, you avoid me, you avoid effort... is there anything you don’t avoid?” “Breakfast.
The mists seemed to draw back. Waxillium stood there, wearing a large, dusterlike coat, cut into strips below the waist. A pair of revolvers gleamed in holsters at his hips, and he rested a shotgun on each shoulder. His face was bloodied, but he was smiling.
Enjoy the moment,” Evi told him. “Close your eyes and contemplate what the One has given you. Seek the peace of oblivion, and bask in the joy of your own sensation.
This is not an easy time in which to live. That does not mean that it has to be a difficult time to love...
The world seemed quite willing to accept misunderstood artists, misunderstood thieves, and even peasants who dreamed of royalty. But nobody knew what to do with a misunderstood philologist. Other than run him out of town for bringing the dragons down on them.
People often expect irrational things from their inferiors.
Vin didn’t consider herself to be either self-assured or self-motivated. Still, she saw no point in asking why. Life had taught her that sometimes things simply happened.
The difference between a successful thief and a dead thief is knowing when to escape with your takings.