Brandon Sanderson

His sincerity was so unexpected. Dalinar had been around Alethi politicians so much that he found honesty an obscure thing, like a language he no longer spoke.

These are the men…well, these are the men who actually change the world. And they terrify me. For men never see as far as they think they do.

“Don’t deflect your evils by pointing out the faults of others,” Shallan said.

You are a man with complicated beliefs, who does not accept everything you are told. You decide how you are defined. Don’t surrender that to them. They will gleefully take the chance to define you, if you allow it.

He needed more than vague explanations and abstract ideas—but those were the very soul of art. If you could explain something perfectly, then you’d never need art. That was the difference between a table and a beautiful woodcutting. You could explain the table: its purpose, its shape, its nature. The woodcutting you simply had to experience.

Oh, Adolin, Shallan thought. He’d arrived at a theory he liked, and now wouldn’t let it go. It was a common mistake warned of in her scientific books.

“Falsehoods serve nobody, Kadash,” Dalinar said, pulling back. “If the Almighty is dead, then pretending otherwise is pure stupidity. We need real hope, not faith in lies.”

She didn’t exactly understand what she was doing, but she rarely did. Art wasn’t about understanding, but about knowing.

In my painful experience, the truth may be simple, but it is rarely easy.

But you should try to understand what they want out of life, and respect that, rather than projecting onto them what you think they should want out of life.

An army was the sort of thing everyone wanted to have, so long as it was off doing important things elsewhere.

I’d hoped…I’d hoped you could tell me, give me an absolute right. For once, I’d like my moral code not to come with a list of exceptions at the end.