The Way Of Shadows

Kylar woke two hours before dawn and briefly wondered if death would be too high a price to pay for a full night’s sleep.

“That pain you feel,” Master Blint said almost gently, “is the pain of abandoning a delusion. The delusion is meaning, Kylar. There is no higher purpose. There are no gods. No arbiters of right and wrong. I don’t ask you to like reality. I only ask you to be strong enough to face it. There is nothing beyond this.

Its limbs were loose, graceless, lying in an uncomfortable position. Unmoving. Just like any corpse. In life, every man was unique. In death every man was meat.

“Here I thought they were invincible.”

“They’re immortal. It’s not the same thing.”

You’re either being terrifically subtle or making no sense at all.

I’m trying to do what’s right, whether or not that measures up with what men call honorable. There’s a gap between those, you know?

So he wasn’t dead. That was probably supposed to be a good thing.

Agon wondered what god Cenaria had offended to deserve such a king.

“I used to believe a lot of things. That doesn’t make them true,” Durzo said.

Cruelty walked the Warrens holding hands with poverty and rage.

It may be beyond your comprehension, but I can hold power without using it.

Like many who have no reason for pride, that very lack of reason for it made me the prouder. But certain realities have a way of making themselves felt, and debt is one of them.

It wouldn’t be the first time his sharp tongue had cut his own throat.

A solicitor is a man who does worse things within the law than most crooks do outside it.

See, you get caught up in the past and you become useless to the present.

“What do you want? Why am I here?” Rat asked.

“Ah, petulance and philosophy all bound up in one.”

You aren’t making art, you’re making corpses. Dead is dead.

They’re schemers, so they see schemes.

Hope is the lies we tell ourselves about the future.