Scott Lynch

“In my dreams I sign chits and file papers,” Nikoros muttered. “Then I awake to sign real chits and file real papers. I imagine my grave marker will be carved as a writing desk. ‘Here lies Nikoros Via Lupa, wifeless and heirless, but gods how he could alphabetize!’”

Are you really that arrogant, that logic is as optional as a fashion accessory for you?

“You need money that badly?”

“As a tool, certainly. Its application is simple and universally effective.”

Locke put his head in his hands and sighed.

“I don’t expect life to make sense,” he said after a few moments, “but it would certainly be pleasant if it would stop kicking us in the balls.”

I’m going to give you a thorough examination. This may cause some discomfort, but don’t complain. I won’t be listening.

Push your luck, gorgeous, and eventually luck pushes back.

“My responsibility was to tell you the truth, not wrap you in swaddling clothes.” She raised her hood again, half-veiling her face in shadow. “Nor protect you from your own badly aimed temper.”

“What happened wasn’t fair!”

“Fair? You mean to claim with a straight face that you buy into that heresy, my boy?”

“You’re trying to be charming again,” she said softly, “but I do not choose to be charmed, Locke Lamora.”

Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they’re after an image, not a person.

“Thank you very much, sir,” said Beth with nothing resembling actual gratitude.

“There were difficulties.”

“Oh,” she said, “so you’re the man whose life develops complications! I’ve so longed to meet you; the rest of us here in this world have it much too easy, I’m afraid.”