Quotes from Scott Lynch

Like piss ," she hollered, shaking her head. "There are some drawbacks," said Zamira, "to raising children among sailors. But then I myself am no doubt making the largest contribution to her vocabulary." " Piiiisssss ," yelled Cosetta, giggling and immensely pleased with herself.

If the whole things goes to shit, just remember to throw yourself down the damn waterfall." "I'll cover your back, the sharp and bloody way.

Why were all his fantasies so calamitous for that table, which had done him no injury?

Age has a way of exagerrating the physical traits of those who live to feel its strains; the round tend to grow rounder, and the slim tend to waste away.

Scholars of the Therin Collegium, from their comfortable position well inland, could tell you that the wolf sharks of the Iron Sea are beautiful and fascinating creatures, their bodies more packed with muscle than any bull, their abrasive hide streaked with every color from old-copper green to stormcloud black. Anyone actually working the waterfront in Camorr and on the nearby coast could tell you that wolf sharks are big aggressive bastards that like to jump .

I'm done losing. Do you fucking hear me? I am done losing. Spare me your precious self-pity, because this isn't a stage and I didn't pay two coppers to cry my eyes out over anyone's death speech. You don't fucking get one, understand? I don't care if you cough up buckets of blood. Buckets I can carry.

Such audacity could never be faked—Locke had to feel it, summon it from somewhere inside, cloak himself in arrogance as though it were an old familiar garment. Locke Lamora became a shadow in his own mind... Locke's complicated lies were this new man's simple truth.

What a mouse he is made by conversation,' Ã¢â'¬Â Ezri recited. " Ã¢â'¬ËœScorns gods, dares battle, and flinches from a maid's rebuke! Merest laugh from merest girl is like a dagger felt, and like a dagger, makes a lodging of his breast. Turns blood to milkwater and courage to faint memory.' 

Run like the hounds of hell on a sinner's scent!

Full-on barking madness is a state of rational bliss to which you may not aspire. Men living in gutters and drinking their own piss would shun your company. You are a prancing lunatic.

when men and women of arms have bled to secure a time of peace, the very people who most benefit from that peace are also the most likely to forget the bleeding.

And will they all hang with with you, for fellowship,and split death into equal shares like loot?" "I am not caught yet

She ran, as best she could run; as she made her way toward the rail it became a jog, and then a desperate hop. She was on fire all the way, screaming all the way, unstoppable all the way.

Better to say nothing and be thought a fool, than to interfere in the business of wizards and remove all doubt.

Liquor does this? Even after you're sober?" "A cruel joke, isn't it? The gods put a price tag on everything, it seems.

I don't want to spend the rest of the day interrupting your questions, so I'm going to temporarily forget how to make words come out of my mouth.

Come, then! Face Ravelle! The gods have sent your doom, motherfuckers!

Ibelius," said Jean. "If what Locke is doing were lurking about, corpses could be acrobats.

Well, cheer up. At least you've got more mobility than a fucking tadpole on dry land.

The world moved in horrifying slow motion; Locke, who was no stranger to a beating, was cursed with the uncanny ability to recognize one just before it ceased to be theoretical.

Well, hell. It's been five years. Maybe she's learned to lose gracefully. Maybe she's out of practice." "Maybe trained monkeys will climb out of my ass and pour me a glass of Austershalin brandy," said Jean.

I want you to use your misplaced acorn of a brain before the squirrel comes looking for it again.

Gods damn you, LOcke,'she whispered. The corners of her eyes glistened. 'Twice now? Look, uh, if I said the wrong thing---' 'No,' she said, wiping at her eyes, trying but failing to do so nonchalantly. 'No, the trouble is you said the right thing.

Well, if only I wasn't too much the gentleman to flay your spirit with a witty and cutting retort, madam, you'd be … thoroughly … um, wittily retorted at this very instant. - Locke Lamora