The Hero of Ages (Mistborn, #3)

by Brandon Sanderson

Apparently, that was sufficient, for the Inquisitor dropped without a sound, falling motionless.

The nature of the world is that when we create something, we often destroy something else in the process.

It seemed odd to her

that the weapon that had killed Kelsier would become the symbol of his followers.

Black is so monotonous that you can forget about it, but red—you’d always be thinking, ‘Why, look at that. That

hill is red. That evil force of doom trying to destroy me certainly has style.’

Cett still had a habit of throwing things at Breeze: insults, for the most part, and occasionally knives.

“I wish I cared enough to apologize,”

That was when Spook had begun to understand that there was a power in words.

Lestibournes. Lefting I’m born. Street slang for “I’ve been abandoned.”

Dances spent with Elend reading at her table, pretending to ignore her.

He really isn't the same man as before. Just now I thought "Wasn't that a different guy?"

“And tell me, dear child,” he said, smiling slightly. “Why exactly should I care?”

You hate change. I hate it too. But things can’t stay the same—and that’s well, for when nothing changes in your life, it’s as good as being dead.”

“Yes, so?” Slowswift asked, amused. “And your Survivor? Last I checked, he was somewhat dead as well. Didn’t seem to hinder his revolution much, now did it?”

“Oh, come on. You have to admit that you’re unusual, Vin. You’re like some strange mixture of a noblewoman, a street urchin, and a cat. Plus, you’ve managed—in our short three years together—to kill not only my god, but my father, my brother, and my fiancée. That’s kind of like a homicidal hat trick. It’s a strange foundation for a relationship, wouldn’t you say?”

“If, somehow, Yomen manages to kill both Vin and myself, then I suggest that you run—because yes, you’d be in charge here, and the Mistborn who killed us is likely to come for you next.”

“So . . . you can’t go anywhere unless someone carries you, right?” the Thug asked. Cett grunted. “Well then,” Ham said, sounding very pleased. “I’ve got quite a number of philosophical puzzles you might enjoy. . . .”

“My insufferable charm and wit?” Elend asked. “I doubt it’s my good looks—but, compared to that of an obligator, I suppose even my face could be enviable.”

“I was trained by a surly Mistborn, a sarcastic Terrisman, and a group of disrespectful thieves,” Elend said, sighing. “Plus, on top of that, I was a fairly insufferable person to begin with. But, kindly continue with your insult—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

At that moment—as the

reached into his pocket and pulled out a book. He raised it with one hand, the other on her waist, and began to read.

They really needed to get their priorities straight.

“Great,” Cett said. “Point?”

Ironically, while the spikes dehumanize the koloss, they give a measure of humanity to the kandra.

“That was before I realized you’d spend the entire evening, then the next morning, chattering about it,”

By the Forgotten Gods,

However, did the repeated reuse of spikes perhaps bring more humanity to the koloss they made?

Around him, the other Inquisitors had danced about, cutting apart the other bodies with their axes, rejoicing in the addition of another member to their ranks.

Sick.

Never let your life depend on the competence of someone whose life isn’t also on the line.

how to annoy people.

Lord Ruler, Vin! Elend thought. Was that really necessary?

Yes. It was.

I’ve always been with you. You’ve heard me in your mind since your first years of life.

“ALL RIGHT,” BREEZE SAID, “so does somebody want to speculate on how our team’s spy ended up becoming a pseudo-religious vigilante freedom fighter?”

Is it such a shameful thing, he thought, to be the man who likes to provide information for others, rather than be the one who has to use that information?

“Have I taught you nothing? Being in charge isn’t about doing anything—it’s about making certain that other people do what they’re supposed to! Delegation, my friend. Without it, we would have to bake our own bread and dig our own latrines!”

“And, trust me. You don’t want to taste anything I’ve had a hand in baking. Ever. Particularly after I’ve cleaned a latrine.

The time for killing hasn’t ended at all, he thought. It has just begun.

“At least write it,” Elend said. “The pointing just isn’t working.

Possibilities to land safely on the other side of the chasm, even when logic told him not to jump.

The world was dying. Its gods had to die with it.

Good men will kill as quickly for what they want as evil men—only the things they want are different.”

“That I could destroy you eventually,” Ruin said softly. “And I have come to claim what was promised me. The only point in creating something is to watch it die. Like a story that must come to a climax, what I have done will not be fulfilled until the end has arrived.”

“I’m not him, actually,” TenSoon said. “I’m a different kandra. It’s . . . complicated.

“Of course,” Breeze said, raising the cup. “What good is being in charge if you can’t set your own working conditions?

I’ll never understand humans, he thought, shaking his head.

“He was rather dead,” Vin said. “Trust me.

“I’m not the Survivor’s Heir, Yomen,” she said sickly. “I’m the Lord Ruler

It was odd, how many common features they all had. Most claimed ultimate authority, denouncing other faiths. Most taught of an afterlife, but could offer no proof. Most taught about a god or gods, yet—again—had little justification for their teachings. And every single one of them was riddled with inconsistencies and logical fallacies.

How did men believe in something

that preached love on one hand, yet taught destruction of unbelievers on the other? How did one rati...