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Now they barely spoke without reaching for their sharpest knives—stabbing them right into the most painful spots with an accuracy gained only through longtime familiarity.
“Heroism is a myth you tell idealistic young people—specifically when you want them to go bleed for you. It got one of my sons killed and another taken from me. You can keep your heroism and return to me the lives of those wasted on foolish conflicts.”
He hadn’t expected to find honor among the enemy.
Kaladin embraced his friend. One final, crushing Horneater hug. When they pulled apart, Rock was crying, but smiling. “You gave me back my life,” he said. “Thank you for that, Kaladin, bridgeleader. Do not be sad that now I choose to live that life.”
“Integrity doesn’t stop men from killing, Brightness,” Sebarial said. “It just makes them use different justifications.”
“I’m telling you that if you want to change the world, you have to stop being part of the problem!”
We must not let our desires for a specific result cloud our perceptions.
Time. It was a sadistic master. It made adults of children—then gleefully, relentlessly, stole away everything it had given.
The trouble wasn’t getting answers. It was finding the presence of mind to accept them.
“It will,” Wit said, “but then it will get better. Then it will get worse again. Then better. This is life, and I will not lie by saying every day will be sunshine. But there will be sunshine again, and that is a very different thing to say. That is truth. I promise you, Kaladin: You will be warm again.”
Those gods had never deserved reverence. What was a god who only made demands? Nothing but a tyrant with a different name.
“See, that’s the wrong way of looking at it.” Tien held him tighter. “Since we all go to the same place in the end, the moments we spent with each other are the only things that do matter. The times we helped each other.”
Few men have the wisdom to realize when they need help. Fewer still have the strength to go get it.
