Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

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.

She might be the things he said, but he was no more than a backwater thug with too much luck and a knack for fooling good men into following him.

People who got a taste of power wanted more, then sought it with the sword.

One would think that during more than fifty years of life, she would have found a way to rise above her natural impetuous streak. Instead she’d rather alarmingly found her way to enough power to simply do as she chose.

“Too often,” Taravangian said to Maben, “those who write history focus on the generals and the scholars, to the detriment of the quiet workers who see everything done. The salvation of our people is as much your victory as mine.” He bowed and kissed her hand.

Pain would at least tell you you’re alive. Instead you feel nothing. And you wonder, how can a man breathe, but already be dead?”

“Integrity doesn’t stop men from killing, Brightness,” Sebarial said. “It just makes them use different justifications.”

Eventually Dalinar had done what any good commander did when faced by such persistent mass insubordination: He backed down. When good men disobeyed, it was time to look at your orders.

Then, remarkably, said something, in a voice soft and gravelly. “Life. Before. Death.”

If he had to listen to one more lecture including terms like “exculpatory evidence” and “compensatory restitution,” he would ask them to execute him and be done with it.

Dabbid wasn’t Radiant. He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t smart. But today he hadn’t been stupid either. Once, Kaladin had pulled Dabbid out of Damnation itself. It felt good to return that act of heroism with a small one of his own.

Those gods had never deserved reverence. What was a god who only made demands? Nothing but a tyrant with a different name.

“If you are not a scholar, Navani,” she said, “then I have never met one.”

“Should have. What a hateful phrase. It has caused me more grief than you could know.” She began writing in one of her notebooks. “Perhaps it has treated you with kindness.”