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“Honor is not dead so long as he lives in the hearts of men!”
“Who do you think is stronger?” Adolin asked. “The man who has walked easily his entire life, or the man with no legs? The man who must pull himself by his arms?”
“Tell yourself that lie, Moash,” Teft growled, gripping the hand that held him, his own hand clawlike from the horrible pain. “But know this. You can kill me, but you can’t have what I have. You can never have it. Because I die knowing I’m loved.”
THAT IS A LIE, the Stormfather said. IT IS HIS ULTIMATE LIE, SON OF HONOR. THE LIE THAT SAYS YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. THE LIE THAT THERE IS NO MORE JOURNEY WORTH TAKING.
“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.”
“Honor…” Navani whispered. “Honor is not … dead. He lives inside the hearts … of his children.…”
“Journey before destination, you bastard.”
“Careful, son,” Lirin said. “I’m not a Radiant. We mortals break.” “Radiants break too,” Kaladin whispered. “But then, fortunately, we fill the cracks with something stronger. Come on. We need to protect the people in that tower. You in your way. Me in mine.”
“The Ideals don’t fix us, sir,” Kaladin said. “You know that. We have to fix ourselves. Perhaps with a little help.”
“Sense, Odium. The only kind I have is nonsense. Well, and some cents, but cents are nonsense here too—so we can ignore them. Scents are mine aplenty, and you never cared for the ones I present. So instead, the sense that matters is the sense Dalinar sensibly sent you.” I hate you.
