Emperor of Thorns (Broken Empire, #3)

by Mark Lawrence

I had only one man who I couldn’t order, who at the very last would twist my head off rather than obey against his instinct. Everyone needs somebody like that around sometimes.

Nothing can be cut away without loss. Even the worst of our memories is part of the foundation that keeps us in the world.

Some tell it that “sorry” is the hardest word, but for me it has always been “help.”

Time heals all wounds, but often it’s only by the application of the grave, and while we live some hurts live with us, burning, making us twist and turn to escape them. And as we twist, we turn into other men.

When you’re in a dark place, and your light is going to run out before too long, you get on with things. It’s a wonder to me how few people apply that same logic to their lives.

If you must run, have something to run toward, so it feels less like cowardice.

“A wise man told me that history will not stop us repeating our mistakes, but will at least make us ashamed of doing so.” I remembered Lundist’s smile when he said it, as much of sadness in it as amusement.

Handy things, books. And by-laws. If applied selectively.

I walked toward them. Several backed away, without knowing why—the instinct that removes the sheep from the wolf’s path.

I’ll beat you because a million stand behind me now. Because my desire to win now runs in the oldest channels.” I told him because there’s a power in the telling of a truth, and because reason has a keen edge.

Maybe that was all salvation had ever been. An open hand waiting to be taken.