The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn, #6)

by Brandon Sanderson

Because people were people, and if there was one thing you could count on, it was that some of them would be weird. Or rather that all of them would be weird when circumstances happened to align with their own individual brand of insanity.

A man found himself when he was alone. You only had one person to chat with, one person to blame.

It seemed to him that the smarter a man was, the more likely he was to pretend he knew more than he did.