Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

“I’m sorry, Father,” Szeth said, sobbing. “I cannot go with you. Not … not this time.” Live, then, the shadows whispered. Live and do better.

Being strong didn’t mean that you didn’t need anyone. Those around you were the source of your strength.

Szeth clutched the sword, holding it close in his left hand as he stumbled to his feet on an empty field. The horses had fled, taking the wagon with them, leaving only Kaladin’s pack. Upon looking through that, he found … A small woolen sheep. And a carved wooden toy horse. Szeth held both up with one hand, by light of the Everstorm, and finally found tears to weep.

Im crying

Art is improvisation. It’s the brushstrokes you don’t intend, but your instincts know you need anyway. The parts of the story you add for a specific reader, the expression you make onstage to provoke a gasp. That’s the art.”