Golden Son (Red Rising Saga, #2)

by Pierce Brown

Patience will do me nothing. I must take a risk.

How easy we make mass murder.

We’re all just wounded souls stumbling about in the dark, desperately trying to stitch ourselves together, hoping to fill the holes they ripped in us.

I am trapped by opulence.

“Never tell me the odds, just do it,” I command.

But this is why I was made. To dive into hell.

He scoops up the eyeball and jams it into his pocket, grinning merrily. He runs to catch up. “Collecting the set, hopefully.”

Men can change. Sometimes they have to fall. Sometimes they have to leap.”

Achilles let his pride and rage consume him, and in the end, an arrow shot by a Pixie took him in the foot. There’s much to live for besides this. Hopefully you’ll grow old enough to realize that Achilles was a gorydamn fool. And we’re fools all the more for not realizing he wasn’t Homer’s hero. He was warning. I feel like men once knew that.”

War is chaos. It always has been. But technology makes it worse. It changes the fear.

Tradition is the crown of the tyrant.