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Amusingly, creating these two Mistborn books together totaled only about half as much writing as a Stormlight book. You may now commence wisecracks about me secretly writing extra novels when nobody is looking.
So, what is Shadows of Self? It’s a lot of things, but I do promise you that it’s awesome.
“Aw,” the kid said, hopping down from his own horse. “You didn’t catch your spur on the stirrup and trip.” “That happened once,” Waxillium said. “Yeah, but it was super funny.”
Wax was a right good fellow, but there were a lot of things he didn’t understand. Women for one. Hats for another.
Why did Wax always want to smack this man after talking to him? He was never insulting, always impeccably proper. Maybe that was reason enough.
“Well, you know,” Wayne said. “It’s like I often say…” “Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?” “No, not that one.” “Until you know it ain’t true, treat every woman like she has an older brother what is stronger than you are?” “No, not … Wait, I said that?” “Yes,” Wax said, turning back to his notes. “It was a very chivalrous moment for you.” “Rusts. I should really write these things down.”
“I ain’t drunk,” Wayne said, sniffling. “I’m investigatin’ alternative states of sobriety.
“Are you drunk?” She sniffed at his breath. “No,” Wayne said. “If I were drunk, you wouldn’t look nearly so ugly.”
“You should not be defined by what you do, but by what you are.” “A man is what he does.”
“Master,” Darriance said, folding Wayne’s coat. “New equipment has arrived for you from Miss Ranette. She asked if you’d be willing to test it.” “Aw, Ruin!” Wayne said. “I missed her? What did she leave for me?” “She … said I was to slap you,” Darriance admitted. “Aw. She does care. See that, Wax, she cares!”
Hey, Hoid. Can I catch a ride up there with you?”
Aaahhh Hoid reference
The sad thing was, Wayne probably wasn’t lying. Being unkillable, so long as one had some healing power stored up, could do strange things to a person’s sense of self-preservation. Of course, Wayne had probably been drunk at the time. That also tended to do strange things to a person’s sense of self-preservation.
You are a predator, Waxillium Ladrian.” “I hunt predators.” “You are one too.”
“If Wayne isn’t in here somewhere already,” Wax said, “I’ll eat your handbag and try to burn it for Allomantic power.”
“Our accents are clothing for our thoughts, my dear,” Wayne said. “Without them, everything we say would be stripped bare, and we might as well be screaming at one another.
All Allomancers shared a bond with the mists, but the other types never knew the thrill of jumping through them. Of nearly becoming one with them. During moments like this, Wax understood the Ascendant Warrior. Vin—they rarely called her by name. Her title, like those of the other Preservers, was used to show reverence.
Wax felt a sweeping wave of relief. He hadn’t lost his quarry—he’d simply been led into a trap! Wait.
No, freedom was not lack of responsibilities—it was being able to do what was right, without having to worry if it was also wrong.
“Hats is a disguise for your brain. Helps you think like the person what wore it last. You wanna know a guy? Put on his hat.” “Has anyone ever told you that you’re surprisingly wise?” MeLaan asked. “All the bloody time.” “They’re idiots. You’re not wise, you’re playing them. You’re doing this on purpose.” She grinned. “I love it.”
She had dark hair, which he’d compared to a pony’s on several occasions—and it was right unfair that she should get mad, considering she kept it in a tail and everything. She wore trousers, because skirts were stupid, and boots, ’cuz stuff needed to be kicked.
“She was strong and vulnerable all at once,” TenSoon whispered. “She was my last master, and my greatest. She had a way of pouring everything of herself into what she did. When she fought, she was the blade. When she loved, she was the kiss. In that regard, she was far more … human than any I have known.”
TenSoon describing Vin
“I’m not Harmony’s hands,” Wax whispered. “I’m His sword.”
Who, or what, was Trell?
