Shadows of Self (Mistborn, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

He’d always found it odd that so many died when they were old, as logic said that was the point in their lives when they’d had the most practice not dying.

“Proper loafing requires company. One man lying about is being idle; two men lying about is a lunch break.”

“Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?”

“Until you know it ain’t true, treat every woman like she has an older brother what is stronger than you are?”

“You should not be defined by what you do, but by what you are.” “A man is what he does.”

“A man should never pull a trigger unless he’s willing to kill.

“Your grasp of the language is startling,” Wax said, “considering how you so frequently brutalize it.” “Ain’t nobody what knows the cow better than the butcher, Wax.”

You had to adapt. Move. Change. That was good, but it could also threaten identity, connection, and sense of purpose. The governor’s guards studied the crowd with hostility, muttering about miscreants, as if seeing the crowd as barely contained malefactors who were looking for any excuse to riot and loot. To the contrary, these people wanted something stable, something that would let them sustain their communities or forge new ones. Rioting was rarely caused by greed, but frequently by frustration and hopelessness.

The most important things in the world are worth only what people will pay for them. If you can raise someone’s expectation … if you can make them need something … that is the source of wealth. Owning things of value is secondary to creating things of value where none once existed.”

Where once kings and warriors shaped the world, now quiet men in offices will do the same—and do it far, far more effectively.”

There are no good men, Bleeder said. Choice is an illusion, lawman. There are those created to be selfish and there are those created to be selfless. This does not make them good or evil, any more than the ravaging lion is evil when compared to the placid rabbit.

In some ways, that was the true mark of mankind. Man tamed the stones, the bones of the earth below. Man tamed the fire, that ephemeral, consuming soul of life. And combining the two, he drew forth the marrow of the rocks themselves, then made molten tools.

human emotions are the same. It seems that no matter how nice the box is, trap a man in it and he will buck. Fight. Rail.”

The law is not something holy, son. It’s simply a reflection of the ideals of those lucky enough to be in charge.”

To believe in a God was to accept that He or She wasn’t going to deliver you from every problem.

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.

“And what would you have Harmony do, woman? Give us all the answers? Lead us by the noses, like Paalm swore that He did? Turn us all into pieces on a board for His amusement?” Marasi stepped back. She’d never heard such a tone from MeLaan. “Or maybe you want it the other way?” MeLaan snapped. “Leave us alone completely? Not intervene at all?” “No, I—” “Can you imagine what it must be like? Knowing that any action you take is going to help some, but hurt others? Save a man’s life now, let him spread a disease that kills a child later in his life. Harmony does the best He can—the best possible, by the very definition.