Calamity (The Reckoners, #3)

by Brandon Sanderson

To a drone I’d have a tiny heat signature, like a squirrel or something. A secretly very, very deadly squirrel.

Mizzy could be perkier than a sack of caffeinated puppies.

attacking his bowl of food like a man whose house had once been burned down by a particularly violent ear of corn.

Everyone took a turn driving except me. Which was completely unfair. Just because of that one time. Well, and that other time. And the one with the mailbox, but seriously, who remembered that anymore?

Life was so unfair. You couldn’t both destroy everything around you and live like a king.

That said, there is a look about an Epic who is in the throes of their power. The way they stand so tall, the way they smile with such confidence. They stand out, like a burp during a prayer.

I met her eyes and shrugged. “I’m glad you’re not the same Megan. I don’t want you to be the same. My Megan is a sunrise, always changing, but beautiful the entire time.”

We were specks of mud on the window; he was a giant, vengeful bottle of spray cleaner. Extra-strength lemon scent.

I hadn’t realized that the pain was still so close to the surface, like a fish who liked to sunbathe.

I suddenly felt very, very smart for having brought Abraham along. Tia listened to him. Heck, a rabid Chihuahua having a seizure would stop and listen when Abraham spoke.

The comment quieted the room, like a sudden shout of “Who wants extra bacon?” at a bar mitzvah.

Is there a point to this? I asked. Yeah. Entertaining me. Say something stupid. I’ve got popcorn and everything.

When I turned on the machine, I found myself hovering above Ildithia. The grandeur of this was spoiled by the piles of supplies in the room, which also hovered in the sky, like I was some kind of magical space hobo who flew about with my possessions in tow.

After leaving behind a hideout that had literally been decomposing around us, this place felt almost too clean. Like a baby the moment before it barfed on you.

It wasn’t that he never smiled, it was just that his smiles always seemed so controlled. He rarely seemed to enjoy life. It was more that he let it pass around him, regarding it curiously, like a rock watching a river.

I peeked in; the lanky Southerner was cuddled into the hole like a joey in its mother’s pouch—though people really shouldn’t let baby kangaroos play with a Barrett .50 cal with armor-piercing rounds.

it could unload bullets faster than a pair of drunk hicks visiting a varmint factory.

Turns out flying is way harder than people think. In the air, I was about as adroit as seventeen geriatric walruses trying to juggle live swordfish.