Shadows of Self (Mistborn, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

Maybe you should spend a little less time with your thing and more with your gun.” “Now that sounded dirty.” “Good. I hate being crass by accident.”

Spectacles. They were kind of like a hat for smart people.

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.

Listening to this speech, he was half inclined to string himself up, which was really disturbing, since he was generally suicidal only in the mornings.

For all Wax cared, this comfortable chair could have been a hard bench. He didn’t feel it, or the warmth of the fire, or the joy of the victory. How could you hear a bee buzzing in the middle of a thunderstorm?