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His ego was so powerful it shone from him like a strange light, distorting the personalities of everyone around him at least halfway into being bastards themselves. Superiors became snivelling accomplices. Experts deferred to his ignorance. Decent men were reduced to sycophantic shits. Ladies of judgement to giggling cyphers.
Two very different kinds of courage were on display. Lieutenant West was frowning towards the bridge, his face pale and his jaw clenched, determined to do his duty in spite of his very real fear. Colonel Glokta, meanwhile, smirked at death as though it were a jilted lover begging for more, entirely fearless in his certain knowledge that danger was something that applied only to the little people.
Give a man a sword and he always acts the same, whatever the colour of his skin.
For a while Temple had convinced himself he was a righteous man, but it is easy to be virtuous before your virtue is put to the test.
‘The greater a man’s power swells, the smaller his good qualities shrivel.’
‘Do I get a vote?’ ‘Henchpeople don’t vote,’ said Javre. ‘And even if you did,’ added Whirrun, giving an apologetic shrug, ‘there are three of us. You’d be outvoted.’ Shev tipped her head back to look up at the careless, iron-grey sky. ‘There’s the trouble with fucking democracy.’
When you’re down to small stakes you have to play long odds.
Takes a lifetime of hard work to make a man. Only takes a few moments to end one.
Put a few men with swords together, even men with usually pleasant manners, and it’s never long before they’re all acting like animals. It was like old Threetrees always said – a sword’s a shitty thing to give a man. Shitty for him, and shitty for everyone around him.
Surprise is like virginity. You only get the one chance at using it, and that normally turns out a crushing disappointment.
If you want to be a fine new person with a fine new life you’ve got to put the person you were behind you, like a snake sheds its skin. You’ve got to stop picking through your hoard of hurts and grievances like a miser through his coins, set ’em down and allow yourself to go free. You’ve got to forgive and you’ve got to trust, not because anyone else deserves it, but because you do.
‘Fuck,’ she said, simply. Sometimes no other word will cover it.
‘Some men will break a thing just because they can,’ he had whispered. ‘But war must be a leader’s last resort. Fight a war, you’ve lost already.’
‘There are rules.’ ‘Rules are for those who follow,’ said Calder. ‘Rules must be for all, and for those who lead most of all. Without rules, every man stands alone, owning only what he can tear from the world with one hand and grip with the other. Chaos.’
