The Burning White (Lightbringer #5)

by Brent Weeks

I dream of the day when I have so much power that my sons may say aloud what they actually think.

Shame is a gorgon. Before you grab her serpentine hair to drag her into the light, remember what her hair is.

My answer is that we are the apprentice painters, working under the master’s watchful eye. He is a good master, and He has sworn not to make our work meaningless. Every smudge and every blot and every unsteady line we draw will remain. The master will soften a line or turn the darkest graffiti to chiaroscuro, but never will He take the palette knife to gouge out an imperfect piece of the work, for if He erased the imperfections made by our hands, where would He stop erasing? Everything we paint we paint imperfectly.”

“In the face of life’s black mysteries, answers feel barren. All I know is that I can only choose my attitude. The mysteries aren’t thereby untangled, but when I choose gratitude, I see life flower. When I paint as if my art has meaning, not just for today but also for eternity, it doesn’t make the aches go away, but I’ve come to trust that my master will use my pain for a purpose.”

the sun was beautiful yet, even stripped of its colors by a cruel god.

We approach life with hearts broken but heads unbowed.