More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
December 17, 2013 - October 5, 2014
“Better that one man should suffer than ten,” Jezrien whispered. He seemed so cold. Like a shadow caused by heat and light falling on someone honorable and true, casting this black imitation behind.
Szeth brushed by, continuing past a line of statues depicting the Ten Heralds from ancient Vorin theology. Jezerezeh, Ishi, Kelek, Talenelat. He counted off each one, and realized there were only nine here. One was conspicuously missing. Why had Shalash’s statue been removed?
The Stormlight raged inside of him, and the hallway suddenly grew darker, falling into shade like a hilltop cut off from the sun by a transient cloud.
As Truthless, there was only one life he was forbidden to take. And that was his own.
But when weapons created to fight nightmares were turned against common soldiers, the lives of men became cheap things indeed.
Szeth’s honor would not allow him to betray his mission or seek death. But if that death occurred, he would welcome it.
You should bless me for saving you from that man’s sickness.” “I’ll bless your cairn when I pile it up myself,” Kaladin replied.
But expectations were like fine pottery. The harder you held them, the more likely they were to crack.
I can see a distant sun, dark and cold, shining in a black sky.”
Katarotam … Each lighteyes Kaladin had known, whether as a slave or a free man, had shown himself to be corrupt to the core, for all his outward poise and beauty. They were like rotting corpses clothed in beautiful silk.
“Ignorance is hardly unusual, Miss Davar. The longer I live, the more I come to realize that it is the natural state of the human mind.
Everyone told stories of that night, the night when Parshendi tribesmen had murdered King Gavilar.
“They are aflame. They burn. They bring the darkness when they come, and so all you can see is that their skin is aflame. Burn, burn, burn. …”
When she collected a Memory of a person, she was snipping free a bud of their soul, and she cultivated and grew it on the page.
Because everything I have learned has come by way of great personal struggle. What others were handed, I had to hunt.
Sometimes we find it hardest to accept in others that which we cling to in ourselves.
The hallmark of insecurity is bravado.
His Shardblade—Oathbringer—formed in his hand, coalescing from mist, appearing as the tenth beat of his heart thudded in his chest.
