The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1)

by Brandon Sanderson

He turned his mount and clopped up onto the bridge, then nodded his thanks to the bridgemen. They were the lowest in the army, and yet they bore the weight of kings.

You go be what you are. What did a man do if he didn’t know what he was? Or even what he wanted to be?

“What you said earlier is right; men are unreliable in many things. But if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s their greed.”

“Because some people are frightened of knowledge. Your father is a learned man; he knows things the others can’t understand. So those things must be dark and mysterious.” “They aren’t afraid of luckmerches and glyphwards.” “Those you can understand,” his mother said calmly. “You burn a glyphward out in front of your house, and it will turn away evil. It’s easy. Your father won’t give someone a ward to heal them. He’ll insist that they stay in bed, drinking water, taking some foul medicine, and washing their wound each day. It’s hard. They’d rather leave it all to fate.”

“It would make you famous, but actually finding it would destroy us all. Proof that one can be both intelligent and accept the intelligence of those who disagree with you? Why, I should think it would undermine the scholarly world in its entirety.”

“Please, just remember that a woman’s mind is her most precious weapon. It must not be employed clumsily or prematurely. Much like the aforementioned knife to the back, a clever gibe is most effective when it is unanticipated.”

“No god needs declare it so for it to be true,” Jasnah said. “So, could we not say that mathematics exists outside the Almighty, independent of him?” “Perhaps.” “Well,” Jasnah said, “I simply claim that morality and human will are independent of him too.” “If you say that,” the king said, chuckling, “then you’ve removed all purpose for the Almighty’s existence!” “Indeed.”

“You’ll have to learn this, Kal. When men perceive the world as being right, we are content. But if we see a hole—a deficiency—we scramble to fill it.”

The key to fighting isn’t lack of passion, it’s controlled passion. Care about winning. Care about those you defend. You have to care about something.

By seeking to beat them down, Sadeas had prepared them to excel.

Despair, hate, loss, frustration, horror. How could any man live this way? To be a surgeon, to live knowing that you would be too weak to save some? When other men failed, a field of crops got worms in them. When a surgeon failed, someone died.

‘And so, does the destination matter? Or is it the path we take? I declare that no accomplishment has substance nearly as great as the road used to achieve it. We are not creatures of destinations. It is the journey that shapes us. Our callused feet, our backs strong from carrying the weight of our travels, our eyes open with the fresh delight of experiences lived.

“If there’s no curse or bad luck, no god above being angry at me—I have to live with knowing that with a little more effort—a little more practice or skill—I could have saved them.”

Somebody has to start, son. Somebody has to step forward and do what is right, because it is right. If nobody starts, then others cannot follow.

“It strikes me that religion—in its essence—seeks to take natural events and ascribe supernatural causes to them. I, however, seek to take supernatural events and find the natural meanings behind them. Perhaps that is the final dividing line between science and religion. Opposite sides of a card.”

“What is it we value?” Wit whispered. “Innovation. Originality. Novelty. But most importantly … timeliness. I fear you may be too late, my confused, unfortunate friend.”