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

by Brandon Sanderson

But expectations were like fine pottery. The harder you held them, the more likely they were to crack.

Reading was an unseemly trait in a man.

On her freehand was a distinctive piece of jewelry: two rings and a bracelet connected by several chains, holding a triangular group of gemstones across the back of the hand. A Soulcaster—the word was used for both the people who performed the process and the fabrial that made it possible.

Nan Balat bruised, his coat torn. A long, silvery sword in her hand, sharp enough to cut stones as if they were water.

My study in logic does not rise to your standards, but even I know that the rationalists have a rule: One cannot apply logic as an absolute where human beings are concerned. We are not beings of thought only.

“Well, I myself find that respect is like manure. Use it where needed, and growth will flourish. Spread it on too thick, and things just start to smell.”

Sometimes we find it hardest to accept in others that which we cling to in ourselves.

He didn’t bother wondering why they were looking for this Hoid, whoever he was.

Szeth gloried in being wasted; each day he was made to clean or dig instead of kill was a victory.

Dalinar Kholin was going mad. Whenever a highstorm came, he fell to the floor and began to shake. Then he began raving in gibberish. Often, he’d stand, blue eyes delusional and wild, swinging and flailing.

You must unite them, the strange, booming words had told him. You must prepare. Build of your people a fortress of strength and peace, a wall to resist the winds. Cease squabbling and unite. The Everstorm comes.

“I don’t know what I am either. A bridgeman? A surgeon? A soldier? A slave? Those are all just labels. Inside, I’m me. A very different me than I was a year ago, but I can’t worry about that, so I just keep moving and hope my feet take me where I need to go.”

She had been excised from his memory, leaving strange gaps and foggy areas. Sometimes he could remember an exact scene, with everyone else crisp and clear, but she was a blur. He couldn’t even remember her name. When others spoke it, it slipped from his mind, like a pat of butter sliding off a too-hot knife.

The means by which we achieve victory are as important as the victory itself.”

Kaladin frowned. He was sure it had still glowed before the bridge run. “That’s your fault. You gave it to me.” “Those spheres were newly infused last night,” Gaz said. “They came straight from Brightlord Sadeas’s treasurer. What did you do with them?”

Ohhhh shitttt

A man’s emotions are what define him, and control is the hallmark of true strength. To lack feeling is to be dead, but to act on every feeling is to be a child.”

People—even parshmen—don’t grow armor.” “Parshendi do,” Teft said.

“Why forge the metal,” Vstim said, “when you can carve an object from wood in the precise shape you want, then Soulcast it?”

“I will remember, friend,” Thresh said. “But I do not think it likely we will have another like him.” He seemed to grow distracted. “Indeed, I should hope that we never do. …”

“I’m still trying to decide how you fit into things. Are you a Voidbringer or a Herald?” “Voidbringer, I’m afraid,” Axies said. “I mean, I did destroy a temple.”

Or perhaps it was because he cast a shadow the wrong way. Toward light, instead of away from it.

Szeth breathed in, infusing himself with Stormlight from the spheres in his pouch. He began to glow, luminescent vapors rising from his skin. In the darkness, it was quite noticeable. These powers had never been intended for assassination; Surgebinders had fought during the light of day, battling the night but not embracing it.

“There is no greatness in killing,” Szeth said. “You speak like a kukori. Great men create food and clothing. He who adds is to be revered. I am he who takes away.

He was surprised that his hands were so steady. He should be trembling. For soon the world itself would shake.

Metal af

“To be honest, ‘arrogant’ doesn’t feel like quite the right word. It’s not specific enough.” “And what would be the right word, then?” “I don’t know. ‘Errorgant,’ perhaps.” Jasnah raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“But the Almighty determines what is right!” “Must someone, some unseen thing, declare what is right for it to be right? I believe that my own morality—which answers only to my heart—is more sure and true than the morality of those who do right only because they fear retribution.”

It seemed that this Soulcaster was attuned to three Essences in particular: Vapor, Spark, and Lucentia. But it should be able to create any of the Ten Essences, from Zephyr to Talus.

In that darkness, an enormous face appeared just in front of his. A face of blackness, yet faintly traced in the dark. It was wide, the breadth of a massive thunderhead, and extended far to either side, yet it was somehow still visible to Kaladin. Inhuman. Smiling.

You left a sphere out in the storm, and it gathered Stormlight. Held in Kaladin’s hand, this one should have been fully infused. What had gone wrong?

It kept him alive

“Philosophy? What good is that?” Isn’t it the art of saying nothing with as many words as possible?

How i felt after reading the zen archery

“You wonder why I reject the devotaries.” “I do.” “Most of them seek to stop the questions.”

“You tempted them into coming for us!” “Did I force them to commit any crimes?” “You showed off your gemstones.” “Can a woman not walk with her possessions down the street of a city?”

Am I a monster or am I a hero? Did I just slaughter four men, or did I stop four murderers from walking the streets? Does one deserve to have evil done to her by consequence of putting herself where evil can reach her? Did I have a right to defend myself? Or was I just looking for an excuse to end lives?”

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

You can be moral without following the law, and you can be immoral while following the law.” “But you also said what I did was ‘right’ but not ‘moral.’ The distinction between those two seems less easy to define.” “An action can be right,” Shallan said. “It is simply something done, viewed without considering intent. Killing four men in self-defense is right.” “But not moral?” “Morality applies to your intent and the greater context of the situation. Seeking out men to kill is an immoral act, Jasnah, regardless of the eventual outcome.”

“You …” No, the voice had been a whisper, and it had quite distinctly come from inside Shallan’s room. It couldn’t have been the maid.

The soulcaster?

‘Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination.’

Sometimes he gave them hope, but what was hope except another opportunity for failure?

These days were dreary, and he found it difficult to get anything productive done. As if the lack of storms left him without strength.

They have an uncanny ability to make music together. I swear that I have left one Parshendi singing to himself, then soon passed another out of earshot of the first, yet singing the very same song—eerily near to the other in tempo, tune, and lyric.

“That isn’t the kind of thing the Dawnsingers did. They were healers, kindly spren sent by the Almighty to care for humans once we were forced out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is syl a dawnsinger?

And five symbol-headed figures in black, too-stiff robes and cloaks. Each had a different symbol, twisted and unfamiliar to her, hanging above a neckless torso. The creatures wove through the crowd unseen. Like predators. Focused on Shallan.

Talk about some horror type shit.

A man stood over two corpses. His pale head shaved, his clothing white, the murderer held a long, thin sword in one hand. He looked up from his victims and almost seemed to see Kaladin. He had large Shin eyes.

Szeth

If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, Moash, I doubt that the world would be a very different place. The abuses would still happen. Simply to other people.”

They will see us, and we will not be able to cross chasms without bridge.”

They do have a bridge...

The Nightwatcher doesn’t trick you or twist your words. You ask a boon. She gives what she feels you deserve, then gives you a curse to go along with it. Sometimes related, sometimes not.”

“The spren change when I measure them, Ashir,” she said. “Before I measure, they dance and vary in size, luminosity, and shape. But when I make a notation, they immediately freeze in their current state. Then they remain that way permanently, so far as I can tell.”

Heisenberg Uncertainty principle

He moved forward, leaping from table to table, wielding his Shardblade, a god of burning Stormlight and death.

But not a one struck flesh. Across the chasm, several of the Parshendi lowered their bows, breaking off their chanting. Their demonic faces bore looks of stupefaction.

“Money is behind every war,” Au-nak continued. “Religion is but an excuse. Or perhaps a justification.” “There’s a difference?” the ardent said, obviously taking offense at Au-nak’s tone. “Of course,” Au-nak said. “An excuse is what you make after the deed is done, while a justification is what you offer before.”