Assassin's Apprentice (The Farseer Trilogy, #1)

by Robin Hobb

All events, no matter how earthshaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living. Men walking a battlefield to search for wounded among the dead will still stop to cough, to blow their noses, still lift their eyes to watch a V of geese in flight.

We were on a tidy little craft, an interisland trader wider than she was deep. Her shallow draft let her go up rivers or right onto beaches without damage, but her passage over deeper water left a lot to be desired. She sidled along, with here a dip and there a curtsy, like a bundle-laden farm wife making her way through a crowded market.

“When you cut pieces out of the truth to avoid looking like a fool, you end up sounding like a moron instead. Let’s start again.”

I don’t think there is anything more cruelly tedious than unremitting nervousness.