Warbreaker

by Brandon Sanderson

There were great advantages to being unimportant.

MEE??

Unimportance. To another, it might have been offensive. To Siri it was a blessing.

A few cups of wine—along with some time to get past thinking about children deprived of their Breath—and he was beginning to feel more like his usual self.

Make a note to have my imagination flogged for its insolence in showing me that particular sight.”

“Nonsense. War is far worse. At least where politics is going on, there are usually nice hors d’oeuvres.”

“Mocking a woman is like drinking too much wine. It may be fun for a short time, but the hangover is hell.”

“I try to avoid having thoughts. They lead to other thoughts, and—if you’re not careful—those lead to actions.

Actions make you tired. I have this on rather good authority from someone who once read it in a book.”

“You avoid thinking, you avoid me, you avoid effort…is there anything you don’t avoid?” “Breakfast.”

HE IS SO ME

“You’ll have to stand for something eventually, Lightsong,” she said. “You’re a god to these people.” “Not by choice, my dear.”

A chance to beg Lightsong to kill himself.

He smiled, glancing at his high priest. “Suicide by divine manifestation. Very dramatic.”

Did no one understand that a man could be both likable and useless? Not every quick-tongued fool was a hero in disguise.

You see, the great thing about madness is that it’s all in your head.”

“I’ve just had a revelation. Mediocrity isn’t the best way to serve our people.” “What is, then?” “Medium rare on a bed of sweet–potato medallions,” he said, popping a grape in his mouth. “With a slight garnish of garlic and a light white wine sauce.”

“Time tends to pass you by more quickly when you take no notice of it, my dear. In that, it’s remarkably similar to most women I know.”

But he’d found that imaginary things were often the only items of real substance in people’s lives.

He couldn’t accept those dreams as foretellings. If he did, it meant that he was a god. And if that were the case, then he feared greatly for them all.

Best to be kind, he thought, smiling idly to himself. That way, if she ever does take over the kingdom, perhaps she’ll behead me last.

Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t set yourself above others. He who makes himself high will be cast down low. But what of the man who murders one of his daughters to save the other? What of the man who claims—to your face—that the switch was for other reasons? That it was for the good of Idris? That it wasn’t about favoritism at all?

It’s not so uncommon for others to have more faith in someone than he has in himself.”

“That is the letter ‘shash,’ ” Siri said, smiling. “I can teach you them all, if you wish.”

KALADIN REFERENCE !!!! WE MUST STAY FOCUSED

Protect a flower, destroy the pests who wanted to feed on it. Protect a building, destroy the plants that could have grown in the soil. Protect a man. Live with the destruction he creates.

The priests of the Iridescent Tones, it appeared, were hiding things from the rest of the kingdom. And from their gods.

Unknowing ignorance is preferable to informed stupidity.” “I’ll try to remember that.” “Do so and you defeat the point.

you don’t understand a man until you understand what makes him do what he does. Every man is a hero in his own story,

The truth is, most people who do what you’d call ‘wrong’ do it for what they call ‘right’ reasons.

I suspect that the mountains are beautiful, as you have said. However, I believe the most beautiful thing in them has already come down to me.

“This is Hoid,”

AAAAAAA

Hoid looked up, smiling. “I learned it many, many years ago from a man who didn’t know who he was, Your Majesty. It was a distant place where two lands meet and gods have died. But that is unimportant.”

You’re wonderful. So full of life and excitement. The priests and servants of the palace, they wear colors, but there’s no color inside of them. They just go about their duties, eyes down, solemn. You’ve got color on the inside, so much of it that it bursts out and colors everything around you.

That night, Lightsong dreamed of T’Telir burning. Of the God King dead and of soldiers in the streets. Of Lifeless killing people in colorful clothing. And of a black sword.

Yet she was beginning to think that she—along with many others—had taken this belief too far, letting her desire to seem humble become a form of pride itself. She now saw that when her faith had become about clothing instead of people, it had taken a wrong turn.

“Priests are always easy to blame. They make convenient scapegoats—after all, anyone with a strong faith different from your own must either be a crazy zealot or a lying manipulator.”

Yet she knew she couldn’t live—couldn’t interact—without making some judgments. So she judged Vasher. Not as she’d judged Denth, who had said amusing things and given her what she’d expected to see. She judged Vasher by what she had seen him do. Cry when he saw a child being held captive. Return that child to her father, his only reward an opportunity to make a rough plea for peace. Living with barely any money, dedicating himself to preventing a war. He was rough. He was brutal. He had a terrible temper. But he was a good man. And, walking beside him, she felt safe for the first time in weeks.

“You are a god. To me, at least. It doesn’t matter how easily you can be killed, how much Breath you have, or how you look. It has to do with who you are and what you mean.”

I’m bored, Nightblood said. Pay attention to me. Why doesn’t anyone ever talk to me?

“Warbreaker the Peaceful,”