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“There once was a girl,” he murmured, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King… and the monster they became.”
― One Dark Window
― One Dark Window
“Ah, the outdoors,' Shallan said. 'I visited that mythical place once.”
― The Way of Kings
― The Way of Kings
“How else would you get to live a thousand lives in the span of only one? The beauty of fiction is that it makes you feel things on a visceral level. You can cry with those characters, laugh with them. It teaches you to look at another’s perspective, to have empathy. In nonfiction, you simply learn about something instead of feeling it.”
― The Right Move
― The Right Move
“I've always been very confident in my immaturity.”
― Mistborn: The Final Empire
― Mistborn: The Final Empire
“Then suddenly he beheld his sister Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white; and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while. A fey mood took him.
'Éowyn, Éowyn!' he cried at last: 'Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!'
Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew
a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: 'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'
And with that the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more.
Death they cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like
a great tide their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring
away southwards.”
―
'Éowyn, Éowyn!' he cried at last: 'Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!'
Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew
a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: 'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'
And with that the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more.
Death they cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like
a great tide their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring
away southwards.”
―
Modern Ukrainian Literature
— 387 members
— last activity Dec 31, 2025 12:05AM
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