The Bands of Mourning Quotes

“The difference between good and evil men is not found in the acts they are willing to commit—but merely in what name they are willing to commit them in.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Plan?” Marasi asked.
“Not dyin’.”
“Anything more detailed than that?”
“Not dyin’ … today?”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“She assumes,” Wax said, “that our detective style isn’t normally the punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby type.” “To be fair,” Wayne said, “it’s usually a more shooty-shooty, whacky-whacky type.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“If you had to shoot a man, society had already failed.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Go,” Marasi said. “Do what you do best, Waxillium Ladrian.”
“Which is what? Break things?”
“Break things,” Marasi said, “with style.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“I’m wondering if every person I pass has similar depths, and if there’s any way to avoid the mistake of judging them so shallowly that I’m rocked when they show their true complexity.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“I learned how much power over a situation you gain when you decide that you don't care what others think of you.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“The definition of a lawman, Uncle, is easy,” Wax said, feeling blood from a dozen cuts trickle down his face. He lifted Suit by the front of his clothing, bringing him close. “He’s the man who takes the bullet so nobody else has to.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Of course I am,” Wax said. “This is my second marriage. I’m an old hand at the practice by now.” Wayne grinned. “Oh, is that how it works? ’Cuz in my experience, marryin’ is the one thing people seem to get worse at the more they do it. Well, that and bein’ alive.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“And then,” Steris said softly, “perhaps I came along because of the way it feels.…”
Marasi looked sharply back at her sister.
“Like the whole world has been upended,” Steris said, looking toward the ceiling. “Like the laws of nature and man no longer hold sway. They’re suddenly flexible, like a string given slack. We’re the spheres.… I love the idea that I can break out of it all—the expectations, the way I’m regarded, the way I regard myself—and soar.
“I saw it in his eyes, first. That hunger, that fire. And then I found it in myself. He’s a flame, Waxillium is, and fire can be shared. When I’m out here, when I’m with him, I burn, Marasi. It’s wonderful.”
Marasi’s jaw dropped, and she gawked at her sister. Had those words left Steris’s mouth? Careful, monotonous, boring Steris? She glanced toward Marasi and blushed.
“You actually love him, don’t you?” Marasi asked.
“Well, love is a strong emotion, one that requires careful deliberation to—”
“Steris.”
“Yes.” She looked down at her notebook. “It’s foolish, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Marasi said. “Love is always a foolish emotion. That’s what makes it work.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Focus, Wayne,” Wax said. “How are we going to get in? Shall we try a Fat Belt?”
“Nah,” Wayne said, “too loud. I think we should do Spoiled Tomato.”
“Dangerous,” Wax said, shaking his head. “I’d have to do the placement just right, between the lit perimeter and the shadowed part near the walls.”
“You can do it. You make shots like that all the time. Plus, we got this shiny new metalmind, full o’ health waitin’ to be slurped up.”
“A mistake could ruin the whole infiltration, healing power or no,” Wax said. “I think we should do Duck Under Clouds instead.”
“You kiddin’?” Wayne said. “Didn’t you get shot last time we tried that?”
“Kinda,” Wax admitted.
MeLaan stared at them, baffled. “Duck under Clouds?”
“They get like this,” Marasi said, patting her on the shoulder. “Best not to listen too closely.”
“Tube Run,” Wayne said.
“No glue.”
“Banefielder?”
“Too dark.”
“Blackwatch Doublestomp.”
Wax hesitated. “… The hell is that?”
“Just made it up,” Wayne said, grinning. “It’s a nifty code name though, eh?”
“Not bad,” Wax admitted. “And what type of plan is it?”
“Same as Spoiled Tomato,” Wayne said.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Is that the constables?” Aunt Gin asked, sounding horrified.
“Afraid so,” Wax said, pulling the door closed. The carriage lurched into motion, and Steris leaned out the window, waving farewell to the poor innkeeper.
“Framed for murder!” Steris called to her. “It’s on page seventeen of the list I gave you! Try not to let them harass our servants too much when they arrive!”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“I’ve got an idea,” Marasi said.
“How crazy is it?”
“Less crazy than tossing Wayne off a cliff.”
“Not a high bar, but all right. How do we start?”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Wayne held back a smile, tucking it into his pocket for later use.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“The law is there to keep us from ruining everyone else’s ability to explore. Without law, there’s no freedom.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“A man found himself when he was alone. You only had one person to chat with, one person to blame.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“He grinned, then winked at her as the waiter finally stepped over. “You wanted—” the waiter began. “Liquor,” Wayne said. “Would you care to be a little more specific, sir?” “Lots of liquor.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Holding your brain hostage against your own stupidity - that was how to get stuff done.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Because people were people, and if there was one thing you could count on, it was that some of them would be weird. Or rather that all of them would be weird when circumstances happened to align with their own individual brand of insanity. That”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Steris,” he whispered, “I’ve been considering how to proceed once we decide how to infiltrate. I’ve thought about bringing you in with us, and I just don’t see that it’s feasible. I think it would be best if you stayed and watched the horses.”
“Very well.”
“No, really. Those are armed soldiers. I can’t even fathom how I’d feel if I brought you in there and something happened. You need to stay out here.”
“Very well.”
“It isn’t subject to—” Wax hesitated. “Wait. You’re all right with this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked. “I barely have any sense of where to point a gun, and have hardly any capacity for sneaking—that’s really quite a scandalous talent if you think about it, Lord Waxillium. While I do believe that people tend to be safest when near you, riding into an enemy compound is stretching the issue. I’ll stay here.”
Wax grinned in the darkness. “Steris, you’re a gem.”
“What? Because I have a moderately healthy sense of self-preservation?”
“Let’s just say that out in the Roughs, I was accustomed to people always wanting to try things beyond their capacity. And they always seemed determined to do it right when it was the most dangerous.”
“Well, I shall endeavor to stay out of sight,” Steris said, “and not get captured.”
“I doubt you need to worry about that all the way out here.”
“Oh, I agree,” she said. “But that is the sort of statistical anomaly that plagues my life, so I’ll plan for it nonetheless.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Thank you again,” Wax said to her. “I still can’t believe you snuck a gun into the party.”
“It’s only appropriate,” Steris said, “that you would make a smuggler out of me.”
“Just as you try to make a gentleman out of me.”
“You’re already a gentleman,” Steris said.
Wax looked down at her as she held to him while trying to stare in every direction at once. He suddenly found something burning in him, like a metal. A protectiveness for this woman in his arms, so full of logic and yet so full of wonder at the same time. And a powerful affection.
So he let himself kiss her. She was surprised by it, but melted into the embrace. They started to drift sideways and arc downward as he lost his balance on his anchors, but he held on to the kiss, letting them slip back down into the churning mists.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Great. Lovely. Can I have your hat?”
“My … hat?” The elderly woman looked up at the oversized hat. The sides drooped magnificently, and the thing was festooned with flowers. Like, oodles of them. Silk, he figured, but they were really good replicas.
“You have a lady friend?” Aunt Gin asked. “You wish to give her the hat?”
“Nah,” Wayne said. “I need to wear it next time I’m an old lady.”
“The next time you what?” Aunt Gin grew pale, but that was probably on account of the fact that Wax went stomping by, wearing his full rusting mistcoat. That man never could figure out how to blend in.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Whenever I’m thinkin’ my life is miserable, I remember him, and tell myself, ‘Well, Wayne. At least you ain’t a broke, dickless feller what can’t even pick his own nose properly.’ And I feels better.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“He put the fork, knife, and spoon back in his pocket and tucked the flower behind his ear, then walked to the door, reaching it right before that butler did. He gave the man a glare—it was only a matter of time before he cracked and tried to kill them all—then pulled open the door.
(...)
“Nice flower,” the kandra said. “Can I have your skeleton when you’re dead?”
“My…” Wayne felt at his head.
“You’re a Bloodmaker, correct? Can heal yourself? Bloodmaker bones tend to be particularly interesting, as your time spent weak and sickly creates oddities in your joints and bones that can be quite distinctive. I’d love to have your skeleton. If you don’t mind.”
Taken aback by this request, Wayne stopped in place. Then he ran past him, pushing into the room where Wax and Steris were talking. “Wax,” he complained, pointing, “the immortal bloke is being creepy again.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, spinning around. “I will get in, and be ready to give you support. But this is your play, Ladrian, not mine. You’re the detective; I’m just around for the punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby.”
(...)
“She assumes,” Wax said, “that our detective style isn’t normally the punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby type.”
“To be fair,” Wayne said, “it’s usually a more shooty-shooty, whacky-whacky type.”
Marasi rubbed her forehead. “Why are we having this conversation?”
“Because we’re tired,” Wax said.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“People,” Wax said, “are like cords, Steris. We snake out, striking this way and that, always looking for something new. That’s human nature, to discover what is hidden. There’s so much we can do, so many places we can go.” He shifted in his seat, changing his center of gravity, which caused the sphere to rotate upward on its tether.
“But if there aren’t any boundaries,” he said, “we’d get tangled up. Imagine a thousand of these cords, zipping through the room. The law is there to keep us from ruining everyone else’s ability to explore. Without law, there’s no freedom. That’s why I am what I am.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Oh, my lord, I know it, I do.” The beggar laughed. “I own the place, technically. Now, regarding those coins for old Hoid, my good lord…”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“You know,” Wayne said, “I’m an Allomancer too.”
The man said nothing.
“I figured you’d want to know,” Wayne said, “since it seems like this is your religion and all. In case you wanted someone else to worship.”
Again no reply.
“I’m a Slider,” Wayne said. “Speed bubbles, you know? Those fancy titles would work for me just fine, I think. Handsome One. Smart One. Um … Guy wif the Great Hat.”
The only sound was that of their footfalls and the gusting wind.
“Now, see,” Wayne said, “this is unfair. Wax doesn’t want you to worship him, right? But you gotta have someone to worship. It’s human nature. It’s ingratiated in us. So, I’m willin’ to be accommodatin’ and let you—”
“He can’t understand you, Wayne,” Marasi said, marching past. “He’s swapped metalminds to keep himself warm.”
Wayne stopped in place as they all hiked onward. “Well, when he gets his brain back, someone tell him I’m a god, all right?”
“Will do,” Wax called from up ahead.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“(...). You’re good at these things, Steris. You really are—and don’t give me any more of your rhetoric about being ‘boring.’”
Her expression grew distant. “In this case, it’s not that I’m boring, it’s more that … I’m off. I’ve learned to fake being normal, but lists of prepared comments and jokes can only take me so far. People can sense that I’m not being authentic—that I don’t like the things they like or think the way they do. Sometimes it amazes me that people like Wayne, or even those kandra, can be so startlingly human when I feel so alien.”
He wished he could figure out how to keep her from saying things like that. He didn’t know the right words; every time he tried to argue the point, it only seemed to make her withdraw.”
― brandon sanderson, The Bands of Mourning

“Oi,” Wayne said, hustling up beside him. “A good plan that one was, eh?”
“It was the same plan you always have,” Wax said. “The one where I get to be the decoy.”
“Ain’t my fault people like to shoot at you, mate,” Wayne said as they reached the coach. “You should be happy; you’re usin’ your talents, like me granners always said a man should do.”
“I’d rather not have ‘shootability’ be my talent.”
“Well, you gotta use what you have,” Wayne said, leaning against the side of the carriage as Cob the coachman opened the door for Wax. “Same reason I always have bits of rat in my stew.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Bands of Mourning