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I think maybe we die every day. Maybe we're born new each dawn, a little changed, a little further on our own road. When enough days stand between you and the person you were, you're strangers. Maybe that's what growing up is. Maybe I have grown up.

Mark Lawrence

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Mark Lawrence
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 28
Author
Novelist
the United States of America
Little
Days
Enough
Growing
Strangers
Maybe
Dawn
Every
Dies
Grown
Think
Born
Stranger
Thinking
Littles
Road
Persons
Changed
Person
Stand

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Do you know why the leaves change colour?... Before a tree sheds a leaf it pumps it full of all the poison it can't rid itself of otherwise. That red there--that's a man's skin blotching with burst veins after an assassin spikes his last meal with roto-weed. The poison spreading through him before he dies.
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When you take a woman away from her man, what you get is a woman who can be taken away from her man.
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Hold to a thing long enough, a secret, a desire, maybe a lie, and it will shape you.
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You can only win the game when you understand that it is a game. Let a man play chess, and tell him that every pawn is his friend. Let him think both bishops holy. Let him remember happy days in the shadows of his castles. Let him love his queen. Watch him lose them all.
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Take a rest and the world catches up with you. Lesson in life--keep moving.
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You got responsibilities when you’re a leader. You got a responsibility not to kill too many of your men. Or who’re you going to lead?
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No half measures. Some things can’t be cut in half. You can’t half-love someone. You can’t half-betray, or half-lie.
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I think you need to have lived more to truly know a man's heart. You need to have made more transactions in life to know the worth of the coin you spend so freely
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All lives are tales. Some spread, and grow in the telling. Others are just told between us and the gods, muttered back and forth behind our days, but those tales grow too and shake us just as fierce.
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A man can reach into anything and turn it to his cause. It's not want, or desire, just certainty. Only be assured that whatever you reach into will reach into you in turn.
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We can't be trapped by fear. Lives lived within such walls are just slower deaths.
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Few things worth having can be got easily.
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If the sins of the flesh ever got old I didn't ever want enough years on me to know it.
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Each day the memories weigh a little heavier. Each day they drag you down that bit further. You wind them around you, a single thread at a time, and you weave your own shroud, you build a cocoon, and in it madness grows.
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You're a Good Little Slave
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You soon learn there’s no elegance or dignity in death if you spend time in the castle kitchens. You learn how ugly it is, and how good it tastes.
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Men think if they're getting laid, everything is fine. Women think if they feel good, everything is fine. Neither turns out to be a very good indicator.
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When you're in a dark place, and your light is going to run out before too long, you get on with things. It's a wonder to me how few people apply that same logic to their lives.
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And when pain bites, men bargain. Boys too. We twist and turn, we plead and beg, we offer our tormentors what he wants so that the hurting will stop. And when there is no torturer to placate, no hooded man with hot irons and tongs, just a burn you can't escape, we bargain with God, or ourselves, depending on the size of our egos.
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Anything that you cannot sacrifice pins you. Makes you predictable, makes you weak.
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