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In the end it seems we're just toys,easy to break and hard to mend

Mark Lawrence

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Mark Lawrence
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 28
Author
Novelist
the United States of America
Hard
Mend
Toys
Break
Easy
Ends
Seems

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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're a Good Little Slave
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Dark times call for dark choices. Choose me.
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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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Humanity can be divided into madmen and cowards. My personal tragedy is in being born into a world where sanity is held to be a character flaw.
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For the longest time I studied revenge to the exclusion of all else. I built my first torture chamber in the dark vaults of imagination. Lying on bloody sheets in the Healing Hall I discovered doors within my mind that I'd not found before, doors that even a child of nine knows should not be opened. Doors that never close again. I threw them wide.
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Take a rest and the world catches up with you. Lesson in life--keep moving.
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Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.
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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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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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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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If you must run, have something to run toward, so it feels less like cowardice.
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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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A fool may scrawl on a slate and if no one has the wit to wipe it clean for a thousand years, the scrawl becomes the wisdom of ages.
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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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Four years and everything was the same, except me.
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I wanted to go home and if Hell rose up to stop me, it would make me desire it more.
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We can't be trapped by fear. Lives lived within such walls are just slower deaths.
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It was a defeat, resorting to crude threats in a game of subtlety, but sometimes one must sacrifice a battle to win the war.
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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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