Quote

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.

Mark Lawrence

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Mark Lawrence
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 28
Author
Novelist
the United States of America
Single
Heavier
Memories
Weave
Bits
Weigh
Grows
Thread
Around
Drag
Shroud
Littles
Madness
Cocoon
Little
Build
Shrouds
Time
Wind
Cocoons

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It is purity of spirit that will keep corruption from the flesh
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If you must run, have something to run toward, so it feels less like cowardice.
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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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We can't be trapped by fear. Lives lived within such walls are just slower deaths.
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She'll never love you better than she loves her own children.
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Anything that you cannot sacrifice pins you. Makes you predictable, makes you weak.
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Four years and everything was the same, except me.
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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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There’s something brittle in me that will break before it bends.
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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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In the end it seems we're just toys,easy to break and hard to mend
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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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Confusing the author and the character seems to be a popular and rather unsophisticated reaction to books.
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Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.
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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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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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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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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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I maintain a balanced view of the world, but that balance is always in my favour.
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