Quote

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.

Mark Lawrence

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Mark Lawrence
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 28
Author
Novelist
the United States of America
Back
Behinds
Shake
Behind
Fierce
Grow
Shakes
Told
Tales
Days
Forth
Grows
Gods
Lives
Spread
Others
Telling
Muttered

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She'll never love you better than she loves her own children.
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In the end it seems we're just toys,easy to break and hard to mend
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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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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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Dark times call for dark choices. Choose me.
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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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I’ll tell you now. That silence almost beat me. It’s the silence that scares me. It’s the blank page on which I can write my own fears. The spirits of the dead have nothing on it. The dead one tried to show me hell, but it was a pale imitation of the horror I can paint on the darkness in a quiet moment.
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Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.
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I maintain a balanced view of the world, but that balance is always in my favour.
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It is purity of spirit that will keep corruption from the flesh
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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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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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Confusing the author and the character seems to be a popular and rather unsophisticated reaction to books.
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Some men are too dull to feel what might happen. Others torture themselves with maybes and populate their dreams with horrors more terrible than their worst enemy could inflict upon them.
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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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You're a Good Little Slave
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something in me had got broken, but not so broken I didn't remember what it was.
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We can't be trapped by fear. Lives lived within such walls are just slower deaths.
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Sometime, It's easier to love someone with flaws you can forgive in return for them forgiving yours.
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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.
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