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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.

Mark Lawrence

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Mark Lawrence
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 28
Author
Novelist
the United States of America
Whatever
Desire
Assured
Anything
Certainty
Men
Reach
Cause
Turn
Causes
Turns

More quotes by Mark Lawrence

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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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Dark times call for dark choices. Choose me.
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Some truths should perhaps be left unsaid. Some doors unopened. An angel once told me to let go of the ills I held too close, to let go of the flaws that shaped me.
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If you must run, have something to run toward, so it feels less like cowardice.
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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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She'll never love you better than she loves her own children.
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I've always felt that the placement of a man's testicles is an eloquent argument against intelligent design.
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There’s something brittle in me that will break before it bends.
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Questions for questions. You're a man who's spent time at court.
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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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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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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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I may be running out of options, but running out isn't an option.
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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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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 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’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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I wanted to go home and if Hell rose up to stop me, it would make me desire it more.
Mark Lawrence