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There are only three people in life you can never fool--pawnbrokers, whores, and your mother. Since your mother's dead, I've taken her place. Hence, I'm bullshit-proof.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Never
Proof
Life
Fool
People
Dead
Since
Taken
Mother
Whores
Three
Hence
Place
Bullshit

More quotes by Scott Lynch

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Advice,' Doña Vorchenza chuckled. 'Advice. The years play a sort of alchemical trick, transmuting one's mutterings to a state of respectability. Give advice at forty and you're a nag. Give it at seventy and you're a sage.
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When you can't cheat the game, you'd best find a means to cheat the players.
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I'll wager I would have screwed things up regardless. But. . .can you imagine those poor bastards grappling their prey, leaping over the rails, swords in hand, screaming, 'Your cats! Give us all your gods-damned cats!
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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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A boy may be as disagreeable as he pleases, but when a girl refuses to crap sunshine on command, the world mutters darkly about her moods.
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Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they're after an image, not a person.
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We’re a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don’t believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more.
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Yeah, but if I don't start my nervous pacing now, I'll never have it all done in time.
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Worst of all, the inner vault is guarded by a live dragon, attended by fifty naked women armed with poisoned spears, each of them sworn to die in Requin's service. All redheads. -You're just making that up, Jean.
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I can’t name the poison that’s killing your friend. But the one that’s killing you is called hope.
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I think it’s fairly common for writers to be afflicted with two simultaneous yet contradictory delusions, the burning certainty that we’re unique geniuses, and the constant fear that we’re witless frauds who are speeding toward epic failure.
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The water caught the Falselight glimmer like layers of shifting, translucent mirrors and formed split-second works of art in the air, but men cursed it anyway, because it made their heads wet.
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They kissed for the sort of endless moment that only exists between lovers whose lips are still new territory to one another.
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Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
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Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.
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This is where you and I are headed.... Look for us in history books and you'll find us in the margins. Look for us in legends and you might just find us celebrated
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What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill anyone with this.
Scott Lynch
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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.
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You simply collapsed, sir. In layman's terms, your body revoked its permission for you to continue heaping abuse upon it.
Scott Lynch