Quote

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.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Giving
Tricks
Chuckled
Years
Advice
Muttering
Sort
Respectability
State
Seventy
Experience
Seventies
Give
Sage
States
Trick
Transmuting
Play
Forty
Alchemical

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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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When the sky’s falling, I take shelter under bullshit.
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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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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.
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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
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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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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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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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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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I think piracy is a bit like drinking. You want to stay out all night doing it, you pay the price the next day.
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Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
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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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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.
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Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind
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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.
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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery.
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