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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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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Kind
Knife
Knives
Chains
Held
Utensil
Kill
Locke
Couldn
Utensils
Anyone
Rounded
Wrong
Inspection
More quotes by Scott Lynch
Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they're after an image, not a person.
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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.
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Maxilan, darling. Locke raised one eyebrow and smiled. I knew you were driven, but I had no idea you could smoulder. Come, take me now! Jean won't mind he'll avert his eyes like a gentleman.
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Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
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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.
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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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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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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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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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Only one way to win when you're being chased by someone bigger and tougher than you. Turn straight around, punch their teeth out, and hope the gods are fond of you.
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Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind
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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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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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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
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Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.
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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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Yeah, but if I don't start my nervous pacing now, I'll never have it all done in time.
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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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My name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.
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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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