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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Ever
Would
Reassurance
Pressing
Grapes
Dull
Nobody
Trouble
Pain

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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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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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My name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.
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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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As for history, we are living in its ruins. And as for biographies, we are living with the consequences of all the decisions ever made in them. I tend not to read them for pleasure. It’s not unlike carefully scrutinizing the map when one has already reached the destination.
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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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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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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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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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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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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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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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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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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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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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When the sky’s falling, I take shelter under bullshit.
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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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Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.
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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
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