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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.
Scott Lynch
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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
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St Paul
Minnesota
Bigger
Turn
Chased
Winning
Tougher
Turns
Punch
Hope
Fond
Someone
Gods
Around
Teeth
Way
Straight
More quotes by Scott Lynch
Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
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When the sky’s falling, I take shelter under bullshit.
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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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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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My name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.
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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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Yeah, but if I don't start my nervous pacing now, I'll never have it all done in time.
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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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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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Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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