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Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
Scott Lynch
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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
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St Paul
Minnesota
Pigs
Occasion
Smarter
Occasions
Opinions
Contrary
Opinion
Locke
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Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind
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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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It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery.
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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.
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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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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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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
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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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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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Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they're after an image, not a person.
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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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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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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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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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Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.
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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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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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Yeah, but if I don't start my nervous pacing now, I'll never have it all done in time.
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