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When the sky’s falling, I take shelter under bullshit.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Bullshit
Shelter
Falling
Sky
Fall
Take

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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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Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
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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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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
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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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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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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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My name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.
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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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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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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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It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery.
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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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Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind
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Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.
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