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It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Readily
Authority
Strange
Bits
Nothing
Strutting
Conjured

More quotes by Scott Lynch

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Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.
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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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Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they're after an image, not a person.
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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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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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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 simply collapsed, sir. In layman's terms, your body revoked its permission for you to continue heaping abuse upon it.
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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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Yeah, but if I don't start my nervous pacing now, I'll never have it all done in time.
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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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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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Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.
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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 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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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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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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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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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
Scott Lynch