Quote

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.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Command
Mutters
Mood
Darkly
Refuse
Moods
Please
Refuses
Boys
Pleases
Girl
Disagreeable
May
Crap
World
Sunshine

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When the sky’s falling, I take shelter under bullshit.
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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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When you can't cheat the game, you'd best find a means to cheat the players.
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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.
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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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Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they're after an image, not a person.
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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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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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Yeah, but if I don't start my nervous pacing now, I'll never have it all done in time.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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