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Nobody admires anyone else without qualification. If they do they're after an image, not a person.

Scott Lynch

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Scott Lynch
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: April 2
Author
Novelist
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Admire
Image
Nobody
Anyone
Else
Persons
Admires
Person
Qualification
Without
Qualifications

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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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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 name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.
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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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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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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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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 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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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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You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.
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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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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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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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If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.
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My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it
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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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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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To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!
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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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