Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you'll find an edge to cut you.
Few things worth having can be got easily.
We die a little every day and by degrees we’re reborn into different men, older men in the same clothes, with the same scars.
Confusing the author and the character seems to be a popular and rather unsophisticated reaction to books.
No half measures. Some things can’t be cut in half. You can’t half-love someone. You can’t half-betray, or half-lie.
A strange thing — nails will hold a building together, but there's nothing better for taking a man apart.
There's a road to hell that is paved with good intentions but it's a long route. The quicker path is paved with the kind of ignorance that clever men who just don't want to know are best at.
Anything that you cannot sacrifice pins you. Makes you predictable, makes you weak.
I wanted to go home and if Hell rose up to stop me, it would make me desire it more.
Some men are too dull to feel what might happen. Others torture themselves with maybes and populate their dreams with horrors more terrible than their worst enemy could inflict upon them.
Running ain't no bad thing. Leastways if you run in the right direction.
I've always seen 'no' as a challenge rather than an answer.
You got responsibilities when you’re a leader. You got a responsibility not to kill too many of your men. Or who’re you going to lead?
If you must run, have something to run toward, so it feels less like cowardice.
There's a slope down toward evil, a gentle gradient that can be ignored at each step, unfelt. It's not until you look back, see the distant heights where you once lived, that you understand your journey.
Each day the memories weigh a little heavier. Each day they drag you down that bit further. You wind them around you, a single thread at a time, and you weave your own shroud, you build a cocoon, and in it madness grows.
You can't grow if you're constantly defined by this collection of frozen moments that you keep returning to. And if you can't grow, you're not alive.
I like mountains, always have done. Big obstinate bits of rock sticking up where they're not wanted and getting in folk's way. Great. Climbing them is a different matter altogether though. I hate that.
All lives are tales. Some spread, and grow in the telling. Others are just told between us and the gods, muttered back and forth behind our days, but those tales grow too and shake us just as fierce.
Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.
I think you need to have lived more to truly know a man's heart. You need to have made more transactions in life to know the worth of the coin you spend so freely
Nature shaped the claw to trap, and the tooth to kill, but the thorn...the thorn's only purpose is to hurt.
Four years and everything was the same, except me.
Some truths should perhaps be left unsaid. Some doors unopened. An angel once told me to let go of the ills I held too close, to let go of the flaws that shaped me.
Sometime, It's easier to love someone with flaws you can forgive in return for them forgiving yours.
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