So let it be written, so let it be done.
Brent WeeksYou’ll come with us,” she said.
“Sure,” Gavin said.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Yes it was,” Gavin said. “When you don’t have power to compel obedience, by definition you’re making a request.
Might doesn’t make right. Might makes reality.
Brent WeeksI am simply competent... Not a leader except when leadership is lacking.
Brent WeeksThe truth is, everyone likes to look down on someone. If your favorites are all avant-garde writers who throw in Sanskrit and German, you can look down on everyone. If your favorites are all Oprah Book Club books, you can at least look down on mystery readers. Mystery readers have sci-fi readers. Sci-fi can look down on fantasy. And yes, fantasy readers have their own snobbishness. I’ll bet this, though: in a hundred years, people will be writing a lot more dissertations on Harry Potter than on John Updike. Look, Charles Dickens wrote popular fiction. Shakespeare wrote popular fiction—until he wrote his sonnets, desperate to show the literati of his day that he was real artist. Edgar Allan Poe tied himself in knots because no one realized he was a genius. The core of the problem is how we want to define “literature”. The Latin root simply means “letters”. Those letters are either delivered—they connect with an audience—or they don’t. For some, that audience is a few thousand college professors and some critics. For others, its twenty million women desperate for romance in their lives. Those connections happen because the books successfully communicate something real about the human experience. Sure, there are trashy books that do really well, but that’s because there are trashy facets of humanity. What people value in their books—and thus what they count as literature—really tells you more about them than it does about the book.
Brent WeeksMots clés truth reading literature snobbishness trashy-books
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**A Dedication from Brent Weeks to his older Brother**
For Kevin, because it's a big brother's job to make a little brother tough. What you taught me, I've needed. (But I never have been right since that dirt clod incident.)
A wolf can be a wolfhound, son, but it can never be a lapdog.
Brent WeeksI warned him, Kylar. She was a lovely, careless girl. The kind of woman born without a heart, so she couldn't imagine breaking anyone else's.
Brent WeeksHe would enter silently and wake Magdalyn roughly. He loved Magdalyn's scream. He would beat her savagely and acuse her of plotting against him.
If she begged and swore it wasn't true like most frightened women would, he'd throw her off the balcony. If she cursed him, he would bang her, matching her defiance with an equal degree of brutality, and she would live another day. Before he left, he would hold her tenderly in his arms and whisper that he was sorry, that he loved her. Decent women always wanted to see something good in him. He shivered in anticipation.
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Her nudity is her armor. It blinded the drooling fools. They couldn't see anything else while they saw her body.
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