The Assasins Blade Quotes

If the Vaults were the heart of Rifthold's underworld, then the glass castle was the soul of Adarlan's empire. ~ Sarah J. Maas

That is disappointing."
"That the governor of Brasov betrayed us?" Bogdan asked.
"No, that the quality of assassins has fallen this low. ~ Kiersten White

The world doesn't need to be fixed,it only needs to be balanced.And the art of balance demands you tread lightly,not leap ahead in a continual frenzy.The art of balance demands you know your designated role in the game of life,not start muscling in on everyone else's.The art of balance demands knowledge of timelessness,of birth and death and rebirth.The art of balance demands you know the world cannot be fixed it must be endured. It must simply forever be kept in a splendid play. ~ Tarun J. Tejpal

Power is the engine of the world,and sex and money its oil and lubricants.God is at best the invocation before you start the engine-meaningless if you have no engine to start!God is a goli,a multi-flavoured pill,invented by those who have power,money and sex, to give to those who have none! Love is another great goli.Some days we too swallow these golis.They feel good,like a joint,a temporary high!But they are not the reality.The reality is power,money,sex! And yes,there's another goli-morality! ~ Tarun J. Tejpal

Learn this from me. Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves. ~ Mitch Albom

I was washing outside in the darkness,
the sky burning with rough stars,
and the starlight, salt on an axe-blade.
The cold overflows the barrel.

The gate's locked,
the land's grim as its conscience.
I don't think they'll find the new weaving,
finer than truth, anywhere.

Star-salt is melting in the barrel,
icy water is blackening,
death's growing purer, misfortune saltier,
the earth's moving nearer to truth and to dread. ~ Innokenty Annensky

A soft poke at my shoulder blade startled me.
"Still jumpy, I see."
I spun to see Simon, Derek hanging back behind him.
Simon grinned, the sight as familiar as Derek's scowl. "Got my note, I hear," he said.
I pulled it out and waved it.
He plucked it from my fingers and tucked it into my jacket pocket. ~ Kelley Armstrong

Afterward, I pretended to be patient as Akos taught me how to predict how strong a poison would be without tasting it. I tried to seal every moment in my memory. I needed to know how to brew these concoctions on my own, because soon he would be gone. If the renegades and I were caught in our attempt tonight, I would probably lose my life. If we succeeded, Akos would be home, and Shotet would be in chaos, without its leader. Either way, it was unlikely that I would see him again.
"No, no," Akos said. "Don't hack at it--slice. Slice!"
"I am slicing," I said. "Maybe if your knives weren't so dull--"
"Dull? I could cut your fingertip off with this knife!"
I spun the knife in my hand and caught it by the handle. "Oh? Could you?"
He laughed, and put his arm across my shoulders. I felt my heartbeat in my throat. "Don't pretend you're not capable of delicacy; I've seen it myself."
I scowled, and tried to focus on "slicing." My hands were trembling a little. "See me dancing in the training room and you think you know everything about me."
"I know enough. Look, slices! Told you so."
He lifted his arm, but kept his hand against my back, right under my shoulder blade. I carried the feeling with me for the rest of the night, as we finished the elixir and got ready for bed and he shut the door between us. ~ Veronica Roth

He brings the cigarette butt to his mouth and lights up. He breathes in, and coughs; a rattling helicopter with a broken blade crashing into a herd of trombone playing sheep falling off a cliff into a DIY shop with a discount on spanners. ~ Craig Stone

Caladfwlch is 'hard lightning' in Welsh. The silly French dubbed the blade Excalibur. ~ Derek Hart

A streak of green fire blasted out of the back of the shed, passed a foot over the heads of the mob, and burned a charred rosette in the woodwork over the door.
Then came a voice that was a honeyed purr of sheer deadly menance.
"This is Lord Mountjoy Quickfang Winterforth IV, the hottest dragon in the city. It could burn your head clean off."
Captain Vimes limped forward from the shadows. A small and extremely frightened golden dragon was clamped firmly under one arm. His other hand held it by the tail. The rioters watched it, hypnotized.
"Now I know what you're thinking," Vimes went on, softly. "You're wondering, after all this excitement, has it got enough flame left? And, y'know, I ain't so sure myself ... "
He leaned forward, sighting between the dragon's ears, and his voice buzzed like a knife blade: "What you've got to ask yourself is: Am I feeling lucky? ~ Terry Pratchett

Bebeorh þé ðone bealo-níð, Béowulf léofa,
secg betsta, ond þé þaet sélre gecéos,
éce rǽdas; ofer-hýda ne gým,
mǽre cempa! Nú is þines maegnes blǽd
áne hwíle; eft sóna bið
þaet þec ádl oððe ecg eafoþes getwǽfeð,
oððe fýres feng oððe flódes wylm
oððe gripe méces oððe gáres fliht
oððe atol yldo, oððe éagena bearhtm
forsiteð ond forsworceð; semninga bið,
þaet ðec, dryht-guma, déað oferswýðeð.

O flower of warriors, beware of that trap.
Choose, dear Béowulf, the better part,
eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride.
For a brief while your strength is in bloom
but it fades quickly; and soon there will follow
illness or the sword to lay you low,
or a sudden fire or a surge of water
or jabbing blade or javelin from the air
or repellent age. Your piercing eye
will dim and darken; and death will arrive,
dear warrior, to sweep you away. ~ Seamus Heaney

Still she did not blench: maiden of Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backward she sprang as the huge head crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

My beloved,
I write to you from Rawalpindi, with the help of a Turkic-speaking imam, a kind man with a twinkle in his eyes and a soft spot for lovers. Now two years after I left Chinese Turkestan, I am about to embark on a solo journey there to find you, and my heart shakes with both hope and dread.
If I do not find you, then I will leave this letter in our cave, and pray that God willing, someday, as you ride by, you will be moved by an inexplicable urge to see the place where we had been so happy.
I was a fool to leave. If you can forgive me, please come and find me in Rawalpindi. Ask for Arvand the gem dealer at the British garrison, and they will know where to direct you.
I enclose a bar of chocolate, a packet of tea from Darjeeling, and all my fervent wishes for your well-being and happiness.
The one who loves you, always ~ Sherry Thomas

One of the many pieces of advice his father had given him - besides the importance of antivenom and the need for a good, sturdy blade - was that field anthropology was ninety percent preparation, and ten percent trying desperately to recover when you didn't prepare properly. ~ Ben Mezrich

You can't fight a dirty person with clean hands and expect to win. Sometimes the playing field is muddy and you got to get deep in it. Let the filth hit you in the face so you can see how it feels. Its a cut throat game and you need blade sharpness to conquer your competition. Ladies and gentlemen this is called Blood Sport.

ILL LITERATURE BLOG ~ J. Wrice Sr.

Calm down, Braveheart." Gabriel searched through the weapons. "I'm trying to find something not quite as fatal as ... a scythe? Really?"
Gabriel held the wicked half-moon blade up and looked at Tristan. "What are you, the Grim Reaper?"
"Yes. Yes, Gabriel. I'm the Grim Reaper. You caught me. I drive around in my car full of weapons collecting souls. ~ Chelsea Fine

Along the blade of a knife lies the path of paradox - the single most worthy path of the fearless mind ... ~ Yevgeny Zamyatin

You're a freaking pschopath," I said, but he only chuckled.
"I don't expect you to understand, little bird," He turned toward me fully, fingering his blade and smiling. "I expect you only to sing. Sing for me, sing for Kanin, and make it a glorious song ~ Julie Kagawa

Accepting death folds the soul, tempers and layers it like a Damascus blade. When I'd thrown myself into the canal in grief, only to be pulled out by the Moor, I'd become colder, more durable. ~ Christopher Moore

Is this how you will die? Is this what you were meant for? To simply be bled out like a pig?
A spark of rage flickers, an antidote to despair.
Will you not even try to survive? Did the scientists make you too stupid even to consider fighting for your own life?
Emiko closes her eyes and prays to Mizuko Jizo Bodhisattva, and then the bakeneko cheshire spirit for good measure. She takes a breath, and then with all her strength she slams her hand against the knife. The blade slices past her neck, a searing line.
"Arai wa?!" the man shouts.
Emiko shoves hard against him and ducks under his flailing knife. Behind her, she hears a grunt and thud as she bolts for the street. She doesn't look back. She plunges into the street, not caring that she shows herself as a windup, not caring that in running she will burn up and die. She runs, determined only to escape the demon behind her. She will burn, but she will not die passive like some pig led to slaughter. ~ Paolo Bacigalupi

The cast clubs were a big part of it, too. I found I wasn't getting that instant feedback I was used to with a forged blade. The sweet spot is a shade bigger, and when I didn't hit the ball dead center, I didn't know it, because it still felt great. ~ Payne Stewart

He does not know what caused him to break off from Weston and walk out. Perhaps it was when the boy said 'forty-five or fifty'. As if, past mid-life, there is a second childhood, a new phase of innocence. It touched him, perhaps, the simplicity of it. Or perhaps he just needed air. Let us say you are in a chamber, the windows sealed, you are conscious of the proximity of other bodies, of the declining light. In the room you put cases, you play games, you move your personnel around each other: notional bodies, hard as ivory, black as ebony, pushed on their paths across the squares. Then you say, I can't endure this any more, I must breathe: you burst out of the room amd into a wild garden where the guilty are hanging from trees, no longer ivory, no longer ebony, but flesh; and their wild lamenting tongues proclaim their guilt as they die. In this matter, cause has preceded effect. What you dreamed has enacted itself. You reach for a blade but the blood is already shed. The lambs have butchered and eaten themselves. They have brought knives to the table, carved themselves, and picked their own bones clean. ~ Hilary Mantel

Love, is a Bloody Razor Blade
Love came like fire from above
and disappeared like a wet dream,
underneath a leaky kitchen sink
For weeks it went drip, drip, drip ...
until it could be, eventually fixed
It took a long time to depreciate
all the things I never had to say
But there are only so many things
that make sense at the end
The rest is merely X-Acto knife love, and
Love, is a bloody razor blade ~ Phil Volatile

Things don't have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function. What's the function of a galaxy? I don't know if our life has a purpose and I don't see that it matters. What does matter is that we're a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are. What we do is like wind blowing on the grass. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

What was I thinking?" Chiron cried. " I can't let you get away without this."
He pulled a pen from his coat pocket. It was an ordinary disposable ballpoint, black ink, removable cap. Probably thirty cents.
Gee," I said. "Thanks."
Percy, that's a gift from your father. I've kept it for years, not knowing you were who I was waiting for. But the profecy is clear to me now. You are the one.
I remembered the feild trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, when I'd vaporized Mrs. Dodds. Chiron had thrown me a pen that turned into a sword. Could this be...?
I took off the cap, and the pen grew longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I held a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a leather=wrapped grip, and a flat hilt riveted with gold studs. It was the first weapon that actually felt balanced in my hands.
The sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," Chiron told me. "It's name is Anaklusmos."
Riptide," I translated, surprised the Ancient Greek came so easily.
Use it only for emergencies" Chiron said, "and only against monsters No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely, of course, but this sword wouldn't harm them in any case. ~ Rick Riordan

The principal aim underlying this work is to render homage where homage is due, a task which I know beforehand is impossible of accomplishment. Were I to do it properly, I would have to get down on my knees and thank each blade of grass for rearing its head. What chiefly motivates me in this vain task is the fact that in general we know all too little about the influences which shape a writer's life and work. The critic, in his pompous conceit and arrogance, distorts the true picture beyond all recognition. The author, however truthful he may think himself to be, inevitably disguises the picture. The psychologist, with his single-track view of things, only deepens the blur. As author, I do not think myself an exception to the rule. I, too, am guilty of altering, distorting and disguising the facts - if 'facts' there be. My conscious effort, however, has been - perhaps to a fault– in the opposite direction. I am on the side of revelation, if not always on the side of beauty, truth, wisdom, harmony and ever-evolving perfection. In this work I am throwing out fresh data, to be judged and analyzed, or accepted and enjoyed for enjoyment's sake. Naturally I cannot write about all the books, or even all the significant ones, which I have read in the course of my life. But I do intend to go on writing about books and authors until I have exhausted the importance (for me) of this domain of reality.

To have undertaken the thankless task of listing all the books I can rec ~ Henry Miller

That which interests me above all else is the calligraphy of a tree or the tiles of a roof, and I mean leaf by leaf, branch by branch, blade by blade of grass. ~ Joan Miro

You think
of a woman, a favorite
dress, your old father's breasts
the last time you saw him, his breath,
brief, the leaf
you've torn from a vine and which you hold now
to your cheek like a train ticket
or a piece of cloth, a little hand or a blade
it all depends
on the course of your memory.
It's a place
for those who own no place
to correspond to ruins in the soul.
It's mine.
It's all yours. ~ Li-Young Lee

. . . what seems to be an isolated patch of blue mist floats lightly on the glare of the horizon. This is the peninsula of Azuera, a wild chaos of sharp rocks and stony levels cut about by vertical ravines. It lies far out to sea like a rough head of stone stretched from a green-clad coast at the end of a slender neck of sand covered with thickets of thorny scrub. Utterly waterless, for the rainfall runs off at once on all sides into the sea, it has not soil enough - it is said - to grow a single blade of grass, as if it were blighted by a curse. The poor, associating by an obscure instinct of consolation the ideas of evil and wealth, will tell you that it is deadly because of its forbidden treasures. The common folk of the neighbourhood, peons of the estancias, vaqueros of the seaboard plains, tame Indians coming miles to market with a bundle of sugar-cane or a basket of maize worth about threepence, are well aware that heaps of shining gold lie in the gloom of the deep precipices cleaving the stony levels of Azuera. Tradition has it that many adventurers of olden time had perished in the search. ~ Joseph Conrad

The razor hung between his shoulder-blades from a loop of cotton string round his neck inside his shirt. The same motion of the hand which brought the razor forward over his shoulder flipped the blade open and freed it from the cord, the blade opening on until the back edge of it lay across the knuckles of his fist, his thumb pressing the handle into his closing fingers, so that in the second before the half-drawn pistol exploded he actually struck at the white man's throat not with the blade but with a sweeping blow of his fist, following through in the same motion so that not even the first jet of blood touched his hand or arm. ~ William Faulkner

The chaos in my head spun itself into a silk of silence. I had distilled myself to the immediacy of hand, blade, blood, flesh. ~ Caroline Kettlewell

A tree trunk the size of a man grows from a blade as thin as a hair. A tower nine stories high is built from a small heap of earth. ~ Laozi

Anyway, it seems to me a man can do an awful lot of evil in no time at all. Swing of a blade is all it takes. Doing good needs time. And all manner of complicated efforts. Most men don't have the patience for it. 'Specially not these days. ~ Joe Abercrombie

To consider water on any scale was to confront a boundless repetition of small events. There were the tiny wonders: rain drops, snow crystals, grains of frost aligned on a blade of grass; and there were the wonders so immense it seemed impossible to get his mind around them: global wind, oceanic currents, storms that broke like waves over whole mountain ranges. p 46 ~ Anthony Doerr

So you want a knife, a nice sharp knife. You hone that blade to its limits. It even cuts through stone when you want it to. It saves your life. And then you're outraged when it cuts you accidentally. You see, knives don't switch off. And neither do people, not when you hone them to a fine edge. ~ Karen Traviss

I have to get used to it - to her, but she's put a light in him so I think I'm going to be a fan."
"You're a stand-up gal, Swede."
"If she screws him up, I'll peel the skin off her ass with a dull razor blade. ~ Nora Roberts

Worthless slip," Mia growled.

Dragging her blade down through his ribs, she tore it free in a slick of bright red gore.

"Pathetic child," she spat, spinning on the spot and opening up his belly.

"Girl," she smiled. "But I'm still the one who beat you. ~ Jay Kristoff

Maybe it wasn't the smart thing, but when you lose someone like that? They're just gone? There's this hole inside you you'd give anything to fill. You don't think, you don't plan, you just pour shit into it, anything that will fill it. ~ L.L. McKinney

Blood trickled from the corner of her (Annabeth) mouth. She croaked, "Family, Luke. You promised."
Luke stared at the knife in Annabeth's hand, the blood on her face. "Promise." Then he gasped like he couldn't get air. "Annabeth . . ." But it wasn't the Titan's voice. It was Luke's. He stumbled forward like he couldn't control his own body. "You're bleeding. . . ." He gasped again."He's changing. Help. He's . . . he's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please - "
"The knife, Percy," Annabeth muttered. Her breath was shallow. "Hero . . . cursed blade . . ."
Luke turned and collapsed, clutching his ruined hands."Please, Percy . . ."
Luke seemed to know what I was thinking. He moistened his lips. "You can't . . . can't do it yourself. He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can . . . can keep him controlled."
I raised the knife to strike. Then I looked at Annabeth, at Grover. And I finally understood what she'd been trying to tell me. You are not the hero, Rachel had said. It will affect what you do. The line from the great prophecy echoed in my head: A hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. My whole world tipped upside down,and I gave the knife to Luke.I watched as Luke grasped the hilt he stabbed himself ~ Rick Riordan

Nobody can help me, those are my secrets, scarring my soul just as surely as that razor blade scarred my thighs all those years ago. ~ Cindy Vine

She strode across the McGraney boundary without a backward glance, legs cutting twin swatches in the green-black grass. Dawn sunlight simmered on the tip of each blade, and Holly's passage set a surging ripple of light flashing across the meadow.
Extraordinary, thought Artemis. What have I lost? ~ Eoin Colfer

I love and if someone I love is hurt I'll kill the attacker and no one else, that is love. I hate and if I hate I'll kill their whole family to bring pain to that person, that is hate, In this way I do not think love and hate are the same side of a blade ~ Triste

The tallest blade of grass is the surest to be cut. ~ Ray Bennett

You arrogant ... " thrust through the stomach of a snapping zombie, twisting and using all my strength to cleave him in half " ... over published ... " wasn't going to work, it clawed at the blade, and my God, these things were tough, " ... showy old bat ... " Crack! There went my head into the wall. If I didn't have a split skull, I'd be amazed. "What are you waiting for? Aren't you the king of all bogeymen? The legend children fear will devour them if they don't behave?"
"Come on, Vlad, live up to your reputation! If you can't burn to death one Egyptian vampire chained to a wall, how did you ever drive the Turks from Romania?"
"You did it!"
"Of course, I'm Vlad Tepesh, what did you expect? ~ Jeaniene Frost