Brandon Sanderson

Then, what does? What do you think makes a man a good king, Tindwyl of Terris?"

"I don't think I'd like what that would do to you."

One of them noticed him watching. The guard was an oversized beast of a man with a shaved head and a dirty uniform that barely retained the bright yellow and blue coloring of the T’Telir city guard.

Bright colors, Vasher thought. I’ll have to get used to those again. In any other nation, the vibrant blues and yellows would have been ridiculous on soldiers. This, however, was Hallandren: land of Returned gods, Lifeless servants, BioChromatic research, and—of course—color.

“There has to be a balance, Vin,” he said. “Somehow, we’ll find it. The balance between whom we wish to be and whom we need to be.” He sighed. “But for now,” he said, nodding to the side, “we simply have to be satisfied with who we are.”

THE BEST WAY TO FOOL SOMEONE, in Vin’s estimation, was to give them what they wanted. Or, at the very least, what they expected. As long as they assumed that they were one step ahead, they wouldn’t look back to see if there were any steps that they’d completely missed.

Men are more resilient than that, I think. Our belief is often strongest when it should be weakest. That is the nature of hope

Have you ever cowered before your brother as he beat you, all the time feeling thankful because at least you had someone who paid attention to you?”

They hit me where it couldn’t have hurt worse. I’m going to do likewise.

“That depends. The right belief is like a good cloak, I think. If it fits you well, it keeps you warm and safe. The wrong fit, however, can suffocate.”

Sometimes we just have to wait long enough, Mistress,” he said. “Then we find out why exactly it was that we kept believing