"I'm a fucking coward.'Maybe.' Craw jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Whirrun's corpse. 'There's a hero. Tell me who's better off."

Heroism, Death, Reality, Reflection

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"I'm a fucking coward.'Maybe.' Craw jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Whirrun's corpse. 'There's a hero. Tell me who's better off."

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Explore more quotes by Joe Abercrombie

"The sunrise was the colour of bad blood. It leaked out of the east and stained the dark sky red, marked the scraps of the cloud with stolen gold. Underneath it the road twisted up the mountainside towards the fortress of Fontezarmo - a cluster of sharp towers, ash-black again the wounded heavens. The sunrise was red, black and gold.The colours of their profession."

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"Memories sharp enough to cut himself on - the smells, the sounds, the feel of the air on his skin, the desperate hope and mad anger."

Pain

"Fear has made them sloppy. The world teeters at a precipe. All scared to take a step in case they put a foot into empty air. The instinct of self-preservation. It can destroy a man's efficiency."

Instinct

"Some men you stick to right off. But it's those that take time to stick that stick longest."

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"Empathy? What's that? Glokta winced as he rubbed at his aching leg. 'It's a sad fact, but pain only makes you sorry for yourself."

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"Life's a queue of small irritations with the Last Door at the end."

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"The world is all change, my friend. We all would like to go back, but the past is done. We must look forwards. We must change ourselves, however painful it may be, or be left behind."

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"He blamed every fucker available excepting, of course, the one who was actually to blame, the one sitting in his saddle and getting colder, hungrier, and more lost with every unpleasant moment. 'Shit!' he roared at nothing."

Blame

"And Yarvi realized that Death does not bow to each person who passes her, does not sweep out her arm respectfully to show the way, speaks no profound words, unlocks no bolts. The key upon her chest is never needed, for the Last Door stands always open. She herds the dead through impatiently, needles of rank or fame or quality. She has an ever-lengthening queue to get through. A blind procession, inexhaustible."

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