Locke Lamora Quotes

Someday, Locke Lamora,” he said, “someday, you’re going to fuck up so magnificently, so ambitiously, so overwhelmingly that the sky will light up and the moons will spin and the gods themselves will shit comets with glee. And I just hope I’m still around to see it.” “Oh please,” said Locke. “It’ll never happen.

There’s no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated.

... It's perfect! Locke would appreciate it." "Bug," Calo said, "Locke is our brother and our love for him knows no bounds. But the four most fatal words in the Therin language are 'Locke would appreciate it.'" "Rivalled only by 'Locke taught me a new trick,'" added Galo. "The only person who gets away with Locke Lamora games ..." "... is Locke ..." "... because we think the gods are saving him up for a really big death. Something with knives and hot irons ..." "... and fifty thousand cheering spectators.

There are only three people in life you can never fool--pawnbrokers, whores, and your mother. Since your mother's dead, I've taken her place. Hence, I'm bullshit-proof.

Throwing blondes at Locke Lamora was not unlike throwing lettuce at sharks.

Nice bird, asshole!

I cut off his fingers to get him to talk, and when he'd confessed everything I wanted to hear, I had his fucking tongue cut out, and the stump cauterized." Everyone in the room stared at him. "I called him an asshole, too," said Locke. "He didn't like that.

I don't have to beat you. I don't have to beat you, motherfucker. I just have to keep you here... until Jean shows up.

When you don't know everything that you could know, it's a fine time to shut your fucking noisemaker and be polite.

You can't help being young, but it's past time that you stopped being stupid.

I only steal because my dear old family needs the money to live!" Locke Lamora made this proclamation with his wine glass held high; he and the other Gentleman Bastards were seated at the old witchwood table. . . . The others began to jeer. "Liar!" they chorused "I only steal because this wicked world won't let me work an honest trade!" Calo cried, hoisting his own glass. "LIAR!" "I only steal," said Jean, "because I've temporarily fallen in with bad company." "LIAR!" At last the ritual came to Bug; the boy raised his glass a bit shakily and yelled, "I only steal because it's heaps of fucking fun!" "BASTARD!

If reassurances could dull pain, nobody would ever go to the trouble of pressing grapes.

To us — richer and cleverer than everyone else!

We’re a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don’t believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more.

I can't wait to have words with the Gray King when this shit is all finished," Locke whispered. "There's a few things I want to ask him. Philosophical questions. Like, 'How does it feel to be dangled out a window by a rope tied around your balls, motherfucker?

You're one third bad intentions, one third pure avarice, and one eighth sawdust. What's left, I'll credit, must be brains.

Locke sighed. 'So this is winning,' he said. 'It is,' replied Jean. 'It can go fuck itself,' said Locke.

You simply collapsed, sir. In layman's terms, your body revoked its permission for you to continue heaping abuse upon it.

My name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.

You've got that motherly concern in your eyes, Jean. I must look like I'm hammered as shit," said Locke. "Actually you look like you were executed last week.

I've got kids that enjoy stealing. I've got kids that don't think about stealing one way or the other, and I've got kids that just tolerate stealing because they know they've got nothing else to do. But nobody--and I mean nobody--has ever been hungry for it like this boy. If he had a bloody gash across his throat and a physiker was trying to sew it up, Lamora would steal the needle and thread and die laughing. He...steals too much.

What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill anyone with this.

It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery.

So that makes us robbers of robbers," said Bug, "who pretend to be robbers working for a robber of other robbers.

When you see the Crooked Warden," said Locke, twisting something in his hands, "tell him that Locke Lamora learns slowly, but he learns well. And when you see my friends, you tell them that there are more of you on the way.

[W]hen you find yourself face to face with one [Bondsmage], you bow and scrape and mind your 'sirs' and 'madams.'" ... 'Nice bird, asshole,' said Locke.

Advice," Doña Vorchenza chuckled. "Advice. The years play a sort of alchemical trick, transmuting one's mutterings to a state of respectability. Give advice at forty and you're a nag. Give it at seventy and you're a sage.

I don’t need to be reminded that we’re up to our heads in dark water. I just want you boys to remember that we’re the gods-damned sharks.

If he had a bloody gash across his throat and a physiker was trying to sew it up, Lamora would steal the needle and thread and die laughing.

But you didn't die." "Clever lad, to deduce that from such slender evidence after living with me for just three years.

I'm not gong to kill you," said Locke I'm going to play a little game I like to call 'Scream in pain until you answer my fucking questions.

Just one question, you arrogant fucking cocksucker" said Locke. "I'll grant the Lamora part is easy to spot; the truth is, I didn't know about the apt translation when I took the name. I borrowed it from this old sausage dealer who was kind to me once, back in Catchfire before the plague. I just liked the way it sounded. "But what the fuck" he said slowly, "ever gave you the idea that Locke was the first name I was actually born with?

Those prancing little pants-wetters come here to learn the colorful and gentlemanly art of fencing, with its many sporting limitations and its proscriptions against dishonorable engagements. You on the other hand, you are going to learn how to kill men with a sword.

I'm not as reckless as I used to be. You know, when I was little.

I'm fit and I'm angry, and I'm obviously crazy. Anything could happen.

It must be nice to be righteous; from where I stand it looks like fucking lunacy.

I trust my points are noted... Very noted... Received, recognized, and duly considered with the utmost gravity. Sealed, notarized, and firmly imprinted upon my rational essence.

I didn't promise you shit. My dead friends, on the other hand--I made them certain promises I intend to keep.

In a fair fight, the don's man would almost certainly paint the walls with Locke and Calo's blood, so it stood to reason that this fight would have to be as unfair as possible.

We have a new problem, fresh from the oven and hot as hell.

What thief does not fight to hold what he has?" "One that has something better," said Locke.

The only person who gets away with Locke Lamora games—” “—is Locke Lamora—

You’ll pardon me,” he finally said, “if the suggestion that the minuscule black turnip you call a heart is suddenly overflowing with generosity toward me leaves me wanting to arm myself and put my back against a wall.

Gentlemen Bastards." hissed Locke, "do not abandon one another, and we do not run when we owe vengeance.

Justice is red.

...all apologies for getting most of your fortune buried under shit. I hope we can all still be friends.

Good. Well. Shit." Locke rubbed his gloved hands together. "I guess that's that. I'm all out of rhetorical flourishes.

The only constant in the soul of man is inconstancy; anything and everything else can pass out of fashion--even something as utilitarian as a hill stuffed full of corpses.

Fuckdamn,” said Conté, totally unable to help himself when the sums involved vanished over his mental horizon. “Beg pardon, Doña Sofia.” “You should.” She drained her snifter in one quick unladylike gulp. “Your calculations are off. This merits a triple fuckdamn at least.

A glass poured to air for the one who sits with us unseen; the patron and protector, the Crooked Warden, the Father of Necessary Pretexts. Thanks for deep pockets poorly guarded. Thanks for watchmen asleep at their posts. Thanks for the city to nurture us and the night to hide us. Thanks for friends to help us spend the loot.

Sloppy idiot,” Sabetha muttered at last. “You’re trying to be charming. Well, I do not choose to be charmed by you, Locke Lamora.

I shall give you a little prophecy, Locke Lamora, as best as I have seen it. 'Three things you must take up and three things you must lose before you die: a key, a crown, a child.' Patience pushed her hood up over her head. 'You will die when a silver rain falls.

The water caught the Falselight glimmer like layers of shifting, translucent mirrors and formed split-second works of art in the air, but men cursed it anyway, because it made their heads wet.

You write?” “Why, all the time,” said Locke, “except of course when I’m wrong.

If you put Durant's brains in a thimble full of water they'd look like a ship lost in the middle of the sea.

I have always found the presumptions of others to be the best possible disguise—haven’t you?

Gods, I love this place," Locke said, drumming his fingers against his thighs. "Sometimes I think this whole city was put here simply because the gods must adore crime. Pickpockets rob the common folk, merchants rob anyone they can dupe, Capa Barsavi robs the robbers and the common folk, the lesser nobles rob nearly everyone, and Duke Nicovante occasionally runs off with his army and robs the shit out of Tal Verarr or Jerem, not to mention what he does to his own nobles and his common folk.

I thought we were celebrating being richer and cleverer than everyone else!

Time's a river, Locke, and we've always drifted farther down it than we think.

Jean," Locke gasped out during a brief lull between spasms of retching, "next time I conceive a plan like this, consider putting a hatchet in my skull." "Hardly efficacious." Jean swapped a full bucket for an empty one and gave Locke a friendly pat on the back. "Dulling my nice sharp blades on a skull as thick as yours...

The more in control the mark thinks they are, the more easily they respond to real control.

I’m only doing this,” he said, “because I really love hiding in haunted Eldren buildings on dark and creepy nights.” “You’re a liar,” said Jean, slowly. “I’m only doing this because I’ve always wanted to see Bug get eaten by an Eldren ghost.” “Liar,” said Calo. “I’m only doing this because I fucking love hauling half a ton of bloody coins up out of a vault and packing them away on a cart.” “Liar!” Galdo chuckled. “I’m only doing this because while you’re all busy elsewhere, I’m going to go pawn all the furniture in the burrow at No-Hope Harza’s.” “You’re all liars,” said Locke as their eyes turned expectantly to him. “We’re only doing this because nobody else in Camorr is good enough to pull this off, and nobody else is dumb enough to get stuck doing it in the first place.” “Bastard!” They shouted in unison, forgetting their surroundings for a bare moment.

He was bewildered at how quickly he had escaped his old life and fallen into this new one with strangely pleasant crazy people.

Hard lessons were handed out. As many men learned to their sorrow, it’s impossible to be intimidating when one angry woman has your cock between her teeth and another is holding a stiletto to your kidneys.

Jassaline's little potion seems to have brought up every meal I've had in the past five years." said Locke. "Nothing left to spit up but my naked soul. Make sure it isn't floating around in one of those before you toss them, right?" "I think I see it," Jean said. "Nasty, crooked little thing it is too; you're better off with it floating out to sea.

Get serious about telling me where that money is," said Conté, "or I'll kick your ass so hard every piece of shit that falls out of it for the rest of your life will have my gods-damned heel print on it.

Nature never deceives us; it is always we who deceive ourselves.

Nervy little Shades' Hill purse-clutcher, thinking you can keep me in the dark. What plan?" "The plan to steal a corpse." "Ahem. Anything else you'd like to tell me about it?" "It's brilliant.

The difference between honest and dishonest commerce is that when an honest man or woman of business ruins someone, they don't have the courtesy to cut their throat to finish the affair.

Your calculations are off. This merits a triple fuckdamn at least.

Oh gods, Jean. Take a false name wherever we end up. Tavrin Callas is good. Let the bastard pop up all over the place.

Lies go out, but the truth stays home.

Barsavi realized something that too many men in the city were slow to grasp; an idea that he reinforced years later when he took the Berangias sisters to be his primary enforcers. He was wise enough to understand that the women of Camorr could be underestimated only at great peril to one's health.

Sorcery's impressive enough, but it's their fucking attitude that makes them such a pain. And that's why, when you find yourself face to face with one, you bow and scrape and mind your 'sirs' and 'madams.'" .... "NICE BIRD, asshole," said Locke.

Papa's in a bad way, Locke. I wanted to see you before you saw him - he has some...things he wishes to discuss with you. I want you to know that whatever he asks, I don't want you...for my sake...well, please, just agree. Please him, do you understand?" "No garrista who loves life has ever tried to do otherwise. You think I'm inclined to walk in on a day like today and deliberately twist his breeches? If your father says 'bark like a dog' I say 'What breed, Your Honour?

In the glass burrow beneath their feet, the flames began to rise. First the flames, and then the screams

I’m going to put that fucker in the dirt as deeply as any man who’s ever been murdered, ever since the world began.

The functionaries in the courtyard of the Palace threw open their wooden shutters and settled in for a long day of saying “fuck off in the name of the duke” to all comers.

Beer now,bitch later.

I thought you specialised in dishonest finesse?" "I also do a brisk trade in putting knives to peoples' throats and shouting at them," said Locke.

Chains used to claim that there’s no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated,” said Locke.

Master Thorn... you have a curiously tender heart, for a thief of your appetites." "I'm a sworn brother of the Nameless Thirteenth, the Crooked Warden, the Benefactor," said Locke. "I'm a priest.

If these things are alchemical," said Sofia, "I'd better be the one to have a look at them." "If it could be dangerous, I'm going as well," said Lorenzo. "And me," said Conte "Great! We can all go! It'll be fun!" Locke waved his tied hands at the door. "But hurry it up, for fucks sake.

the best disguises were those that were poured out of the heart rather than painted on the face.

I am the king idiot,” he muttered, “of all the world’s fucking idiots.

Ha! Yes. When anyone tells you habits die hard, Locke, they’re lying—it seems they never die at all.

I don’t believe you,” said Conté. “I wouldn’t fucking believe you if you told me my name was Conté. I wouldn’t believe you if you told me fire was hot and water was wet.

He wasn’t training us for a calm and orderly world where we could pick and choose when we needed to be clever. He was training us for a situation that was fucked up on all sides. Well, we’re in it, and I say we’re equal to it. I don’t need to be reminded that we’re up to our heads in dark water. I just want you boys to remember that we’re the gods-damned sharks.

One night a powerful sorcerer knocks on the door of a less-powerful sorcerer. "I'm starting an exclusive guild," he says. "Join me now or I'll blast you out of your fucking boots right where you stand." So naturally the second mage says... "You know, I've always wanted to join a guild!" Right. Those two go bother a third sorcerer. "Join the guild," they say, "or fight both of us, two on one, right here and right now." Repeat as necessary, until three or four hundred guild members are knocking on the door of the last independent mage around, and everyone who said no is dead.

What thief does not fight to hold what he has?” “One that has something better,” said Locke. “The stealing was more the point for us than the keeping; if the keeping had been so fine, we would have found something to fucking do with it all.

I’m very pleased. Very, very pleased. But I really must ask—why the hell have men and women been throwing money in my kettle for the past half hour, telling me they’re sorry for what happened in the Videnza?” “It’s because they’re sorry for what happened in the Videnza,” said Galdo.

If your father says 'Bark like a dog,' I say 'What breed, Your Honor?

Crooked Warden, I will fear no darkness for the night is yours. Your night is my cloak, my shield, my escape from those who hunt to feed the noose. I will fear no evil, for you have made the night my friend.

I ONLY steal because my dear old family needs the money to live!” Locke Lamora made this proclamation with his wineglass held high; he and the other Gentlemen Bastards were seated at the old witchwood table in the opulent burrow beneath the House of Perelandro; Calo and Galdo on his right, Jean and Bug on his left. A huge spread of food was set before them, and the celestial chandelier swung overhead with its familiar golden light. The others began to jeer. “Liar!” they chorused in unison. “I only steal because this wicked world won’t let me work an honest trade!” Calo cried, hoisting his own glass. “Liar!” “I only steal because I have to support my poor lazy twin brother, whose indolence broke our mother’s heart!” Galdo elbowed Calo as he made this announcement. “Liar!” “I only steal,” said Jean, “because I’ve temporarily fallen in with bad company.” “Liar!” At last the ritual came to Bug; the boy raised his glass a bit shakily and yelled, “I only steal because it’s heaps of fucking fun!” “BASTARD!

Hope is what we all build lives for ourselves upon, is it not?

We go now," said Locke, "or I leave you here to die. Understanding is a luxury; you don't get to have it. Sorry.

What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill anyone with this.” “Well, not very easily, I’ll grant you that, my boy.” Chains guided Locke in the placement of the butter knife and assorted small dishes and bowls. “But when the quality get together to dine, it’s impolite to knock anybody off with anything but poison. That thing is for scooping butter, not slicing windpipes.” “This is a lot of trouble to go to just to eat.” “Well, in Shades’ Hill you may be able to eat cold bacon and dirt pies off one another’s asses for all your old master cares. But now you’re a Gentleman Bastard, emphasis on the Gentleman. You’re going to learn how to eat like this, and how to serve people who eat like this.

Oh, you know me.” Jean reached behind his neck, down behind the loose leather vest he wore over his simple cotton tunic. He withdrew a pair of matching hatchets, each a foot and a half in length, with leather-wrapped handles and straight black blades that narrowed like scalpels. These were balanced with balls of blackened steel, each as wide around as a silver solon. The Wicked Sisters—Jean’s weapons of choice. “I never travel alone. It’s always the three of us.

All of you, get off my damned window now!" "Shit," Locke muttered from a few feet above and to her left, his eloquence temporarily frightened into submission. "Madam, you're complicating our night, so before we come in and complicate yours, kindly cork you bullshit bottle and close the gods-damned window!" She looked up, aghast. "Two of you? All of you, get down, get down, get down!" "Close your window, close your window, close your fucking window!" "I'll kill both you shitsuckers' huffed Fernez 'I'll drop both you off this fucking--" There was a marrow-chillingly loud cracking noise, and the trellis shuddered beneath the hands of three men clinging to it.

They were your very good friends. Because they’re going to teach you that when you kill someone, there are consequences. It is one thing to kill in a duel, to kill in self-defense, to kill for vengeance. It is another thing entirely to kill simply because you are careless. Those deaths are going to hang over your head until you’re so careful you make the saints of Perelandro weep.