Szeth Stormlight Quotes

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on the day he was to kill a king […] White to be bold. White to not blend into the night. White to give warning. For if you were going to assassinate a man, he was entitled to see you coming.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, sat atop the highest tower in the world and contemplated the End of All Things.

You have to practice it day after day, even when your mind doesn’t want to. Especially when it feels like it’s too hard. Learning to resist your own mind is difficult, Szeth.

White clothing for a killer was a tradition among the Parshendi. Although Szeth had not asked, his masters had explained why. White to be bold. White to not blend into the night. White to give warning. For if you were going to assassinate a man, he was entitled to see you coming.

Leniency and mercy. Men set free despite crimes, because they were good fathers, or well liked in the community, or in the favor of someone important. “Some of those who are set free change their lives and go on to produce for society. Others recidivate and create great tragedies. The thing is, Szeth son Neturo, we humans are terrible at spotting which will be which. The purpose of the law is so we do not have to choose. So our native sentimentality will not harm us.

To Szeth’s people, a dying request was sacred.

Rule number one,” Kaladin called after him. “You’re not a thing. You’re a person. Rule number two, you get to choose. And there’s a third rule, Szeth. You deserve to be happy.

I want you to choose. What I’d choose isn’t relevant, Szeth. I’m not here to make you do anything specific. I’m here to try to help you be healthy in making your choice.

But … that law was the product of the many. Szeth had been exiled because of the consensus of the many. He had served master after master, most of them using him to attain terrible or at least selfish goals. You could not arrive at excellence by the average of these people. Excellence was an individual quest, not a group effort.

I don’t want to study,” Szeth said, curling up on the stone. “I want to be dead.

I exist. I do what is needed. Eventually, I will no longer exist. That is enough.

Szeth could feel the Light’s warmth, its fury, like a tempest that had been injected directly into his veins. The power of it was invigorating but dangerous. It pushed him to act. To move. To strike.

What…what are you?” The guard’s voice had lost its certainty. “Spirit or man?” “What am I?” Szeth whispered, a bit of Light leaking from his lips as he looked past the man down the long hallway. “I’m…sorry.

Perhaps Szeth knew he was being baited, because he hesitated. But Kaladin had tried cajoling and offering help. This was another method of getting someone to talk: to assert something they found incorrect, and wait for them to explain why.

White clothing for a killer was a tradition among the Parshendi. Although Szeth had not asked, his masters had explained why. White to be bold. White to not blend into the night. White to give warning. For if you were going to assassinate a man, he was entitled to see you coming.

Wow, the sword said. That’s impressive vocabulary for a child. Does she even know what that last one means? Szeth Lashed himself into the air after the Fused. If she does know what it means, the sword added, do you think she’d tell me? The

You followed men before. They caused your pain, Szeth-son-Neturo. Your agony is because you did not follow something unchanging and pure. You picked men instead of an ideal.

What am I?” Szeth whispered, a bit of Light leaking from his lips as he looked past the man down the long hallway. “I’m … sorry.

The drummers began a new rhythm. The beats shook Szeth like a quartet of thumping hearts, pumping waves of invisible blood through the room. Szeth’s masters—who were dismissed as savages by those in more civilized kingdoms—sat at their own tables. They were men with skin of black marbled with red. Parshendi, they were named—cousins to the more docile servant peoples known as parshmen in most of the world. An oddity. They did not call themselves Parshendi; this was the Alethi name for them. It meant, roughly, “parshmen who can think.”Neither side seemed to see that as an insult.

Szeth stood and began to pick his way through the room. The revelry had lasted long; even the king had retired hours ago. But many still celebrated. As he walked, Szeth was forced to step around Dalinar Kholin—the king’s own brother—who slumped drunken at a small table. The aging but powerfully built man kept waving away those who tried to encourage him to bed. Where was Jasnah, the king’s daughter? Elhokar, the king’s son and heir, sat at the high table, ruling the feast in his father’s absence. He was in conversation with two men, a dark- skinned Azish man who had an odd patch of pale skin on his cheek and a thinner, Alethi- looking man who kept glancing over his shoulder.

But … that law was the product of the many. Szeth had been exiled because of the consensus of the many. He had served master after master, most of them using him to attain terrible or at least selfish goals. You could not arrive at excellence by the average of these people. Excellence was an individual quest, not a group effort.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on the day he was to kill a king.

And is … mercy such a bad thing, aboshi?” “Not bad; merely chaotic. If you look through the records in this hall, you will find the same story told again and again. Leniency and mercy. Men set free despite crimes, because they were good fathers, or well-liked in the community, or in the favor of someone important. Some of those who are set free change their lives and go on to produce for society. Others recidivate and create great tragedies. The thing is, Szeth-son-Neturo, we humans are terrible at spotting which will be which. The purpose of the law is so we do not have to choose. So our native sentimentality will not harm us.

What … what are you?” The guard’s voice had lost its certainty. “Spirit or man?” “What am I?” Szeth whispered, a bit of Light leaking from his lips as he looked past the man down the long hallway. “I’m … sorry.

What are you?” the man whispered, eyes watering with pain. “Death,” Szeth said, then drove his Blade point-first through the man’s face and into the rock below.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar,

I’ve never met anyone who wants to do the right thing more than you, Szeth.

Szeth’s honor would not allow him to betray his mission or seek death. But if that death occurred, he would welcome it.

I don't want to study, I want to be dead.

Will you do it? Follow my orders to the best of your understanding?" "Is it right?" Szeth asked. "I say that it is. Do you believe me?" What else could he say? He was glad that for once, someone seemed willing to be firm. So he nodded. And was sent to learn how to kill.

What did I say?" Szeth asked. You said that you were of the Stormriders. That you heard of the raids on this land, and had finally brought your immortals to stop them.

It hurts to live,” Szeth said,

You could have been immortal.” “I can barely struggle through the life I have been given,” Szeth said. “I wish no more of it than that.

How?” Ishar repeated. “What are you?” He gestured toward Szeth. “Are you … are you his spren? His god?” “No,” Kaladin said. “I’m his therapist.

When you're living an illusion, spren-nimi, be very careful not to do anything to spoil it. Because once you do, it is exceedingly difficult to recapture your audience.

How?” Ishar repeated. “What are you?” He gestured toward Szeth. “Are you … are you his spren? His god?” “No,” Kaladin said. “I’m his therapist.” Ishar blinked. “… What is that?” “I honestly have no idea,” Kaladin admitted.

Sometimes,” Szeth said, hefting the sword, “you simply have to make a decision.

He liked this part, she knew, because it reminded Szeth that he was fighting for something. Because ideals were stupid unless there were people behind them.

Hello, my squire,” the spren said. Szeth bowed his head. The spren had never appeared to him in such a human shape before. He was honored. It was an emotion he could paste to the ball of stone that was his crushed innards, like a note stuck with gum paste to the message post in the center of town.

I cannot say the same,” Szeth replied. “I do my job. You always seem to be questioning yours. I find that aspect of you embarrassing.

My own conscience says I cannot trust my own conscience,” Szeth said, perfectly straight-faced.

You should draw me, Szeth! I would love to see the lake. Vasher says there are magic fish here. Isn’t that interesting?

Szeth hand been told to show initiative, and he thought he could hear the words they weren’t saying. They wanted someone to solve this problem for them.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on the day he was to kill a king

Szeth-son-son-Vallano wore white on the day he was to kill a king.

Let us suppose,” he said, “I wanted to … try thinking a different way. How would I approach it?” “It sometimes feels like I’ve got two minds,” Kaladin said. “Maybe it’s the same for you. I have a brain that wants to destroy me—one that whispers that everything I love is doomed, so I might as well just give up. I can’t merely endure that kind of thinking. I have to be active. I have to go to war.” “Go to war,” Szeth said, “with your own brain.” “Yeah, kind of,” Kaladin said. He sighed, searching for the best words. “You know how, when you’re first starting to learn to fight, you don’t have any instincts? What do you do?” “Train,” Szeth said. “Train over and over and over until the proper response comes the moment you need it.” “It’s like that,” Kaladin said. “When the wrong thoughts come in, you need to be ready. Not only to rebuff them, but to present the right thoughts instead.