The Alloy of Law (Mistborn - Alloy Era #1)

Actually, [Wax] said, we came here because we needed someplace safe to think for a few hours."
Ranette: "Your mansion isn't safe?"
Wax: "My butler failed to poison me, then tried to shoot me, then set off an explosive in my study"
Ranette: "Huh.... You need to screen these people better, Wax.

And don't waste time worshipping Harmony. Doing good was the worship.

Doesn't matter how good your bullets are if you don't aim carefully.

If you remove the foundation of trust from a relationship, then what is the point of that relationship?

I need something, Wax. A place to look. You always did the thinking.”
“Yes, having a brain helps with that, surprisingly.

I really am impressed that you have been shot so often. Really.”
“Getting hit’s not really that impressive,” Wayne noted. “It don’t take much skill to get shot. It’s avoiding the bullets that’s tough.

It's all right Wayne," Waxillium said softly. "I've made a promise. I told Lord Harms I'd return Steris to him. And I will. That is that."
"Then I will remain and help," Marasi said. "That is that."
"And I could really use some food," Wayne added. "Fat is fat.

It’s what happens when you shoot someone,” Wayne pointed out. “At least, usually someone has the good sense to get dead when you go to all the trouble to shoot them.

I was a little busy being shot at.” “Busy? Aw, mate. It doesn’t take any effort at all to get shot at.

Nothing else dangerous we could find. Other than Wayne’s body odor.” “That’s the smell of incredibleness,” Wayne called from inside.

Oh, Wax has always been solemn, but when he's at his best, there's a smirk underneath.

Once one becomes a man, he can and must make his own decisions. But I do offer warning. Even a good thing can become destructive if taken to excess.

People seems they are good, or sometimes evil, mostly by inertia, not by choice.

So,” Marasi said, “you traded a dead man’s scarf for another dead man’s gun. But…the gun itself belonged to someone dead, so by the same logic—”
“Don’t try,” Waxillium said. “Logic doesn’t work on Wayne.”
“I bought a ward against it off a traveling fortune-teller,” Wayne explained. “It lets me add two ’n’ two and get a pickle.

Some mistakes, though, you can’t fix by being sorry. Can’t fix them, no matter what you do.

So, Wax,” Wayne butted in. “Where did you say that bloke was who had my hat?”
“I told you that he got away after I shot him.”
“I was hoping he’d dropped my hat, you know. Getting shot makes people drop stuff.”
Waxillium sighed. “He still had it on when he left, I’m afraid.”
Wayne started cursing.
“Wayne,” Marasi said. “It’s only a hat.”
“Only a hat?” he asked, aghast.
“Wayne’s a little attached to that hat,” Waxillium said. “He thinks it’s lucky.”
“It is lucky. I ain’t never died while wearing that hat.

That hat looks ridiculous.”
“Fortunately, I can change hats,” Wayne said, “while you, sir, are stuck with that face.

The mark of a great man is one who knows when to set aside the important things in order to accomplish the vital ones.

The measure of a person is not how much they have lived. It’s in how they make use of what life has shown them.

The ways of Wayne are mysterious and incomprehensible.

To be of use in even a single burst of flame and sound is worth more than a lifetime of achieving nothing.

Too much in high society is built around the idea of making certain you don't need to trust anyone," Waxillium said. "Contracts, detailed operating reports, not being seen alone with an eligible member of the opposite gender. If you remove the foundation of trust from a relationship, then what is the point of that relationship?

Wayne claimed to have memorized the names of all of the different possible combinations of Twinborn. Of course, Wayne also claimed to have once stolen a horse that belched in perfect musical notes, so one learned to take what he said with a pinch of copper.

Wayne's a little attached to that hat," Waxillium said. "He thinks it's lucky."
Wayne: "It is lucky. I ain't never died while wearing that hat."
Marasi frowned. "I ... I'm not sure I know how to respond."
Wax: "That's a common reaction to Wayne.

Wayne: You wanna know why I really came to find you?

Waxilliam: Why?

Wayne: I thought of you happy in a comfy bed, resting and relaxing, spending the rest of your life sipping tea and reading papers while people bring you food and maids rub your toes and stuff.

Waxilliam: And?

Wayne: And I just couldn't leave you to a fate like that...I'm too good a friend to let a mate of mine die in such a terrible situation.

Waxilliam: Comfortable?

Wayne: No. Boring.

Well,” Waxillium said. “Perhaps I should begin by asking after your health.”
“Perhaps you should,” Steris replied.
“Er. Yes. How’s your health?”
“So is Waxillium,” Wayne added.
They all turned to him.
“You know,” he said. “He’s wearing a suit, and all. Suitable. Ahem. Is that mahogany?

What wasdat, sir? What wazzat sir? What wassat, sir?”
“Wayne, what are you babbling about?” Waxillium asked.
“Practicing my pretzel guy,” Wayne said. “He had a great accent...”
Waxillium glanced at him. "That hat looks ridiculous.”
“Fortunately, I can change hats,” Wayne said in the pretzel-guy accent, “while you, sir, are stuck with that face.

Why do they call it research if I've only done it this one time?

Why is it,” Marasi said angrily, “that small-minded men must destroy that which they know is better, and greater, than they?

You are inexperienced. So was I, once. So is every man. The measure of a person is not how much they have lived. . . It's in how they make us of what life has shown them.