“I am what the universe made me to be, my dear.”

“My dear, have you ever known me to make an inflammatorily ridiculous statement without providing an equally ridiculous explanation to substantiate it?”“Of course not,” she agreed. “You are nothing if not exhaustive in your self-congratulatory made-up logic.”

“I swear, my dear. Sometimes our conversations remind me of a broken sword."She raised an eyebrow."Sharp as hell," Lightsong said, "but lacking a point.”

“For me, if I have writer’s block it means I know that what I am writing is not working quite right and I need to go back and fix what is not right. And once I do that I can write onward. Sometimes writer’s block is just I’m in a funk that day and my writing just isn’t working. In that case I write anyway and then throw it away. You can always write. Writer's block is 'I can't write because what I'm writing is crap.”

“Breeze chuckled. “I don’t know if you noticed the earthquake a few minutes ago, my dear man, but the world appears to be ending. That is an indisputably depressing event.”

“What if they take you captive?” Goradel asked.“My dear man,” Breeze said, leaning forward to look out at Goradel. “That’s why kings send ambassadors. This way, if someone gets captured, the king is still safe. We, my friend, are something Elend can never be: expendable.”Goradel frowned at that. “I don’t feel very expendable.”

“My dear, did you just try to prove the existence of God through the use of your cleavage?”