“Why do people keep doing stuff?" he said, talking to himself it seemed.Swin hesitated."Wiping counters down and taking pictures. Cheating. Defending things."Swin couldn't see Kyle's face. It appeared he was about to say more, then thought better of it. It seemed he was going to laugh or cry; of course he was going to do neither. It was a moment of defeat, nothing more. Kyle looked back toward the woods where he'd thrown the gun. Swin felt he had to speak."It's involved," he said. "Many schools of thought. In layman's terms, being the most sophisticated monkey makes you the most confused monkey. Taking action, any at all, is a way to alleviate that confusion. You, you're one of the least sophisticated of us sophisticated monkeys, and therefore suffer less confusion, and have less use for the empty actions that alleviate confusion. I don't mean that as a put-down."Though Kyle didn't move, Swin knew he was listening, knew the explanation was somehow helping.”

“[he] had learned how to force his mood, to keep himself in the middle ground, neither manic nor hopeless. He seemed a bit lighter in spirit, perhaps because he had less of it. He would find peace, even if it were some compromised brand.”

“So once the zookeeper realized it was the monkeys who stole the bananas, he knew there was only one way he'd be able to get them back.""How?" I whispered. My throat was so sore."Don't talk. He had to beat them in shuffleboard, of course.""What?""I said don't talk. Monkeys love shuffleboard."He used a page from a homework assignment he'd failed and a stack of quarters to make a shuffleboard court. I watched the monkeys and the zookeepers have their showdown while I sipped the last of my applejuice."Need more?" Graham asked me without looking up, when my straw skidded against the dry bottom of the box."Uh uh.""You're supposed to drink juice.""I just drank some.""More, though."I shook my head."Drink more juice or the monkeys are going to kill you. The only thing they love more than shuffleboard is beating up dehydrated sick boys.”

“I want you to tell meabout the Survivor," he finally said."He was lord of the mists," Demoux said immediately."Not the rhetoric," Elend said. "Someone tell me about the man, Kelsier. I never met him, you know. Isaw him once, right before he died, but I never knew him.""What's the point?" Cett asked. "We've all heard the stories. He's practically a god, if you listen to theskaa.""Just do as I ask," Elend said.The tent was still for a few moments. Finally, Ham spoke. "Kell was . . . grand. He wasn't just a man,he was bigger than that. Everything he did was large—his dreams, the way he spoke, the way he thought.. . .""And it wasn't false," Breeze added. "I can tell when a man is being a fake. That's why I started myfirst job with Kelsier, actually. Amidst all the pretenders and posturers, he was genuine. Everyone wantedto be the best. Kelsier really was.""He was a man," Vin said quietly. "Just a man. Yet, you always knew he'd succeed. He made you bewhat he wanted you to be.""So he could use you," Breeze said."But you were better when he was done with you," Ham added”

“I never knew words could be so confusing," Milo said to Tock as he bent down to scratch the dog's ear."Only when you use a lot to say a little," answered Tock.Milo thought this was quite the wisest thing he'd heard all day.”

“What about you three, where are you going?"Even before Halt answered, Will knew what he was going to say. But that didn't make it any less terrifying or blood-chilling when the words were said."We're going after the Kalkara.”

“Mr. Hibna had been misguided in trying to take the drastic alteration of his life into his own hands. As usual, the world was supplying the change. As usual, Mr. Hibna was a character, not the author. And thank God. Mr. Hibna wasn't up to being the author. He didn't know how to save himself. Never was he less skilled, more doltish, than when he tried to figure and plot his own life.”