It's things like this makes a ship seem like home. Help you forget what a load of tedious old shit life out here can be.

— Scott Lynch

Jean grinned down at her, and she handed him something in a small silk bag.' What's this?'' Lock of my hair,' she said. 'Meant to give it to you days ago, but we got busy with all the raiding. You know. Piracy. Hectic life. ''Thank you, love,' he said.' Now, if you find yourself in trouble wherever you go, you can hold up that little bag to whoever's bothering you, and you can say, "You have no idea who you're fucking with. I'm under the protection of the lady who gave me this object of her favor. "''And that's supposed to make them stop?'' Shit no, that's just to confuse them. Then you kill them while they're standing there looking at your funny.

— Scott Lynch

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

— Scott Lynch

Maybe the one real advantage to getting older is that you have the time to pull your head a little bit farther out of your ass.

— Scott Lynch

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

— Scott Lynch

Now, it’s undeniably true that male writers (including yours truly) are generally and commercially allowed to write about “girl stuff” without being penalized for doing so. In part this is the same old shit it’s always been ... I’ve said before that men who write mostly about men win prizes for revealing the human condition, while women who write about both men and women are filed away as writing “women's’ issues.” Likewise, in fantasy, the imprimatur of a dude somehow makes stuff like romance, relationship drama, introspection, and adorable animal companions magically not girly after all. In a sense, we male fantasists are allowed to be like money launderers for girl coo

— Scott Lynch

O'Hara scrawled orders on a slate and handed it to one of the libationarians, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the contents and locations of all the bottles kept the bar running.

— Scott Lynch

Only prisoners were ever granted easy passage into a prison.

— Scott Lynch

Sweat, scalded meat, puke, blood, smoke and a dozen kinds of bad ale and wine: the bouquet of civilized nightlife

— Scott Lynch

That's a sweet piece," said Jean, briefly forgetting to be aggravated. "You didn't snatch that off a street."" No," said Locke, before taking another deep draft of the warm water in the decanter. "I got it from the neck of the governor's mistress."" You can't be serious."" In the governor's manor."" Of all the -" "In the governor's bed."" Damned lunatic!"" With the governor sleeping next to her." The night quiet was broken by the high, distant trill of a whistle, the traditional swarming noise of city watches everywhere. Several other whistles joined in a few moments later." It is possible," said Locke with a sheepish grin, "that I have been slightly too bold.

— Scott Lynch