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192 pages, Paperback
First published October 11, 2012
“There was rarely an obvious branching point in a person's life. People changed slowly, over time. You didn't take on step, then find yourself in a completely new location. You first took a little step off a path to avoid some rocks. For a while, you walked alongside the path, but then you wandered out a little way to step on softer soil. Then you stopped paying attention as you drifted farther and farther away. Finally, you found yourself in the wrong city, wondering why the signs on the roadway hadn't led you better.”
“You can’t always write what you know—not exactly what you know. You can, however, write what you see.”–Brandon Sanderson
No matter how good you were, someone was better. Live by that knowledge, and you would never grow so confident that you became sloppy.
“There was rarely an obvious branching point in a person's life. People changed slowly, over time. You didn't take on step, then find yourself in a completely new location. You first took a little step off a path to avoid some rocks. For a while, you walked alongside the path, but then you wandered out a little way to step on softer soil. Then you stopped paying attention as you drifted farther and farther away. Finally, you found yourself in the wrong city, wondering why the signs on the roadway hadn't led you better.”![]()
“A Forger wasn’t a simple scam artist or trickster. A Forger was an artist who painted with human perception. […]
A person was like a dense forest thicket, overgrown with a twisting mess of vines, weeds, shrubs, saplings, and flowers. No person was one single emotion; no person had only one desire. They had many, and usually those desires conflicted with one another like two rosebushes fighting for the same patch of ground.”
Attempts to Forge the window to a better version of itself had repeatedly failed; each time, after five minutes or so, the window had reverted to its cracked, gap-sided self.I love what this book has to say about the nature of art, and souls, and how people affect each other.
Then Shai had found a bit of colored glass rammed into one side of the frame. The window, she realized, had once been a stained glass piece. It had been broken [and] rather than repairing it as it had been meant to be, someone had put ordinary glass in the window and left it to crack. A stamp from Shai in the bottom right corner had restored the window, rewriting its history so that a caring master craftsman had discovered the fallen window and remade it. That seal had taken immediately. Even after all this time, the window had seen itself as something beautiful.
Or maybe she was just getting romantic again.
He found himself weeping.I'm also amazed at how much Brandon Sanderson packed into 167 pages. I would have enjoyed reading more, but really, this felt like the perfect length for this story.
Not for the future or for the emperor. These were the tears of a man who saw before himself a masterpiece. True art was more than beauty; it was more than technique. It was not just imitation.
It was boldness, it was contrast, it was subtlety. ... It was the greatest work of art he had ever witnessed.
No matter how good you were, someone was better. Live by that knowledge, and you would never grow so confident that you became sloppy.
There was rarely an obvious branching point in a person’s life. People changed slowly, over time. You didn’t take one step, then find yourself in a completely new location.
“I suspect,” Gaotona said, “that a life full of lying makes reality and falsehood intermix.
These were the tears of a man who saw before him a masterpiece. True art was more than beauty; it was more than technique. It was not just imitation. It was boldness, it was contrast, it was subtlety. In this book, [he] found a rare work to rival that of the greatest painters, sculptors, and poets of any era. It was the greatest work of art he had ever witnessed.
“Her aunt Sol had once told Shai to smile at the worst insults and snap at the minor ones. That way, no man would know your heart.”
“He found himself weeping.
Not for the future or for the emperor. These were the tears of a man who saw before himself a masterpiece. True art was more than beauty; it was more than technique. It was not just imitation.
It was boldness, it was contrast, it was subtlety.”