Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. Those were the words whispered on the streets of Ketterdam, in the taverns and coffeehouses, in the dark and bleeding alleys of the pleasure district known as the Barrel. The boy they called Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason any more than he needed permission – to break a leg, sever an alliance, or change a man’s fortunes with the turn of a card.
google, show me how to attract and befriend swarms of crows to follow me in an ominous cloud that blots out the sun
walking down the street with @spinning-like-a-45-ballerina when a crow screams and she suddenly starts laughing. ask her why. “i just thought of kaz being very very drunk and a crow screams at him so he starts screaming back.”
how the fuck do people just stay motivated their entire lives? what drives you? I got out of bed once and i’ve been exhausted ever since.
You need to learn to hate life to the point where you want to get revenge on existence itself
Best advice ever
