Nonsense. Balderdash. Figgldybrak. Isn't it odd that gibberish words are often the sounds of other words, cut up and dismembered, then stitched into something like them--yet wholly unlike them at the same time? I wonder if you could do that to a man. Pull him apart, emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk. Then combine them back together into something else, like a Dysian Aimian. If you do put a man together like that, Dalinar, be sure to name him Gibberish, after me. Or perhaps Gibletish.

 

I've abandoned my real name. But when next we meet, I'll think of a clever one for you to call me. Until then, Wit will suffice--or if you must, you may call me Hoid.

 

Tanavast was a fine enough fellow--bought me drinks once--but he was not God.

 

Can you feel it? Something just changed. I believe that's the sound the world makes when it pisses itself.

 

You must not trust yourself with me. If I have to watch this world crumble and burn to get what I need, I will do so. With tears, yes, but I would let it happen. 

 

Hoid: "Beware of anyone who claims to be able to see the future. "

Shallan: "Except you, of course. "

Hoid: "Beware of anyone who claims to be able to see the future. "

 

How remarkable, [if] you spend your life knocking people down, you eventually find they won't stand up for you. There’s poetry in that, don’t you think, you storming personification of a cancerous anal discharge?

 

Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don't make me come over there and slap you around again.

 

“Why hasn't anyone killed him yet?”

“Dumb luck,” Wit said. “In that I’m lucky you’re all so dumb.”

 

“What do you know?”

“Almost everything. That almost part can be a real kick in the teeth sometimes.”

“What do you want, then?”

“What I can’t have.” Wit turned to him, eyes solemn. “Same as everyone else, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

 

“I like visiting people in prison. I can say whatever I want to them, and they can’t do anything about it.”

 

“Yes, yes. Aim for the sun. That way if you miss, at least your arrow will fall far away, and the person it kills will likely be someone you don't know.”

 

 

 

“I like to live every day like it's my last."

Shallan nodded.

"And by that I mean lying in a puddle of my own urine, calling for the nurse to bring me more pudding.”

 

"Try not to flirt with the girl," Wit whispered. "Young Adolin seems to be growing possessive. Or... what am I saying? Flirt with the girl, Kaladin. It might make the prince's eyes bulge."

 

"Like a fashionable dress, stupidity can be fetching in youth, but looks particularly bad on the aged. And unique as its properties may be, stupidity is frighteningly common. The sum total of stupid people is somewhere around the population of the planet. Plus one."

"Plus one?" Shallan asked.

"Sadeas counts twice."

"Um... he's dead, Wit."

"What?" Wit sat up straight.

"Someone murdered him. Er... we don't know who." Aladar's investigators had continued hunting the culprit, but the investigation had stalled by the time Shallan left. 

"Someone offed old Sadeas, and I missed it?"

"What would you have done? Helped him?"

"Storms, no. I'd have applauded."

 

“Perhaps you can help me with my predicament.”

“Alas,” the Drifter said. “Your case is hopeless.”

Kelsier felt his heart sink. 

“Yes, nothing to be done,” the Drifter continued. “You are, indeed, stuck with that face. By manifesting those same features in this side, you show that even your soul is resigned to you always looking like one ugly sonofa—“ 

 

"Why, Brightlord Amaram! I was hoping I'd be able to see you tonight. I've spent my life learning to make others feel miserable, and so it's a true joy to meet someone so innately talented in that very skill as you are."

"Do I know you?"

"No," Wit said lightly, "but fortunately, you can add it to the list of many, many things of which you are ignorant."

"But, now I've met you," Amaram said, holding out his hand. "So that list is one smaller."

"Please," Wit said, refusing the hang. "I wouldn't want it to rub off on me."

"It?"

"Whatever you've been using to make your hands look clean, Brightlord Amaram. It must be powerful stuff indeed."

"Where is [Brightness Navani]?"

"Staying away from you, obviously. Lucky woman."

"Wit," Dalinar said sternly. "Do you mind?"

"Rarely."

Dalinar: "Do you know what these say?"

"I wish I didn't."

"I could hit you in the head with a hammer," Wit said happily. "A good bludgeoning would make you forget and do wonders for that face of yours."

"Wit," Dalinar said flatly.

"I'm only joking."

"Good."

"A hammer would hardly dent that thick skull of his."

Amaram turned to Wit, a look of bafflement on his face.

"You're very good at that expression. A great deal of practice, I presume?"

 

 

I’d rather not die today, as I still have seven more people I want to insult.

 

 

You look so ugly that it appears someone tried and failed to get the warts off your face through aggressive application of sandpaper! You are less a human being than a lump of dung with aspirations! If someone took a stick and beat you repeatedly, it would only serve to improve your features. Your face defies description, but only because it nauseated all the poets. I’d tell you to put a sack over your head, but think of the poor sack! Theologians use you as proof that God exists, as such hideousness can only be intentional! 

 

You see, Sadeas, you make it too easy. An uneducated, half-brained serving boy with a hangover could make mock of you. I am left with no need to exert myself, and your very nature makes mockery of my mockery. And so it is that through sheer stupidity you make me look incompetent. 

 

“Brightness Markal! What a disaster that hairstyle is; how brave of you to show it to the world.”

 

"Lady Alami! No, please, don't speak - it's much easier to maintain my illusions regarding your intelligence that way."

 

"It's not that I hate you it's just that if you were on fire and I had a glass of water I'd drink it".

 

 

[Jasnah] studied him [Wit]. Then the sword burst to mist, vaporizing. She lowered her arm. “I don’t have time for you. A storm is coming, a terrible storm. It will bring the Voidbringers to—”

“Already here.”

“Damnation. We need to find Urithiru and—”

“Already found.”

She hesitated. “The Knights—”

“Refounded,” Wit said. “In part by your apprentice who, I might add, is exactly seventy-seven percent more agreeable than you are. I took a poll.”

“You’re lying.”

“Okay, so it was a rather informal poll. But the ugly lizard-crab-thing gave you really poor marks for—”

 

"Expense?" Wit cut in. "Sadeas, I don't believe you've ever paid me a sphere. Though no, please don't offer. I can't take your money, as I know how many others you must pay to get what you wish of them"

 

Sadeas flushed, but kept his temper. "A whore joke, Wit? Is that the best you can manage?"

 

"I point out truths when I see them, Brightlord Sadeas. Each man has his place. Mine is to make insults. Yours is to be in-sluts."

 

Brightlord Cadilar! How good to see you. Your face reminds me of someone very dear to me."

"Really?" wizened Cadilar said, hesitating.

"Yes," Wit said, waving him on, "my horse. 

 

"Ah, my dear Brightlord Taselin. Still engaged in your experiment to prove a maximum threshold of human idiocidy? Good for you! Very empirical of you."

Ah, Brightlord Neteb, you smell unique today—did you

attack a wet whitespine, or did one just sneeze on you?

"Ah, young Prince Adolin!” Wit exclaimed. “You actually managed to pry yourself away from the camp’s young women long enough to join this hunt? I’m impressed.” 

“Have I told you about the night Prince Renarin and I had two days back, walking the streets of the warcamp? We came across these two sisters, you see, blue eyed and—”

“That’s a lie!” Renarin said, blushing.

“Very well,” Wit said without missing a beat, “I’ll confess there were actually three sisters, but Prince Renarin quite unfairly ended up with two of them, and I didn’t wish to diminish my reputation by—”

“I said that is quite enough, Sadeas,” Elhokar said. “Quite enough, you say?” a new voice added. “I believe that a single word from Sadeas is ‘quite enough’ for anyone.” 

“Brightlord Sadeas,” Wit said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m terribly sorry to see you here.”

“I should think,” Sadeas said dryly, “that you would be happy to see me. I seem always to provide you with such entertainment.”

“That is unfortunately true,” Wit said.

“And yet you failed,” Wit said, sighing. “For you said ‘I think’ and I can imagine nothing so ridiculous as the concept of you thinking”

“Brightlord Marakal, I wish you’d warned us you were going to attend; I’d have forgone supper. I do so hate being sick after a full meal.”

“Dalinar said, “do you have to?” “Two what, Dalinar?” Wit said, eyes twinkling. “Eyes, hands, or spheres? I’d lend you one of the first, but—by definition—a man can only have one I, and if it is given away, who would be Wit then? I’d lend you one of the second, but I fear my simple hands have been digging in the muck far too often to suit one such as you. And if I gave you one of my spheres, what would I spend the remaining one on? I’m quite attached to both of my spheres, you see.” He hesitated. “Or, well, you can’t see. Would you like to?” He stood up off his chair and reached for his belt.”

“Says the man who built a revolution upon the backs of the dead. At least I only need one corpse”

[on cows] “Big, juicy, delicious. Wish I could still eat them. You don’t seem to have them around here, which I find amazing, as I’m sure there was one somewhere in Sadeas’s lineage. Paternal grandfather perhaps.”

“Ah, delightful,” Wit replied, holding up his palm and mimicking writing something down. “I’ll just make a note that you’d like to win. Yes, how foolish of me not to realize that, Blackthorn. Total victory. Over a god. Who is currently holding your homeland, and recently gained the allegiance of one of the strongest militaries on the planet. Shall I also have him bake you something sweet as an apology for this whole ‘end of the world’ mess?”

“Did you really have to come with us, Wit?” Dalinar asked. “I…” He trailed off. Then shook his head.

“What?” Wit asked.

“Never mind. Saying anything would provide you with more rocks to throw at me.”

“And you’re supposed to be the dumb one,” Wit said, grinning.

“As you have died tonight, and I have bested you legally in combat, I name you forfeit of your title. It will pass to your eldest son, who has been speaking quite frankly with Wit recently. It seems he will make a far more fitting highprince.”

“That bastard!” Ruthar croaked. “That traitorous bastard!”

“Not yours then, is he?” Wit said. “That explains why I like him.”

“Relis, Ivanar. Yes, I know them. I know a lot of things. Would you like to explain to the queen where Ivanar’s broken arm last month truly came from? Tell me, do you beat your children because you’re a sadist, or because you’re a coward and they are the only ones who won’t dare fight back? Or … oh, silly Wit. It’s both, isn’t it?””