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Iron Gold Quotes

Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)
by Pierce Brown (Goodreads Author)
Want to Read
I know it may be impossible to believe now, when everything is dark and broken, but you will survive
this pain, little one. Pain is a memory. You will live and you will struggle and you will find joy. And you
will remember your family from this breath to your dying days, because love does not fade. Love is the
stars, and its light carries on long after death.
Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)
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A new wound can take a body. Opening an old one can claim a soul.
Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)
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It is my duty as a free man to read so I'm not blind being lead around by my nose

Tags: censorship-freedom-books, duty, freedom, freedom-of-thought
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Sevro sniffs my neck and makes a noise of distaste. “By Jove. You wretch. Did you dip yourself in piss
before the occasion?” “It’s cologne,” I say. “Mustang bought it for me last Solstice.” He’s quiet for a
moment. “Is it made out of piss?
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The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven.
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I will love you until the sun dies. And when it does, I will love you in the darkness.
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Sevro grins. “Listen, Thraxa, kids are like dogs. Some whimper, some bark, some growl. You just gotta
find the right language and then speak it back at them.” Alexandar smirks. “You can speak to dogs?” “I
talk to you, don’t I?
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But history is so often molded from tainted clay by those who remain.
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Sometimes, little one, it’s best if the worlds think you a little mad.
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They all want a part of it. A part of the pain that's not theirs. Nod their heads. Wrinkle their foreheads.
Now they want to pity it, gorge on my pain. And when they're done or bored or too sad, they whisk
themselves away to stare at a screen or stuff their fat faces, thinking 'How lucky am I to be me.' And
they they forget the pain and say we should be good citizens. Get a job. Assimilate..
They planted us in stones, watered us with pain, and now marvel how we have thorns.
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My wife is not as fickle as a flame. She is an ocean. I knew from the first that I cannot own her, cannot
tame her, but I am the only storm that moves her depths and stirs her tides. And that is more than
enough.
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Sevro…are you going to be civil?” He shrugs. “Good enough.

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Do not let fear touch you. Fear is the torrent. The raging river. To fight it is to break and drown. But to
stand astride it is to see it, feel it, and use its course for your own whims.
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I suppose that is what every man must tell himself in war.” His voice rasps and he sucks again on the
water tube. “That there will be an end, and when it is done, enough of himself will remain. Enough to
be a father. A brother. A lover. But we know it isn’t true. Don’t we, Darrow? War eats the victors last.
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If you are wise and lucky and live long as me, you will learn this pain is just a drop in the sea.
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The key to learning, to power, to having the final say in everything, is observation. By all means, be a
storm inside, but save your movement and wind till you know your purpose.
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Men call him father, liberator, warlord, Slave King, Reaper. But he feels a boy as he falls toward the
war-torn planet, his armor red, his army vast, his heart heavy. It is the tenth year of war and the thirty-
third of his life.
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Stories are the wealth of humanity!

Tags: kavak, lyria, reading, stories
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After ten years of war, I no longer believe in moments of peace.

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A fool pulls the leaves. A brute chops the trunk. A sage digs the roots. —LORN AU ARCOS
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Sharing a life threads more than flesh and blood together. It weaves her memories in and around and
through mine. The more I know of her, the more I share of her, the more I love her in a way the boy I
used to be never knew how to love. Eo was a flame, dancing against the wind. I tried to catch her. Tried
to hold her. But she was never meant to be held. My wife is not as fickle as a flame. She is an ocean. I
knew from the first that I cannot own her, cannot tame her, but I am the only storm that moves her
depths and stirs her tides. And that is more than enough.
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New’ generally means someone’s just trying to make money off something old.
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I put him and Victra in the west wing so we can actually get some sleep. Last time, I woke up in the
middle of the night thinking a coyote was caught in the air recycler. I swear, at the pace they’re going
they’ll be able to single-handedly populate Pluto in a few years.
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It is said that a life is made great by sorrow and joy.
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I sit back on my heels watching him, falling in love with my son all over again. His mind is more
curious than mine. More delighted by the nuances of knowledge. An overwhelming desire to protect
him rises up in me.

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Those you protect will not see you. They will not understand you. But you are the Gray wall between
civilization and chaos. And they stand safe in the shadow you cast. Do not expect praise or love. Their
ignorance is proof of the success of your sacrifice. For we who serve the state, duty must be its own
reward.
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Watch him for a moment. Stick him if he gets out of line.” “Immobilizing strike or just a flesh wound?”
the girl asks. “Goryhell. Just watch him. Little psycho.
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The destroyer of a civilization too often resembles its founders.
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And now that her dream has spread, he wonders if she would recognize it. And he wonders too if he
were to die today, would he recognize the echo of his own life? What sort of man would his son become
in this world he has made? He thinks of his son’s face and how soon he will become a man. And he
thinks of his Golden wife. How she stood on the landing pad, looking up at him, wondering if he’d ever
return home again. More than anything, he wants this to end.
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She would have lived in peace, Darrow, but you have brought her nothing but war.
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You’re my friend,” he says, voice heavy with emotion. “You will always be my friend. I won’t put a
dagger in your back. But I will stand up to you. I will do what is right.
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I loved you before I ever met you. I will love you until the sun dies. And when it does, I will love you in
the darkness.
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Anything gentle that lives long, hides its stinger well.
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Sharing a life threads more than flesh and blood together. It weaves her memories in and around and
through mine.
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Seeing the joy in my wife's face, I am witnessing another miracle. One, for a long time, I believed I
would never see again. Love so potent, so whole and true, that it hurts, because even when you
convince yourself that it will last forever, you know enough of the world to see how things break and
fade, but somehow, some way, you believe this love will be the exception. That it alone will last.
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How do you prepare for a kick in the balls?” I say. “You don’t. You suck it up.
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You know what they say. Hell hath no fury like a woman packing a railgun.
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For those who dine with war and empire, the bill always comes at the end.
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Love is the stars, and its light carries on long after death.
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The night is grim and humid as air in a smoker’s mouth.
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The big girl has ordered me something called a Venusian Fury. It’s dark as its namesake, Atalantia au
Grimmus, and tastes like licorice and salt. Something in it makes the back of my eyes buzz and my
groin swell. “What do you think?” she asks hopefully. “Tastes like the ass end of the Ash Lord.” I push
it away. She looks downcast at the table. In my haze, pity is slow to come, and dull when it does. I hate
bars like this. “You know what the Ash Lord’s ass tastes like?” Cyra asks. “Look how old he is,” Dano
says, taking a break from staring at a beautiful slip of a Pink at the bar, who looks nervously at his nasal
piercings. His head is buzzed in popular fashion with Obsidian dragons. “Tinpot’s been around long
enough to try everything.
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Once, the worlds called Cassius the Morning Knight, protector of the Society, slayer of Ares. Then he
murdered his Sovereign, my grandmother, and let the Rising tear down the very Society he swore to
protect. He let Darrow destroy my world and bring chaos to the Society. I can never forgive him for
that, but neither can I repay the debt I owe him. He kept Sevro au Barca from killing me.
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You want respect? Earn it.
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I thought your parents were geniuses.” “They are.” I grunt. “Must not be genetic.
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SILENT, SHE WAITS FOR the sky to fall, standing upon an island of volcanic rock amidst a black sea.
The long moonless night yawns before her. The only sounds, a flapping banner of war held in her
lover’s hand and the warm waves that kiss her steel boots. Her heart is heavy. Her spirit wild. Peerless
knights tower behind her. Salt spray beads on their family crests—emerald centaurs, screaming eagles,
gold sphinxes, and the crowned skull of her father’s grim house. Her Golden eyes look to the heavens.
Waiting. The water heaves in. Out. The heartbeat of her silence.
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What did he want?” Sevro asks. “What do all politicians want?” “Prostitutes.
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THE REAPER Silent, he lies encased in mankilling metal in the belly of a starship called the Morning
Star.
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imagine what humans could do if there were no scarcity. Nothing to fight over. Just an unending
expanse to explore and name and fill with life and art.
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WE HURTLE LIKE A black thunderbolt over a pale waste of silicate dust and sulfur dioxide frost in a
starship adorned with electric dragons.
Pierce Brown, Iron Gold
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La guerra devora a los vencedores en último lugar.
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Well, she’s a deepspace mulebitch, all right,” Pytha murmurs in a monotone delivery that erodes
punctuation and inflection. “Probably packing a hundred million credits of iron. Slag me but that’s a
crew I’d like to be on.” “Must you swear so early in the morning?” I ask. “Shit, sorry, moon boy. Forgot
to mind my fucking manners.
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Devoid of mystery, a man must have dignity. I find the lack of either boorish.
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Sometimes, little one, it’s best if the worlds think you a little mad.” He winks. “Inspiring what they’ll let
you get away with.
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Representations of pre-Color humans stand beside casualty statistics. One hundred and ten million died
for Gold to rule. Then their bombers dropped solocene into the troposphere and neutered an entire race.
Didn’t even have to convert them to the Color hierarchy. Just had to wait a century for them to die out.
Bloodless genocide. Give one thing to the Conquerors. They were efficient. Pricks.
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I sit back on my heels watching him, falling in love with my son all over again. His mind is more
curious than mine. More delighted by the nuances of knowledge. An overwhelming desire to protect
him rises up in me. If only he could hold this joy for the rest of his life.
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It is a sword of the first overlord, a razor belonging to the great bastard, hero of the Conquerors,
Silenius au Lune. The Lightbringer. “That don’t look so scary,” Dano said when we first got the
contract. I smiled and nodded to Volga. “What if she were holding it?” “She’d look scary waving a
bloodydamn muffin.” “If I had a muffin, I would eat it,” Volga said.
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Volga drops from her place on the wall to join me. She moves excitably, still young enough to be
impressed by this. Dano hops along the columns back to the arch, where he graffities profanity with his
laser drill. “The razor?” I ask. He twirls it in his hand. It’s meant for a man twice his size. “A nasty little
dick tickler.” “The razor,” I say again. “Course, boss.” He flips it to me casually. I snag it out of the air.
Its handle is too big for my hand. Real ivory exterior and inlaid with gold filigree. The rest is brutally
economical. In whip form it coils like a thin, sleeping snake. Eager to be rid of it, I shove it in a foam
carry case and tuck it into my pack. “All right, kids.” I open the canister of custom acid and tip it onto
the marble floor. “Time to go.
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emphatic.
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torpor.
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predilections
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progenitor,
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umbrage.
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hinterland
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gestalt
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alabaster
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exsanguination.
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perspicacity.
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malignant
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miasma
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peevishness.
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Dead kids are the loose change of war.
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venal
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denizen—
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acquiesce.
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austere
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confess. “But opportunities multiply as they are seized.” “Don’t quote Sun Tzu at me
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We don’t know who she is. We don’t know where she’s from. Do you even know what kind of help she
meant?” “No,” I confess. “But opportunities multiply as they are seized.” “Don’t quote Sun Tzu at me
like it was your idea.
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But if I don’t pick, then it feels like it didn’t matter.
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Sadly, not all adversaries are enemies.
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indiscretion?
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That will not do," he roared. "Not at all! Stories are the wealth of humanity! My wife would not forgive
me if I denied you the key to that wealth.

Tags: kavax, lyria, reading, stories
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emboldens
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That there will be an end, and when it is done, enough of himself will remain. Enough to be a father. A
brother. A lover. But we know it isn’t true. Don’t we, Darrow? War eats the victors last.
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That would be—and I say this as understatement—cataclysmic.
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Have we arrived?” “Just.” “Verdict?” “My goodman, do I look like your valet?” “No. She was much
fairer. With better bedside manner.” “Adorable, pretending you just had one.” I raise an eyebrow. “You
should talk, prince of Mars.” Cassius au Bellona grunts.
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Mercy emboldens evil men.’
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sagacious
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But for all that tending, it’s the Archi’s scars I love the most. Little beauty marks that make her our
home. A dent under the kitchen’s oven where Cassius fell and struck his head when drinking long ago—
after news reached us of Darrow and Virginia’s wedding.
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curmudgeonly
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glibly.
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You are a world entire. You are grand and lovely. But you have to see it before anyone else does.
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He’s larger than I remember, older, and it feels so impossible that he could have come from me. That he
could have thoughts of his own. That he’ll love, smile, die like the rest of us.
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To remember why we fight. Not for family or for pride, but for life.
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taciturn.
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But who knows, perhaps the darkness will be kinder than the light.
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Well, she’s a deepspace mulebitch, all right,” Pytha murmurs in a monotone delivery that erodes
punctuation and inflection. “Probably packing a hundred million credits of iron. Slag me but that’s a
crew I’d like to be on.” “Must you swear so early in the morning?” I ask. “Shit, sorry, moon boy. Forgot
to mind my fucking manners.” Pytha is in her late fifties, with distant, pale blue eyes and skin the color
of a walnut. Like all Blues, she still harbors the neurodevelopmental sculpting that enhances human-to-
computer interaction but impairs communication outside her sect. She doesn’t have the social niceties of
the Palatine shuttle pilots.
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fidelity
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ennui
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He’s got mischievous eyes. On the whole, I trust those more than I do kind eyes. Those are the ones that
pity
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These men and women chose to put themselves above their fellow men. So let them now be separate.
Forever.
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The holoCan washes them in pale light. Government news programs tell them to seek shelter. In her
pocket the girl carries a folded piece of paper that she found in the gutter. On it is a little curved sword.
She’s seen it before on the cube. Her teachers at the government school say it brings chaos. War. It has
set the spheres on fire. But now she secretly draws the blade in the fog her breath has made on the
window, and she feels brave. Then the bombs begin to fall.
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Avarice
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He looks to his brother, something passing between them, some unspoken knowledge that I don’t like.
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miners from Mars of the Twelfth Sunshine Squadron.
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parsimonious
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harridan
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exaltation,
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Change isn’t made by mobs that envy, but by men who dare.
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I knew it was my duty to my own legend to survive this trial. But I was still crippled by my own
devices. Imagine me as a great fully-rigged man-of-war. Four masts, great bulwarks of oak and five
score cannon. All my life I have sailed smooth seas and waters that parted for me by virtue of my own
splendor. Never tested. Never riled. A tragic existence, if ever there was one. “But at long last: a storm!
And when I met it I found my hull . . . rotten. My planks leaking brine, my cannon brittle, powder wet. I
foundered upon the storm. Upon you, Darrow of Lykos.” He sighs. “And it was my own fault.” I war
between wanting to punch him in the mouth and surrendering into my curiosity by letting him continue.
He’s a strange man with a seductive presence. Even as an enemy, his flamboyance fascinated me. Purple
capes in battle. A horned Minotaur helmet. Trumpets blaring to signal his advance, as if welcoming all
challengers. He even broadcast opera as his men bombarded cities. After so much isolation, he’s
delighting in imposing his narrative upon us. “My peril is thus: I am, and always have been, a man of
great tastes. In a world replete with temptation, I found my spirit wayward and easy to distract. The idea
of prison, that naked, metal world, crushed me. The first year, I was tormented. But then I remembered
the voice of a fallen angel. ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell
of heaven.’ I sought to make the deep not just my heaven, but my womb of rebirth. “I dissected the
underlying mistakes which led to my incarceration and set upon an internal odyssey to remake myself.
But—and you would know this, Reaper—long is the road up out of hell! I made arrangements for
supplies. I toiled twenty hours a day. I reread the books of youth with the gravity of age. I perfected my
body. My mind. Planks were replaced; new banks of cannon wrought in the fires of solitude. All for the
next storm. “Now I see it is upon me and I sail before you the paragon of Apollonius au Valii-Rath. And
I ask one question: for what purpose have you pulled me from the deep?” “Bloodyhell, did you
memorize that?” Sevro mutters.
Pierce Brown, Iron Gold
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Beyond them fly ships with names like Spirit of Lykos, Hope of Tinos, and Echo of Ragnar. They are
painted white and led by a woman with onyx-dark skin. The Lion Sovereign said the white was for
spring. For a new beginning. But the ships are stained. Smeared with char and patched wounds and
mismatched panels. They broke the Sword Armada and the martyr Fabii. They conquered the heart of
the Gold empire. They battled back the Ash Lord to the Core and have kept the dragons of the Rim at
bay.

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opportunities multiply as they are seized.
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The mad cackling of the Goblin and the howls of his friends as they try to forget their children, their
loves, and be brave. Nausea in his gut rises as the magnetic rails charge behind him. With a shudder of
metal, they fire him forward through the launch tube out into silent space at six times the speed of
sound.
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maudlin,
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And tongues, loose from those same commercial spirits and delights, cry out, shouting my name, or
cursing it. Not the name my mother gave me, but the name my deeds have built. The name the fallen
Peerless Scarred now whisper as a curse. “Reaper, Reaper, Reaper,” they cry, not in unison, but in
frenzy. The clamor suffocates, squeezing with a billion-fingered hand: all the hopes, all the dreams, all
the pain constricting around me.
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Like you, I seek the head of the Ash Lord. The difficulty is parting it from his body. In that, I require
your assistance.
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My metal boots grind on stone with the weight of loss: Eo, Ragnar, Fitchner, and all the others who’ve
fought and fallen at my side while somehow I have remained alive.
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Today is our fourth Liberation Day. After two years of siege, Mercury has joined the free worlds of
Luna, Earth, and Mars.
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masticates
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psychoses.
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With our victory on the first planet from the sun, the Ash Lord has been pushed back to his last bastion,
the fortress planet Venus, where his battered fleet guards precious docks and the remaining loyalists.
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I nurse the small fish on my plate. Cassius is already finished with his, always a man of appetites. I'm
more practiced than he in the art of self-deprivation at the dinner table, doesn't feel so long ago that I
was a knobby-kneed boy sitting at my grandmother's dinner table when she turned her long neck to me
and peered down that Peregrine nose, and in a kindly manner, inquired if I intend to sleep out in the
gutter instead of in my bed chamber, because by virtue of the fact that I'd eaten three whole tarts, I'd
clearly abdicated being a man in favor of being a little pig.

Tags: humorous, table-manners
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They stand in casual order around a fourteen-pointed ivory star with a pegasus galloping at its center—
held aloft by the famous Thraxa au Telemanus. The Hammer. After losing her left arm to Atalantia au
Grimmus’s razor, she had it replaced by a metal prototype appendage from Sun Industries. Wild gold
hair flutters behind her head, garlanded with white feathers given to her by Obsidian admirers. In her
mid-thirties, a stout woman with thighs thick as water drums and a freckled, bluff face. She grins past
the shoulders of the Obsidians and Golds around her.

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ambivalence
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duplicitous
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Snorting, Sevro drops back to where the legendary Obsidian, Sefi Volarus, stands in her customary
silence. He feigns an air of domesticity, but next to the giant woman, he looks a little like some sort of
gutter dog an alcoholic father might ill-advisedly bring home to play with the children—washed and rid
of fleas, but still possessing that weird mania behind the eyes. Pinched, thin lipped, with a nose crooked
as an old knifefighter’s fingers. He eyes the crowd with resigned distaste.
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punctilious
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I feel the distance grow between us, and I wonder if this is what it is like to be a bad father—always
finding a reason to be gone, a reason that, no matter how virtuous or shining in the eyes of a child, will
seem empty and false in the memories of the man he will soon become.
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paramour!
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truculent
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Men call him father, liberator, warlord, Slave King, Reaper. But he feels a boy as he falls toward the
war-torn planet, his armor red, his army vast, his heart heavy.
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One of the Obsidians to fight alongside Ragnar at the walls of Agea, Wulfgar was with the Sons of Ares
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that freed me from the Jackal in Attica. Now ArchWarden of the Republic, he smiles down at me from
Art
the step above, his black eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hail libertas,” I say with a smile. “Hail libertas,”
Biography
he echoes. “Wulfgar. Fancy meeting you here. You missed the Rain,” I say. “You did not wait for me to
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return, did you?” Wulfgar clucks his tongue. “My children will ask where I was when the Rain fell upon
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Mercury, and you know what I will have to tell them?” He leans forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I
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days before the Iron Rain over Mercury, the Senate, led by my old friend Dancer, voted against my
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and let the Rain fall. Now a million of my men lie in the sands of Mercury and we have our Liberation
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You’re a special kind of asshole,” I mutter. “You’ve clearly never met the other Royals.
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Iron Gold Quotes

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Sevro…are you going to be civil?” He shrugs. “Good enough.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Stories are the wealth of humanity!

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

After ten years of war, I no longer believe in moments of peace.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

It is said that a life is made great by sorrow and joy.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

The destroyer of a civilization too often resembles its founders.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Anything gentle that lives long, hides its stinger well.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

The night is grim and humid as air in a smoker’s mouth.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

You want respect? Earn it.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold

La guerra devora a los vencedores en último lugar.

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

Pierce Brown, Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)