Half a King is my favorite book by Joe Abercrombie so far, and that's saying something.

Its like he knows he's better than you, but doesn't look down on you for it because he knows it's not your fault.

Too much truth confuses the facts. Too much honesty makes you sound insincere.

I'm not a speed writer. I write slowly and revise obsessively. The end result tends to be good. That's where my strength is.

I don't try to take a person out of our world and put them into my world; that wouldn't work. It's sort of like bad Photoshop: If you see something Photoshopped together - and even if it's done pretty well - the eye catches on it. That happens a lot when people try to cut and paste people from our world into their fourteenth-century historical romance novel.

There is a sort of camaraderie that rarely exists except between men who have fought the same enemies and know the same women.

Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred by a gentle breath, it changed like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground, and it felt like three years Waterside in Tarbean, with a hollowness inside you and hands that ached from the bitter cold.