to influence a person is to give him one's own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of someone else's music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him.
But influence is largely a matter of patience, I have found. Once I had served the sorcerer's purpose, he threw me out of his house to die. I resolved to live to spite him. I begged. I sold what pans of my body remained to me. I became an excellent thief, and soon learned that the contents of a man's letters are more valuable than the contents of ms purse Step by step. one distasteful task after another, I made my way from the shims of Myr to the Small Council chamber Influence grows like a weed. I tended mine patiently until its tendrils reached from the Red Keep all the way across to the far side of the world, where I managed to wrap them around something very special.
Men are the products of their environment.
He's my brother. He's my positive influence.
Some stories get a grip on you even if you don't want it.
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