Quotes by Patrick Rothfuss

I was in my early twenties and I was, to be quite honest, a bit of a punk. A swaggering entitled straight white guy who hadnt but a lot of thought into what it might be like to be anything other than a straight white guy. Because when youre a straight white guy, you dont *have* to think about that....

I do this so you cannot help but hear. a wise man views a moonless night with fear.

She washed he hands,then looked at my side. you havent even had it stitched? She said incredulously.Ive been rather busy, I said. With the running like hell and hiding all night.

In a later chapter, less argued over and less well-known, Teccam explains that there are two types of secrets. There are secrets of the mouth and secrets of the heart. Most secrets are secrets of the mouth. Gossip shared and small scandals whispered. These secrets long to be let loose upon the world. A secret of the mouth is like a stone in your boot. At first you’re barely aware of it. Then it grows irritating, then intolerable. Secrets of the mouth grow larger the longer you keep them, swelling until they press against your lips. They fight to be let free. Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become.

Its quite enough to have a secret. Anything more would be greedy.

There is a difference between the truth and what we wish were true.

I wish I felt as calm as I look

Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn’t talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.

All stories are true,” Skarpi said. “But this one really happened, if that’s what you mean.” He took another slow drink, then smiled again, his bright eyes dancing. “More or less. You have to be a bit of a liar to tell a story the right way. Too much truth confuses the facts. Too much honesty makes you sound insincere.

What do you know of poetry?” Ambrose said without bothering to turn around. “I know a limping verse when I hear it,” I said. “But this isn’t even limping. A limp has rhythm. This is more like someone falling down a set of stairs. Uneven stairs. With a midden at the bottom.” “It is a sprung rhythm,” he said, his voice stiff and offended. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” “Sprung?” I burst out with an incredulous laugh. “I understand that if I saw a horse with a leg this badly ‘sprung,’ I’d kill it out of mercy, then burn its poor corpse for fear the local dogs might gnaw on it and die.

I’d heard he had started a fistfight in one of the seedier local taverns because someone had insisted on saying the word “utilize” instead of “use.

He hesitated, then lifted his head and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?” The question was more curious than accusatory. “No,” Bast said. The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been tasting,” Bast said, emphasizing the word. “Tasting comes before drinking.

Everyone knew what he was thinking. Certainly there were demons in the world. But they were like Tehlu’s angels. They were like heroes and kings. They belonged in stories. They belonged out there. Taborlin the Great called up fire and lightning to destroy demons. Tehlu broke them in his hands and sent them howling into the nameless void. Your childhood friend didn’t stomp one to death on the road to Baedn-Bryt. It was ridiculous.

over his own dark Cealdish beard. “Nothing like your marvelous facebear,

money I could hardly think of it. “Go on, take it.

My bad luck got tangled up with my bad decisions, and Im paying for it.

And there was Ambrose. To deem us simply enemies is to lose the true flavours of our relationship. It was more like the two of us entered into a business partnership in order to more efficiently pursue our mutual interest of hating each other.

Bast looked at him incredulously.The whole world is burning down,he said.Open your eyes.

Asleep she was a painting of a fire. Awake she was the fire itself

As my father used to say: “There are two sure ways to lose a friend, one is to borrow, the other to lend.” - Kvothe the Bloodless (The Name of The Wind)