Quotes From "The Name Of The Wind" By Patrick Rothfuss

My parents danced together, her head on his chest. Both had their eyes closed. They seemed so perfectly content. If you can find someone like that, someone who you can hold and close your eyes to the world with, then you're lucky. Even if it only lasts for a minute or a day. The image of them gently swaying to the music is how I picture love in my mind even after all these years. Patrick Rothfuss

I have known her longer, my smile said. True, you have been inside the circle of her arms, tasted her mouth, felt the warmth of her, and that is something I have never had. But there is a part of her that is only for me. You cannot touch it, no matter how hard you might try. And after she has left you I will still be here, making her laugh. My light shining in her. I will still be here long after she has forgotten your name. . Patrick Rothfuss

Denna is a wild thing, " I explained. "Like a hind or a summer storm. If a storm blows down your house, or breaks a tree, you don't say the storm was mean. It was cruel. It acted according to its nature and something unfortunately was hurt. The same is true of Denna. Patrick Rothfuss

... for most practical purposes, Tarbean had two parts: Waterside and Hillside. Waterside is where people are poor. That makes them beggars, thieves and whores. Hillside is where people are rich. That makes them solicitors, politicians and courtesans. Patrick Rothfuss

It slowly began to dawn on me that I had been staring at her for an impossible amount of time. Lost in my thoughts, lost in the sight of her. But her face didn't look offended or amused. It almost looked as if she were studying the lines of my face, almost as if she were waiting. I wanted to take her hand. I wanted to brush her cheek with my fingertips. I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing that I had seen in three years. The sight of her yawning to the back of her hand was enough to drive the breath from me. How I sometimes lost the sense of her words in the sweet fluting of her voice. I wanted to say that if she were with me then somehow nothing could ever be wrong for me again. In that breathless second I almost asked her. I felt the question boiling up from my chest. I remember drawing a breath then hesitating--what could I say? Come away with me? Stay with me? Come to the University? No. Sudden certainty tightened in my chest like a cold fist. What could I ask her? What could I offer? Nothing. Anything I said would sound foolish, a child's fantasy. I closed my mouth and looked across the water. Inches away, Denna did the same. I could feel the heat of her. She smelled like road dust, and honey, and the smell the air holds seconds before a heavy summer rain. Neither of us spoke. I closed my eyes. The closeness of her was the sweetest, sharpest thing I had ever known. Patrick Rothfuss

Roses! I swear you men have all your romance from the same worn book. Flowers are a good thing, a sweet thing to give a lady. But it is always roses, always red, and always perfect hothouse blooms when they can come by them. Patrick Rothfuss

There were two sets of double doors leading out of the antechamber, one marked STACKS and the other TOMES. Not knowing the difference between the two, I headed to the ones labeled STACKS. That was what I wanted. Stacks of books. Great heaps of books. Shelf after endless shelf of books. Patrick Rothfuss

You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while. Patrick Rothfuss

I heard the silence pouring from them. The audience held themselves quiet, tense, and tight, as if the song had burned them worse than flame. Each person held their wounded selves closely, clutching their pain as if it were a precious thing. Patrick Rothfuss

Too much honesty makes you sound insincere. Patrick Rothfuss

Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer. So I began sleeping less to give her the time she needed. Patrick Rothfuss

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. Patrick Rothfuss

Lord but I dislike poetry. How can anyone remember words that aren't put to music? Patrick Rothfuss

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need. First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door. Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door. Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind. Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told. Patrick Rothfuss

I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me. . Patrick Rothfuss

There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind. Patrick Rothfuss

No hard feelings about that time in the Crucible when you mixed my salts and I was nearly blind for a day. No. No, really, drink up! Patrick Rothfuss

Then, slowly, my feet settled to the ground. Before I had taken six steps I sagged like a sail when the wind fades. As I walked back through the town, past sleeping houses and dark inns, my mood swung from elation to doubt in the space of three brief breaths. I had ruined everything. All the things I had said, things that seemed so clever at the time, were in fact the worst things a fool could say. Even now she was inside, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be rid of me. But she had smiled. Had laughed. She hadn't remembered our first meeting on the road from Tarbean. I couldn't have made that much of an impression on her.' Steal me, ' she had said. I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little. Patrick Rothfuss

This isn't the hand of some swooning princess who sits tatting lace and waiting for some prince to save her. This is the hand of a woman who would climb a rope of her own hair to freedom, or kill a captor ogre in his sleep. And this is the hand of a woman who would have made it through the fire on her own if I hadn't been there. Singed perhaps, but safe. Patrick Rothfuss

Metal rusts, music lasts forever. Patrick Rothfuss

What what, " Trapis said as he hurried over to tend to her, his bare feet slapping on the floor. "What what. Hush hush. Patrick Rothfuss

Power is okay, and stupidity is usually harmless. Power and stupidity together are dangerous". Patrick Rothfuss

It will be worth it if I am remembered, if not flatteringly, then at least with some small amount of accuracy. Patrick Rothfuss

I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. Patrick Rothfuss

Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. Patrick Rothfuss

Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating ... but there are other ways to understanding. Patrick Rothfuss

Elodin pointed down the street. "What color is that boy's shirt?"" Blue."" What do you mean by blue? Describe it." I struggled for a moment, failed. "So blue is a name?"" It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself." My head was swimming by this point. "I still don't understand." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating." He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. "But there are other ways to understanding! " he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still laughing. "Look! " he shouted tilting his head back. "Blue! Blue! Blue! . Patrick Rothfuss

So blue is a name?'' It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As humans have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words tat will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is te fire itself.' My head was swimming at this point. 'I still don't understand.' He laid a hand on my shoulder. 'Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating.' He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. 'But there are other ways of understanding! ' he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still lauging. 'Look! ' he shouted tilting his head back. 'Blue! Blue! Blue! . Patrick Rothfuss

After an awkward pause, Bast extended his hand. Chronicler hesitated for a bare moment before reaching out quickly, as if he were sticking his hand into a fire. Nothing happened, both of them seemed moderately surprised." Amazing, isn't it?" Kvothe addressed them bitingly. "Five fingers and flesh with blood beneath. One could almost believe that on the other end of that hand lay a person of some sort. Patrick Rothfuss

His voice is like a thunderstorm, and his hands know every secret hidden deep beneath the cool, dark earth. Patrick Rothfuss

The law of sympathy is one of the most basic parts of magic. It states that the more similar two objects are, the greater the sympathetic link. The greater the link, the more easily they influence each other. Patrick Rothfuss

I realize that I cannot say enough. So. Since I cannot say enough, at least I will avoid saying to much". Patrick Rothfuss

He had a bright, reckless tenor that was always wandering off, looking for notes in the wrong places. Patrick Rothfuss

Congratulations, he said. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen." His expression was a mix of awe and disbelief. "Ever. Patrick Rothfuss

I don't care whose son he is. I won't go belly-up like a timid pup. If he's fool enough to take a poke at me, I'll snap the finger clean off that does the poking. Patrick Rothfuss

If not for him, I would never have become the man I am today. I ask that you not hold it against him. He meant well Patrick Rothfuss

Why, Reshi?"The words poured out of Bast in a sudden gush. "Why did you stay there when it was so awful?" Kvothe nodded to himself, as if he had been expecting the question. "Where else was there for me to go, Bast? Everyone I knew was dead."" Not everyone, " Bast insisted. "There was Abenthy. You could have gone to him."" Hallowfell was hundreds of miles away, Bast, " Kvothe said wearily as he wandered to the other side of the room and moved behind the bar. Hundreds of miles without my father's maps to guide me. Hundredsof miles without wagons to ride or sleep in. Without help of any sort, or money, or shoes. Not an impossible journey, I suppose. But for a young child, still numb with the shock of losing his parents. ."Kvothe shook his head. "No. In Tarbean at least I could beg or steal. I'd managed to survive in the forest for a summer, barely. But over the winter?" He shook his head. "I would have starved or frozen todeath." Standing at the bar, Kvothe filled his mug and began to add pinches of spice from several small containers, then walked toward the great stone fireplace, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You're right, of course. Anywhere would have been better than Tarbean."He shrugged, facing the fire. "But we are all creatures of habit. It is far too easy to stay in the familiar ruts we dig for ourselves. Perhaps I even viewed it as fair. My punishment for not being there to help when the Chandrian came. My punishment for not dying when I should have, with the rest of my family." Bast opened his mouth, then closed it and looked down at the tabletop, frowning. Kvothe looked over his shoulder and gave a gentle smile. "I'm not saying it's rational, Bast. Emotions by their very nature are not reasonable things. I don't feel that way now, but back then I did. I remember." He turned back to the fire. "Ben's training has given me a memory so clean and sharp I have to be careful not to cut myself sometimes." Kvothe took a mulling stone from the fire and dropped it into his wooden mug. It sank with a sharp hiss. The smell of searing clove and nutmeg filled the room. Kvothe stirred his cider with a long-handled spoon as he made his way back to the table. "You must also remember that I was not in my right mind. Much of me was still in shock, sleeping if you will. I needed something, or someone, to wake me up." He nodded to Chronicler, who casually shook his writing hand to loosen it, then unstoppered his inkwell. Kvothe leaned back in his seat. "I needed to be reminded of things I had forgotten. I needed a reason to leave. It was years before I met someone who could do those things." He smiled at Chronicler. "Before I met Skarpi. . Patrick Rothfuss

It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die. Patrick Rothfuss

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die. Patrick Rothfuss

It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story. Patrick Rothfuss

She taught me I should never do anything in private I did not want talked about in public, and cautioned me not to talk in my sleep. Patrick Rothfuss

Are you hurt?"" Absolutely, " I said. "Especially in my everywhere. Patrick Rothfuss

I only know one story. But oftentimes small pieces seem to be stories themselves. Patrick Rothfuss

Think of all the stories you've heard, Bast. You have a young boy, the hero. His parents are killed he sets out for vengeance. What next?" Bast hesitated, his expression puzzled. Chronicler answered the question instead. "He finds help. A clever talking squirrel. An old drunken swordsman. A mad hermit in the woods. That sort of thing." Kvothe nodded. "Exactly! He finds the mad hermit in the woods, proves himself worthy, and learns the names of all things, just like Taborlin the Great. Then with these powerful magics at his beck and call, what does he do?" Chronicler shrugged. "He finds the villains and kills them." "Of course, " Kvothe said grandly. "Clean, quick, and easy as lying. We know how it ends practically before it starts. That's why stories appeal to us. They give us the clarity and simplicity our real lives lack. Patrick Rothfuss