Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

"A woman who goes around wearing a knife is obviously looking for trouble." She reached deep into her pocket and brought out a long, slender piece of metal, glittering all along one edge. "However a woman who carries a knife is ready for trouble. Generally speaking, it's easier to appear harmless. It's less trouble all around."

"Yesterday he had limped, but today there was no part of his feet that didn't hurt, so limping did no good."

"One wife, you're happy, two and you're tired, three and they'll hate each other, four and they'll hate you."

"Beer dulls a memory, brand sets it burning, but wine is the best for a sore heart's yearning."

"A poet is a musician that can't sing. Words have to find a man's mind before they can touch his heart, and some men's minds are woeful small targets. Music touches their hearts directly no matter how small or stubborn the mind of the man who listens."

"It's hard to be wrongfully accused, but it's worse when the people looking down on you are clods who have never read a book or traveled more than twenty miles from the place they were born."

"Do you know why they call this place the Rookery" Elodin asked. I shook my head."Because it's where you go if you're a-ravin'." He smiled a wild smile. He laughed a terrible laugh."

"I can't count the men who have tried to seduce me away from my virtue by teaching me how to defend 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."

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

"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."

"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."

"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."

"It's quite enough to have a secret. Anything more would be greedy."

"She washed he hands,then looked at my side. "you haven't even had it stitched" She said incredulously."I've been rather busy," I said. "With the running like hell and hiding all night."

"If you are eager to find the reason I became the Kvothe they tell stories about, you could look there, I suppose."Chronicler's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean, exactly"Kvothe paused for a long moment, looking down at his hands. "Do you know how many times I've been beaten over the course of my life"Chronicler shook his head. Looking up, Kvothe grinned and tossed his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "Neither do I. You'd think that sort of thing would stick in a person's mind. You'd think I would remember how many bones I've had broken. You'd think I'd remember the stitches and bandages." He shook his head. "I don't. I remember that young boy sobbing in the dark. Clear as a bell after all these years."Chronicler frowned. "You said yourself that there was nothing you could have done."I could have," Kvothe said seriously, "and I didn't. I made my choice and I regret it to this day. Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever."

"Kvothe continued, smiling himself “I see you laugh. Very well, for simplicity’s sake, let us assume I am the center of creation. In doing this, let us pass over innumerable boring stories: the rise and fall of empires, sagas of heroism, ballads of tragic love. Let us hurry forward to the only tale of any real importance.” His smile broadened. “Mine."

"The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our chilhood behind."

"When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind."

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