The Rithmatist (Rithmatist, #1)

by Brandon Sanderson

“School isn’t just about tests. Graduation from Armedius is an important, prestigious achievement. It says that a student knows how to study and follow instructions. I’m not just teaching you math, I’m teaching you life skills. How can I pass someone who never does their work?”

“There are critics of music who can’t play an instrument,” Joel said. “And historians don’t have to be the types who make history. Why must only Rithmatists study Rithmatics?”

“The most dangerous kind of man is not the one who spent his youth shoving others around. That kind of man gets lazy, and is often too content with his life to be truly dangerous. The man who spent his youth being shoved around, however … When that man gets a little power and authority, he often uses it to become a tyrant on par with the worst warlords in history.

“Nalizar can’t be a hero,” Joel said. “He’s a pompous windbag!” “I will agree with the adjective,” Fitch said, “but the noun …

Spaghetti mixed with fried peppers, mushrooms, water chestnuts, and a tangy tomato soy sauce. Italian food was one of his favorites.

“Don’t you know how to use chopsticks?” Joel asked. Melody grimaced. “I’ve never been one for European food. A fork works just fine.”

“But Trent always argued with those who called his work frivolous. Taste is frivolous when eating, he’d say—the body can get the same nutrients from bland food as it can from food that tastes good. Colors for fabric, paintings on walls, beautiful music—none of these things are necessary. However, humans are more than their need to survive.

“Da Vinci was a total hack. Everyone knows that. Completely overrated.”

Let’s be honest, when am I ever going to need to know historical government theories?” “I don’t know,” Fitch said. “Maybe right now.”

A statue of Saint da Vinci drew circles, gears, and Rithmatic triangles before itself on the ground. He had been canonized and adopted into the Monarchical Church, even though—or perhaps because—he had been a rebel Christian.

“Do you know why time is so confusing to some of us, Joel?” Nalizar asked. Joel said nothing. “Because man created it. He sectioned it off. There is nothing inherently important about a second or a minute. They’re fictional divisions, enacted by mankind, fabricated.” He eyed Joel. “Yet in a human’s hands, these things have life. Minutes, seconds, hours. The arbitrary becomes a law. For an outsider, these laws can be unsettling. Confusing. Frightening.”