The Name of the Wind (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #1)

by Patrick Rothfuss

The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind. It was evening, and the troupe

faint, almost drowned by the other noise, but I heard it the same way a mother can mark her child crying from a dozen rooms away. The

music was like a memory of family, of friendship and warm belonging.

Besides, anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to wondrous things.

It had the look of an ambitious architectural breed of lichen that was trying to cover as many acres as it could.

The door sat still as a mountain, quiet and indifferent as the sea on a windless day.

Then there was a murmur of sobs released and sobs escaping. A sigh of tears. A whisper of bodies slowly becoming no longer still. Then the applause. A roar like leaping flame, like thunder after lightning.

forced my best smile onto my face and reached to take his hand. I was my father’s son and a trouper. I would take my refusal with the high dignity of the Edema Ruh. The earth would crack and swallow this glittering, self-important place before I would show a trace of despair.

Then I heard a voice, a voice like burning silver, like a kiss against my ears. Looking up, my heart lifted and I knew it was my Aloine. Looking up, I saw her and all I could think was, beautiful. Beautiful.

Don’t think I am unaware, some startled deer to stand transfixed by hunter’s horns. It’s she who should take care, for when she strikes, my heart will make a sound so beautiful and bright that it can’t help but bring her back to me in winged flight.”

They’re the greenest thing I’ve seen today. Like a piece of spring.”

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

“Don’t try to tease me into some sort of sudden burst of understanding like you’re my schoolmaster.”

Elodin closed his eyes briefly, peacefully. As if he were trying to catch a faint strain of music wafting gently on a breeze.