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

by Patrick Rothfuss

“But Taborlin knew the names of all things, and so all things were his to command. He said to the stone: ‘Break!’ and the stone broke.

The roads were always bad, of course, in the same way that winter was always cold.

IT WAS ONE OF those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world.

In autumn everything is tired and ready to die.’”

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.

“Call a jack a jack. Call a spade a spade. But always call a whore a lady. Their lives are hard enough, and it never hurts to be polite.”

Though I didn’t know it at the time, I was looking for the name of the wind.

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

Being able to think about two disparate things at once, aside from being wonderfully efficient, was roughly akin to being able to sing harmony with yourself.

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.

A poet is a musician who 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.”

Power is okay, and stupidity is usually harmless. Power and stupidity together are dangerous.”

A clever, thoughtless person is one of the most terrifying things there is.

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.

PERHAPS THE GREATEST FACULTY our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain.

Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever.”

“But we are all creatures of habit. It is far too easy to stay in the familiar ruts we dig for ourselves.

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.”

Fear tends to come from ignorance. Once I knew what the problem was, it was just a problem, nothing to fear.

generosity deserves generosity in return.

The Tahl have a saying about children of our age. The boy grows upward, but the girl grows up.

Of course. Trapis never saw the clothes, only the child inside them.

And that is how Kvothe spent his last night before he came to the University, with his cloak as both his blanket and his bed. As he lay down, behind him was a circle of fire, and before him lay shadow like a mantle, gathered. His eyes were open, that much is certain, but who among us can say they know what he was seeing? Look behind him instead, to the circle of light that the fire has made, and leave Kvothe to himself for now. Everyone deserves a moment or two alone when they desire it. And if by chance there were tears, let us forgive him. He was just a child, after all, and had yet to learn what sorrow really was.

there was an old stone bridge. I don’t doubt that you know the type. It was one of those ancient, mammoth pieces of architecture scattered throughout the world, so old and solidly built that they have become part of the landscape, not a soul wondering who built them, or why.

“Admit me for more than two jots and I will not be able to attend. Admit me for less and I will be here every day, while every night I will do what it takes to stay alive while I study here. I will sleep in alleys and stables, wash dishes for kitchen scraps, beg pennies to buy pens. I will do whatever it takes.” I said the last words fiercely, almost snarling them. “But admit me free, and give me three talents so I can live and buy what I need to learn properly, and I will be a student the likes of which you have never seen before.”

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

Anyone who thinks boys are innocent and sweet has never been a boy himself, or has forgotten it. And anyone who thinks men aren’t hurtful and cruel at times must not leave his house often.

the simplest reason is the least satisfying one, I suppose. The truth is this: I wasn’t living in a story.”

That’s why stories appeal to us. They give us the clarity and simplicity our real lives lack.”

“There are two sure ways to lose a friend, one is to borrow, the other to lend.”

Excellence is excellence’s only companion.

He shrugged. “You see, a laurel needs rain to grow. I can’t do much about that. But I can keep that rain off a few musician’s heads, can’t I?” A sly smile wound its way onto his face. “So God will tend the laurels and keep them wet. And I will tend the players and keep them dry. And wiser minds than mine will decide when to bring the two together.”

“Can you even pretend to be that thick? If a girl as fair as that looked at me with one eye the way she looked at you with two . . .

‘One wife, you’re happy, two and you’re tired—” I nodded. “—three and they’ll hate each other—” “—four and they’ll hate you,”

Music is a fine thing, but metal lasts.”

Metal rusts, I thought, music lasts forever.

So I made my good-byes and watched her enter the side door of the Oaken Oar. I took a deep breath and could hardly keep from laughing or dancing about. I was so full of her, the smell of the wind through her hair, the sound of her voice, the way the moonlight cast shadows across her face. 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.

“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. “But Dianne . . . Dianne is like a waterfall of spark pouring off a sharp iron edge that God is holding to the grindstone. You can’t help but look, can’t help but want it. You might even put your hand to it for a second. But you can’t hold it. She’ll break your heart. . . .”

“Are you hurt?” “Absolutely,” I said. “Especially in my everywhere.”

“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.”

Owls are wise. They are careful and patient. Wisdom precludes boldness.” She sipped from her cup, holding the handle daintily between her thumb and forefinger. “That is why owls make poor heroes.”

“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.”