The Slow Regard of Silent Things (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #2.5)

by Patrick Rothfuss

If you love words and mysteries and secrets. If you’re curious about the Underthing and alchemy. If you want to know more about the hidden turnings of my world. . . . Well, then this book might be for you.

The Twelve was one of the rare changing places of the Underthing. It was wise enough to know itself, and brave enough to be itself, and wild enough to change itself while somehow staying altogether true.

There is a difference between the truth and what we wish were true.

Answers were always important, but they were seldom easy. She would simply have to take her time and do things in the proper way.

Some days simply lay on you like stones. Some were fickle as cats, sliding away when you needed comfort, then coming back later when you didn’t want them, jostling at you, stealing your breath.

She knew better. Cruelty never helped the turning of the world.

That was the only way. You did not want things for yourself. That made you small.

You mended what was cracked. You tended to the things you found askew. And you trusted that the world in turn would brush you up against the chance to eat. It was the only graceful way to move. All else was vanity and pride.

She knew the true shape of the world. All else was shadow and the sound of distant drums.

I cannot help but wonder how many of us walk through our lives, day after day, feeling slightly broken and alone, surrounded all the time by others who feel exactly the same way.