The Wise Man's Fear (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #2)

by Patrick Rothfuss

Kvothe’s bright eyes flickered around the room, taking everything in. He drew a deep breath, and flashed a sudden smile, and for a brief moment looked nothing like an innkeeper at all. His eyes were sharp and bright, green as a blade of grass. “Ready?”

THIS GAVE ME GOOSEBUMPS

“Merciful Tehlu,” he said breathlessly. “They have music like this every night?” I smiled at him. “It’s still early,” I said. “You haven’t heard me play.”

Kvothe's so proud lol

My lute. My tangible soul.

It had been treated unkindly in the past, but that didn’t make it less lovely underneath. So yes. It had flaws, but what does that matter when it comes to matters of the heart? We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.

As with many things, hesitation is better than hurry.

Clothes do not make the man, but you need the proper costume if you want to play the part.

Let me say this. It was worth the whole awful, irritating time spent searching the Archives just to watch that moment happen. It was worth blood and the fear of death to see her fall in love with him. Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love, so light she probably didn’t notice it herself. It wasn’t dramatic, like some bolt of lightning with a crack of thunder following. It was more like when flint strikes steel and the spark fades almost too fast for you to see.

Denna grinned excitedly. “Let’s see how your lute fits!” She gestured, and the man behind the counter brought out my lute and set it in the case. It fit snugly as a glove. I began to cry.

I'M going to cry. this moment is literally everything to me. thank u rothfuss for giving kvothe this happy moment just...thank u.

“You are my bright penny by the roadside. You are worth more than salt or the moon on a long night of walking. You are sweet wine in my mouth, a song in my throat, and laughter in my heart.”

<3

Chronicler was taken aback. “You’ve already spoken to a historian about this?” Kvothe chuckled deep in his throat. “You sound like a jilted lover.”

Idk why but i actually laughed out loud at this.

Familiar insults, soft and harmless as butter,

I love this analogy omg.

in my opinion if you have a secret compartment in your lute case and don’t use it to hide things, there is something terribly, terribly wrong with you.

Again idk why but actually laughed out loud at this.

“Remember: there are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”

Alveron turned out to be right about the curious nature of his attendant court. After he called me to his study that evening, rumor exploded like a brushfire around me. I could understand why the Maer enjoyed this sort of thing. It was like watching stories being born.

“The point,” Bredon said grandly, “is to play a beautiful game.”

So, whilst at work at B&N I saw they sold this game Tak. I wanted to buy it but hadn't read the book. The slogan was that it was a beautiful game and I laughed cause I thought maybe it was a joke but now I get it and that subtle reference to the novel was FANTASTIC. UPDATE: this is me coming from the future to comment on this past highlight and this becomes such a fantastic motif in the novel and I love it.

I decided to dub the room with the good chairs my lutery. Or perhaps my performatory. I would need a while to come up with something suitably pretentious.

A cat does not think of stretching, it stretches. But a tree does not even do this. A tree simply sways without the effort of moving itself. That is how she moved.

She’s got a streak of romance in her. She wants to be swept from her feet, though she’d probably deny it.”

Me....so me.

IN THE THEOPHANY, TECCAM writes of secrets, calling them painful treasures of the mind. He explains that what most people think of as secrets are really nothing of the sort. Mysteries, for example, are not secrets. Neither are little-known facts or forgotten truths. A secret, Teccam explains, is true knowledge actively concealed.

Teccam explains that there are two types of secrets. There are secrets of the mouth and secrets of the heart.

A secret of the mouth is like a stone in your boot. At first you’re barely aware of it. Then it grows irritating, then intolerable. Secrets of the mouth grow larger the longer you keep them, swelling until they press against your lips. They fight to be let free.

Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become.

nothing in the world is harder than convincing someone of an unfamiliar truth.

“It’s the questions we can’t answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he’ll look for his own answers.”

Stories don’t need to be new to bring you joy. Some stories are like familiar friends. Some are dependable as bread.

Nothing truer has ever been said.

Looters become looted, while time and tide make us mercenaries all.

I was Kvothe the trouper, Edema Ruh born. I was Kvothe the student, Re’lar under Elodin. I was Kvothe the musician. I was Kvothe.

Only a fool worries over what he can’t control.

I needed this. I didn't know I needed this. But I needed this.

Half of seeming clever is keeping your mouth shut at the right times.

a wise man views a moonless night with fear.”

She walked with the most subtle, solid confidence I have ever seen, as if she knew she ought to swagger, but couldn’t quite be bothered.

That is how i want to walk.

Cyphus bears the blue flame. Stercus is in thrall of iron. Ferule chill and dark of eye. Usnea lives in nothing but decay. Grey Dalcenti never speaks. Pale Alenta brings the blight. Last there is the lord of seven: Hated. Hopeless. Sleepless. Sane. Alaxel bears the shadow’s hame.”

Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror-glass. A long stretch of road will teach you more about yourself than a hundred years of quiet introspection.”

“Wrong things never lead to success,”