Patrick Rothfuss is an American fantasy author famous for his Kingkiller Chronicle series. His richly detailed storytelling combines a love of music and myth to craft captivating worlds. Rothfuss's commitment to his craft inspires artists and dreamers to pursue mastery with patience and passion. His journey encourages valuing artistry over fame and embracing the lifelong endeavor of creating beauty through story.
"After an awkward pause, Bast extended his hand. Chronicler hesitated for a bare moment before reaching out quickly, as if he were sticking his hand into a fire. Nothing happened, both of them seemed moderately surprised."Amazing, isn't it?" Kvothe addressed them bitingly. "Five fingers and flesh with blood beneath. One could almost believe that on the other end of that hand lay a person of some sort."
"Oh yes. It was well worth it, doing things the proper way."
"Bast looked at him incredulously."The whole world is burning down,"he said."Open your eyes."
"I smiled,"Deoch, my heart is made of stronger stuff than glass. When she strikes she'll find it strong as iron-bound brass, or gold and adamant together mixed. 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 light."
"Anything you say at this point cannot be trusted. You know I am well and truly angry, so you are in the grip of fear. This means I cannot trust any word you say, as it comes from fear. You are clever, and charming, and a liar. I know you can bend the world with your words. So I will not listen."
"Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer. So I began sleeping less to give her the time she needed."
"Yesterday he had limped, but today there was no part of his feet that didn't hurt, so limping did no good."
"Hespe's mouth went firm. She didn't scowl exactly, but it looked like she was getting all the pieces of a scowl together in one place, just in case she needed them in a hurry."
"If I could sum it up in 50 words, I wouldn't have needed to write a whole novel about it."
"Over his own dark Cealdish beard. "Nothing like your marvelous facebear"."
"I never set out to become 'famous.' I mean, when you're 14 you think 'I'm gonna become a writer and people will want my autograph and that'll be cool,' but you grow up and you learn that's just not how the world works. I resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never be published and if I did it probably wouldn't be a big deal."
"They were the best sort of friends. The sort everyone hopes for but no one deserves, least of all me."
"Sharing silence between us. Sometimes is all you can share."
"Why would I want to win anything other than a beautiful game?"
"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."
"I want to hear you wound my lovely language with your rough barbarian tongue."
"But it isn't a rough draft either. The one I turned in several months ago was rough. There were some bad plot holes, some logical inconsistencies, pacing problems, and not nearly enough lesbian unicorns."
"I've always liked the moonless night best. It's easier to say things in the dark. It's easier to be yourself."
"If you fall, you fall," Elodin shrugged. "Sometimes falling teaches us things too." In dreams you often fall before you wake."