The air was heavy with the smell of leather and dust, of old parchment and binding glue. It smelled of secrets.
Patrick Rothfuss
There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.
anger life wisdom man men fear wise night moon storm things sea
I 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. You may have heard of me.
women life adventure age people fantasy fear songs night day sleeping gods sanity university speak weep tales written kings paths left moonlight
Books are a poor substitute for female companionship, but they are easier to find.
relationships poor companionship find female books
There were two sets of double doors leading out of the antechamber, one marks STACKS and the other TOMES. Not knowing the difference between the two, I headed to the ones labeled STACKS. That was what I wanted. Stacks of books. Great heaps of books. Shelf after endless shelf of books.
reading knowing difference great books
Books are a poor substitute for female company, but they are easier to find.
funny romance poor company find female books
secrets air smell dust books heavy
I have known her longer, my smile said. True, you have been inside the circle of her arms, tasted her mouth, felt the warmth of her, and that is something I have never had. But there is a part of her that is only for me. You cannot touch it, no matter how hard you might try. And after she has left you I will still be here, making her laugh. My light shining in her. I will still be here long after she has forgotten your name.
friendship
Half of seeming clever is keeping your mouth shut at the right times.
funny humor life wisdom
With his eyes and those hands there won't be a woman safe in all the world when he starts hunting after the ladies.''Courting, dear,' my father corrected gently.'Semantics,' she shrugged.
funny humor romance courtship humour
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.
identity stories sense-of-self storytelling self-image
If you want to write a fantasy story with Norse gods, sentient robots, and telepathic dinosaurs, you can do just that. Want to throw in a vampire and a lesbian unicorn while you're at it? Go ahead. Nothing's off limits. But the endless possibility of the genre is a trap. It's easy to get distracted by the glittering props available to you and forget what you're supposed to be doing: telling a good story. Don't get me wrong, magic is cool. But a nervous mother singing to her child at night while something moves quietly through the dark outside her house? That's a story. Handled properly, it's more dramatic than any apocalypse or goblin army could ever be.
inspirational
That was another lesson I had learned perhaps too well: people meant pain.
inspiration depressing
The best lies about me are the ones told.
lies lying self-deception
Anyone can love a thing. That's as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.
Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred by a gentle breath, it changed like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground, and it felt like three years Waterside in Tarbean, with a hollowness inside you and hands that ached from the bitter cold.
music
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