Patrick Rothfuss Quotes

“There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“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.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“If I could sum it up in 50 words, I wouldn't have needed to write a whole novel about it.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“I am no poet. I do not love words for the sake of words. I love words for what they can accomplish. Similarly, I am no arithmetician. Numbers that speak only of numbers are of little interest to me.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“Sólo los sacerdotes y los locos no tienen miedo a nada, y yo nunca me he llevado muy bien con Dios”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Metal rusts, music lasts forever.”
― Patrick Rothfuss , The Name of the Wind

“...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.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.

The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music...but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.

Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint.

The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight.

The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things.

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“When you make a mistake with metal, you can melt things down and start afresh. It is irritating, and it costs in time and soot and sweat, but it can be done. There is a comfort in iron, knowing that a fresh start is always possible.

But a city is not a sword. It is a living thing, and living things defy simple fixing. Roots cannot be reforged. They scar, and broken branches must be cut and sealed with tar, and this makes me angry, as it always has, and my anger has no place to go.

It was easier when I was young. I could use my anger like a hammer against the world. I was so sure of myself and my friends and my rightness. I would hammer at the world, and breaking felt like making to me, and I was good at it. And while I was not wrong, neither was I entirely right.

Nothing is simple. I do not work in wood. I am not brave enough for that. There is a comfort in iron, a promise of safety, a second chance if mistakes are made. But a city is more a forest than a sword. No, it needs more tending than that. Perhaps a city is like a garden, then.

So these days, it seems I have become a gardener. I dig foundations in the earth. I sow rows of houses. I plan and plant. I watch the skies for rain and ruin. I cannot help but think that you would be better at this, but circumstance has put both of us in our own odd place. You are forced to be a hammer in the world, and my ungentle hands are learning how to tend a plot of land.

We must do what we can do.

Did you know that there are some seeds that cannot sprout unless they are first burned? A friend once told me that. She was– she was a bookish sort. I think of gardening constantly these days. I wear your gift, and I think of you, and I think it is interesting that there are some living things that need to pass through fire before they flourish.

I ramble. You have the heart of a gardener, and because of this, you think of consequence, and your current path pains you. I am not wise, and I do not give advice, but I have come to know a few things: sometimes breaking is making, even iron can start again, and there are many things that move through fire and find themselves much better for it afterward.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“Es el vicio de mirar atrás. Puedes pasarte la vida mirando hacia atrás, pero no sirve de nada”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“Die großartigste Fähigkeit des menschlichen Geistes ist vielleicht die, mit Schmerzen fertig zu werden. Die klassische Philosophie spricht hier von den vier Pforten des Geistes, die man durchschreiten kann.
Die erste Pforte ist die des Schlafs. Der Schlaf beitet uns Zuflucht vor der Welt und all ihrem Leid. Im Schlaf vergeht die Zeit, und das verschafft uns Abstand zu den Dingen, die uns Schmerz zugefügt haben. Wenn Menschen Verletzungen erleiden, werden sie oft bewusstlos, und jemand, der eine furchtbare Nachricht erhält, fällt vielleicht in Ohnmacht. Der Geist schützt sich also vor dem Schmerz, indem er diese erste Pforte durchschreitet.
Die zweite Pforte ist die des Vergessens. Manche Wunden sind zu tief, um wieder verheilen zu können, oder zumindest zu tief für eine schnelle Heilung. Hinzu kommt, dass manche Erinnerungen ausschließlich schmerzlich sind und sich da nicht heilen lässt. Das Sprichwort "Die Zeit heilt alle Wunden" entspricht nicht der Wahrheit. Die Zeit heilt die meisten Wunden. Die übrigen sind hinter dieser Pforte verborgen.
Die dritte Pforte ist die des Wahnsinns. Manchmal erhält der Geist einen so verheerenden Schlag, dass er sich in den Wahnsinn flüchtet. Das ist nützlicher, als es zunächst scheint. Manchmal besteht die Wirklichkeit nur noch aus Schmerz, und um diesem Schmerz zu entrinnen, muss der Geist die Wirklichkeit hinter sich lassen.
Die vierte und letzte Pforte ist die des Todes. Der letzte Ausweg. Wenn wir erst einmal tot wären, könne uns nichts mehr etwas anhaben - heißt es jedenfalls.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Las palabras no siempre pueden hacer el trabajo para el que las necesitamos. La música existe para cuando nos fallan las palabras”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“My alar is like the ocean in storm. (Devi)”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“If we were living in a better age they'd build a temple around a woman like that.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, Paradise Lost

“The poorer you are, the more your pride is worth.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“Kilvin’s face broke into a great white smile. “Good. I would not have wanted to lose you to the other side of the river. Music is a fine thing, but metal lasts.” He struck the table with two huge fingers to emphasize his point. Then he made a shooing motion with the hand that held his unfinished lamp. “Go. Do not be late for work or I will keep you polishing bottles and grinding ore for another term.” As I left, I thought about what Kilvin had said. It was the first thing he had said to me that I did not agree with wholeheartedly. Metal rusts, I thought, music lasts forever. Time will eventually prove one of us right.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“La experiencia me ha enseñado que la mejor forma de protegerte es hacer creer a tus enemigos que no pueden hacerte daño.”
― Kvothe

“La música suena diferente para el que la interpreta. Es la maldición de los músicos.”
― Kvothe

“Cualquiera puede amar algo por algún motivo. Eso es tan fácil como meterse un penique en el bolsillo. Pero amar algo a pesar de algo es otra cosa. Conocer los defectos y amarlos también. Eso es inusual, puro y perfecto.”
El Temor De Un Hombre Sabio.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“Solange wir Kinder sind, denken wir nur selten an die Zukunft. Diese Unschuld ermöglicht es uns, uns zu vergnügen, wie nur wenige Erwachsene das können. Der Tag, an dem wir beginnen, uns Gedanken über die Zukunft zu machen, ist der Tag, an dem wir unsere Kindheit hinter uns lassen.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“A well-spoken sentence in Aturan is a straight line pointing. A well-spoken sentence in Adem is like a spiderweb, each strand with a meaning of its own, a piece of something greater, more complex.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“Jeder von uns hat zweierlei Geist. Einen wachen Geist und einen schlafenden Geist. Unser wacher Geist ist der, der denkt und spricht. Unser schlafender Geist aber ist viel mächtiger. Er schaut tief in das Herz der Dinge hinein. Das ist der Teil von uns, der träumt. Er erinnert sich an alles. Er verleiht uns die Intuition. Dein wacher Geist versteht das Wesen der Namen nicht. Dein schlafender Geister versteht es durchaus. Er weiß bereits vieles, was dein wacher Geist nicht weiß.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Worte sind die blassen Schatten vergessener Namen. Und wie Namen Macht innewohnt, wohnt auch Worten Macht inne. Mit Worten kann man im Geist der Menschen Feuer entfachen. Mit Worten kann man selbst dem hartherzigsten Menschen Tränen entlocken. Es gibt sieben Worte, die einen Menschen dazu bringen, dich zu lieben. Und es gibt zehn Worte, mit denen man den Willen selbst des stärksten Mannes brechen kann. Aber ein Wort ist weiter nichts als die bildliche Darstellung eines Feuers. Ein Name ist das Feuer selbst.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“My alar is like the ocean in storm.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“Tuan volgen oketh ama ~ Lass dich davon nicht verrückt machen. Wörterlich aber bedeutet es: Steck dir deswegen keinen Löffel ins Auge.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Verstehst du, Frauen sind wie Feuer, wie Flammen. Manche Frauen sind wie Kerzen, hell und freundlich. Andere sind wie einzelne Funken oder wie ein Glühwürmchen, dem man an einem Sommerabend nachjagt. Manche sind wie ein Lagerfeuer - Licht und Wärme für eine Nacht, und es stört sie nicht, wenn man sie am nächsten Tag zurücklässt. Manche Frauen gleichen auch einem Herdfeuer - sie sehen nach nichts aus, brennen aber tagaus tagein. Dianne aber ... Dianne ist wie ein Funkenregen, der sich von einer scharfen Eisenkante ergießt, die Gott an einen Schleifstein hält. Ein faszinierender Anblick. Vielleicht berührt man die Funken sogar eine Sekunde lang. Aber man kann sie nicht festhalten. - Sie wird dir das Herz brechen ...”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Mit Worten über Worte sprechen zu wollen, das ist, als würde man versuchen, mit einem Bleistift eben diesen Bleistift zu zeichnen, und zwar auf dem Bleistift sebst. Unmöglich. Verwirrend. Frustrierend.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Jeder erzählt in seinem eigenen Kopf eine Geschichte über sich. Ununterbrochen. Die ganze Zeit. Und diese Geschichte macht einen zu dem, der man ist. Wir gründen unser ganzes Leben auf diese Geschichte.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Adamın ateş rengindeki saçları hakiki bir kızıldı. Gözleri koyu renkli ve dalgındı. Adam pek çok şeyi bilmekten gelen ve hemen göze çarpmayan bir güvenle hareket ediyordu. Yoltaşı onundu, tıpkı üçüncü sessizliğin de onun olduğu gibi. Bu da münasipti, zira bu sessizlik en büyüğüydü ve diğer ikisini sarıp sarmalıyordu. Güz sonu kadar derin ve genişti. Üzerinden nehirlerin aktığı kocaman bir kaya kadar ağırdı. Ölmeyi bekleyen bir adamın sabırlı, sapı kesilen bir çiçeğinkine benzer sesiydi.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

“Hay pocas cosas más repugnantes que la obediencia ciega.”
― Kvothe