Metal Rusts, Music Lasts Forever.

Close Your Mouth, E'lir Kvothe, Or I Will Feel Obliged To Put Some Vile Tonic In It.

Sleep Marks Passing Time, Giving Us Distance From The Things That Have Hurt Us. When A Person Is Wounded They Will Often Fall Unconscious. Similarly, Someone Who Hears Traumatic News Will Often Swoon Or Faint. This Is The Mind's Way Of Protecting Itself From Pain.

It's Hard To Be Wrongfully Accused, But It's Worse When The People Looking Down On You Are Clods Who Have Never Read A Book Or Traveled More Than Twenty Miles From The Place They Were Born.

Auri Took It, And Peered Inside The Small Leather Sack. “why This Is Lovely, Kvothe. What Lives In The Salt?” Trace Minerals, I Thought. Chromium, Bassal, Malium, Iodine . . . Everything Your Body Needs But Probably Can’t Get From Apples And Bread And Whatever You Manage To Scrounge Up When I Can’t Find You. “the Dreams Of Fish,” I Said. “and Sailor’s Songs.

All Stories Are True.