Better To Die Than To Live In

Eragon Cried Out, And In His Desperation He Reached For Saphira And The Eldunarí... And Without Meaning To, He Drew From Their Stories Of Energy. And With That Energy He Cast A Spell. It Was A Spell Without Words... His Was A Spell Of Instinct And Emotion; Language Could Not Contain It.

There Are Decades In The Making Of The One Man Of Renown; Multitudes That Go Unnoticed Who Must Wreathe For Him A Crown.

Not Anymore. I'm Afraid I've Degenerated Into A Bibliophile." "a What?" Asked Eragon. "one Who Loves Books," Explained Jeod.

You Named Your Sword Fire? Fire? What Kind Of A Boring Name Is That? You Might As Well Name Your Sword 'blazing Blade' And Be Done With It. Fire Indeed. Humph. Wouldn't You Rather Have A Sword Called Sheepbiter Or Chrysanthemum Cleaver Or Something Else With Imagination?

You Shouldn't Let Him Hit You So Much" Observed Saphira "yes I Realize That'" He Growled. "do You Want Me To Knock Him Over For You?" "no...not Today.