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I Thought Of All The Others Who Had Tried To Tie Her To The Ground And Failed. So I Resisted Showing Her The Songs And Poems I Had Written, Knowing That Too Much Truth Can Ruin A Thing. And If That Meant She Wasn't Entirely Mine, What Of It? I Would Be The One She Could Always Return To Without Fear Of Recrimination Or Question. So I Did Not Try To Win Her And Contented Myself With Playing A Beautiful Game. But There Was Always A Part Of Me That Hoped For More, And So There Was A Part Of Me That Was Always A Fool.

Coming To Grips With Being A Bit Of A Celebrity. That's Not Anything I Ever Expected To Have To Deal With In My Life.

Chronicler Picked Up His Pen, But Before He Could Dip It, Kvothe Held Up A Hand. "let Me Say One Thing Before I Start. I've Told Stories In The Past, Painted Pictures With Words, Told Hard Lies And Harder Truths. Once, I Sang Colors To A Blind Man. Seven Hours I Played, But At The End He Said He Saw Them, Green And Red And Gold. That, I Think, Was Easier Than This. Trying To Make You Understand Her With Nothing More Than Words. You Have Never Seen Her, Never Heard Her Voice. You Cannot Know.

Remember This Son, If You Forget Everything Else. A Poet Is A Musician Who Can't Sing. Words Have To Find A Man's Mind Before They Can Touch His Heart. And, Some Men's Minds Are Woeful Small Targets. Music Touches Their Hearts Directly, No Matter How Small Or Stubborn The Mind Of The Man Who Listens.

The Chancellor Looked Down At The Empty Table For A Minute. Then He Shrugged, Looked Up, And Gave A Surprisingly Jaunty Smile. "all In Favor Of Admitting First-term Kvothe's Reckless Use Of Sympathy As Proof Of Mastery Of Basic Principles Of Sympathy Vote By Show Of Hands.