“Half of seeming clever is keeping your mouth shut at the right times.”

“Teccam explains there are two types of secrets. There are secrets of the mouth and secrets of the heart.Most secrets are secrets of the mouth. Gossip shared and small scandals whispered. There secrets long to be let loose upon the world. A secret of the mouth is like a stone in your boot. At first you’re barely aware of it. Then it grows irritating, then intolerable. Secrets of the mouth grow larger the longer you keep them, swelling until they press against your lips. They fight to be let free.Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become.Teccam claims it is better to have a mouthful of poison than a secret of the heart. Any fool will spit out poison, he says, but we hoard these painful treasures. We swallow hard against them every day, forcing them deep inside us. They they sit, growing heavier, festering. Given enough time, they cannot help but crush the heart that holds them.”

“Good lord woman. If i had tits like yours I'd own half the world by now.”

“Close your mouth, E'lir Kvothe, or I will feel obliged to put some vile tonic in it.”

“Now let me say this: when you're traveling a good cloak is worth more than all of your other possessions put together. If you've nowhere to sleep, it can be your bed and blanket. It will keep the rain off your back and the sun from your eyes. You can conceal all manner of interesting weaponry beneath it if you are clever, and a smaller assortment if you are not.But beyond all that, two facts remain to recommend a cloak. First, very little is as striking as well-worn cloak, billowing lightly about you in the breeze. And second, the best cloaks have innumerable little pockets that I have an irrational and overpowering attraction toward.”

“I have an apple that thinks its a pear. And a bun that thinks it’s a cat. And a lettuce that thinks its a lettuce.""It’s a clever lettuce, then.""Hardly," she said with a delicate snort. "Why would anything clever think it’s a lettuce?""Even if it is a lettuce?" I asked."Especially then," she said. "Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too.”

“...it is better to have a mouthful of poison than a secret of the heart.”