“If you are eager to find the reason I became the Kvothe they tell stories about, you could look there, I suppose."Chronicler's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean, exactly?"Kvothe paused for a long moment, looking down at his hands. "Do you know how many times I've been beaten over the course of my life?"Chronicler shook his head.Looking up, Kvothe grinned and tossed his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "Neither do I. You'd think that sort of thing would stick in a person's mind. You'd think I would remember how many bones I've had broken. You'd think I'd remember the stitches and bandages." He shook his head. "I don't. I remember that young boy sobbing in the dark. Clear as a bell after all these years."Chronicler frowned. "You said yourself that there was nothing you could have done.""I could have," Kvothe said seriously, "and I didn't. I made my choice and I regret it to this day. Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever.”

“Think of all the stories you've heard, Bast. You have a young boy, the hero. His parents are killed he sets out for vengeance. What next?"Bast hesitated, his expression puzzled. Chronicler answered the question instead. "He finds help. A clever talking squirrel. An old drunken swordsman. A mad hermit in the woods. That sort of thing."Kvothe nodded. "Exactly! He finds the mad hermit in the woods, proves himself worthy, and learns the names of all things, just like Taborlin the Great. Then with these powerful magics at his beck and call, what does he do?"Chronicler shrugged. "He finds the villains and kills them." "Of course," Kvothe said grandly. "Clean, quick, and easy as lying. We know how it ends practically before it starts. That's why stories appeal to us. They give us the clarity and simplicity our real lives lack.”

“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.”

“Sam said, "How do any of us know that anything is real?""We don't," Dodge said."Everything I know is a memory," Sam continued. "Every person I ever met, everything I have ever done. It could all be false. Implanted."It was a staggering thought. What if nothing that had gone before had ever really happened? Was the person he remembered as his mother even real? Had Fargas existed only in his mind?"I think you'd know," Vienna said. "I don't know why, but somehow, I think you'd know.”

“I love you,' he said. His voice shook with effort. 'I love you so much, it's like my whole life was just leading up to the moment I met you. And then as soon as I did, I lived in fear, every day, that you would be taken from me.' He looked down. 'I just never thought you'd be the one to do it.”

“Nothing he said could change what I think of you. I've had my mind made up about you for a long time... and it's all good.”