Frasi di Patrick Rothfuss

pagina 7

“Amiamo quello che amiamo. In questo non conta la ragione. Per molti versi, l'amore insensato è quello più vero. Chiunque può amare qualcosa perché. È facile come mettersi in tasca un penny. Ma amare qualcosa malgrado. Conoscerne i difetti e amare anche quelli. Questo è raro e puro e perfetto.”

“Era di nuovo notte. La locanda della Pietra Miliare era in silenzio, e si trattava di un silenzio in tre parti.
La parte più ovvia era una quiete vuota, riecheggiante, formata da cose che mancavano. Se ci fosse stato del vento, avrebbe spirato attraverso gli alberi, fatto scricchiolare l’insegna della locanda sui suoi cardini e spazzato via il silenzio lungo la strada come vorticanti foglie autunnali.
Se ci fosse stata una folla o anche solo un gruppetto di avventori, questi l’avrebbero riempito con conversazioni e risa, il fracasso e gli schiamazzi che ci si aspetta da una taverna nelle buie ore notturne. Se ci fosse stata musica… ma no, ovviamente non c’era alcuna musica. In realtà non c’era nulla di tutto ciò, perciò rimaneva il silenzio.
All’interno della Pietra Miliare alcuni uomini erano radunati a un angolo del bancone. Bevevano con calma determinazione, evitando serie discussioni di notizie preoccupanti. Nel fare ciò essi aggiungevano un piccolo, cupo silenzio a quello, vuoto, più grande. Formava una sorta di lega, un contrappunto.
Il terzo silenzio non era facile da notare. Se foste rimasti in ascolto per un’ora, avreste potuto cominciare a sentirlo nel pavimento di legno sotto i piedi e nei ruvidi barili scheggiati dietro il bancone.
Era nel peso del focolare di pietra nera che tratteneva il calore di un fuoco spento da molto. Era nel lento andirivieni di un bianco panno di lino che sfregava le venature del bancone. Ed era nelle mani dell’uomo che se ne stava lì in piedi a pulire un tratto di mogano che già risplendeva alla luce delle lampade. L’uomo aveva capelli di color rosso vivo, come fiamma. I suoi occhi erano scuri e distanti, e lui si muoveva con la sottile certezza che proviene dal conoscere molte cose.
La Pietra miliare era sua, proprio come il terzo silenzio.
Era appropriato, dato che dei tre era il silenzio più grande, che avvolgeva gli altri.
Era profondo e vasto come la fine dell’autunno. Era pesante come una grossa pietra levigata dal fiume. Era il paziente suono di fiori recisi, di un uomo che sta aspettando di morire.”

“Love is blind, and a deaf-mute too.”

“We are the Edema Ruh, and the thing we value most every man possesses. You can tell us your story.”

“A tree doesn't make a thunderstorm, but any fool knows where lightning's going to strike.”

“I don't speak fluent bumpkin…”

“… hear rumors and go digging for the painful truth beneath the lovely lies. You believe you have a right to these things, but you don't. When someone tells you a piece of their life, they're giving you a gift, not granting you your due.”

“I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.”

“I do this so you cannot help but hear. A wise man views a moonless night with fear.”

“But no. It didn't suit him. She should have known. He was not a one for fastening. For holding closed. Neither was he dark. Oh no. He was emberant. Incarnadine. He was bright with better bright beneath, like copper-gilded gold.”

“Absence feeds affection.”

“When left to its own devices it tends to make me look as if I’ve been set afire.”

“Why? Because pride is a strange thing, and because generosity deserves generosity in return. But mostly because it felt like the right thing to do, and that is reason enough.”

“Just because I tread heavily on propriety's toes doesn't mean I can't play the game when it's of use to me.”

“Pride is always a better lever against the nobility than reason.”

“We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it.”

“But it isn’t a rough draft either. The one I turned in several months ago was rough. There were some bad plot holes, some logical inconsistencies, pacing problems, and not nearly enough lesbian unicorns.”

“Maple. Maypole
Catch and carry.
Ash and Ember.
Elderberry.
Woolen. Woman.
Moon at night.
Willow. Window.
Candlelight.
Fallow farrow.
Ash and oak.
Bide and borrow.
Chimney smoke.
Barrel. Barley.
Stone and stave.
Wind and water.
Misbehave.”

“You can´t prove nonexistence".”

““You don’t seem the superstitious type.”
“I’m not,” Ben said. “I’m careful. There’s a difference.””

“My father had a dark glimmer in his eye as he moved behind her. “Old?” He spoke in a low voice as he began to rub her shoulders again. “Woman, I have a mind to prove you wrong.”
She smiled a wry smile. “Sir, I have a mind to let you.””

““Why do we stop for the greystones?”
“Tradition, my boy,” he said grandly, throwing his arms wide. “And superstition. They are one and the same, anyway.””

“I mean seriously. If the book had a solid pub date, don't you think I'd mention it? Do you think I'd sit here at home, rubbing my hands together and chortling: "Yes! If I withhold this information another week, I'm sure to get another 100 e-mails asking me about the book!"
Yup. That's exactly what I'd do. Because obviously I am some sort of alien life form that lives on snarky fanmail and bitchy blog comments. Since I became stranded on your strange world years ago, they have been my only means of sustenance.”

““I’ll admit, I was disappointed to learn that dragons didn’t exist. That’s a hard lesson for a boy to learn.”
Chronicler smiled. “Honestly, I was a little disappointed myself. I went looking for a legend and found a lizard. A fascinating lizard, but a lizard just the same.””

“Trouble,” he chuckled. “What does a boy like you know about trouble? I was in trouble afore you were born. I been in trouble you don’t even got words for.”

“So you went looking for a myth and found a man.”

“I was heavily influenced by my first attempt at a novel. I started a fantasy novel back in high school, and…. well… it really sucked. It was a plotless, clichéd mess. When I sat down to write this book, I wanted to make something much, much better. I wanted to write something that was pretty much the opposite of that first novel.
Also, I read Cyrano De Bergerac, right before I started writing the book. Cyrano's character reminded me of some important things, namely, what it really means to be a tragic hero. You don't need a lot of the cliché fantasy trappings to have that cool character.
I also read Giacomo Casanova's memoirs soon after starting this project. That opened my eyes to how interesting an autobiography could be, provided the person telling it has a way with words and has lived a sufficiently adventurous life….”

“Nothing makes a man feel older than a young woman.”

“It was one of those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world.”

““Music is a fine thing, but metal lasts.” He struck the table with two huge fingers to emphasize his point….
As I left, I thought about what Kilvin had said. It was the first thing he had said to me that I did not agree with wholeheartedly. Metal rusts, I thought, music lasts forever.
Time will eventually prove one of us right.”

“He picked the rock back up. “Do you believe that it floated?”
“No!” I sulked, rubbing my temples.
“Good. It didn’t. Never fool yourself into perceiving things that don’t exist.””