A bunch from
The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss:
In autumn everything is tired and ready to die.
That might just be the seasonal depression talking though[...] But you of all people should realize how thin the line is between the truth and a compelling lie. Between history and an entertaining story. [...] You know which will win, given time.
Nothing but the truth could break me. What is harder than the truth?
I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day.
Never fool yourself into perceiving things that don't exist.
If you are going to impose your will on the world, you must have control over what you believe.
Power is okay, and stupidity is usually harmless. Power and stupidity together are dangerous.
[...] the elaborate snarled rankings of peerage [...]
Say this out loud - really nice sounds and cadence.
It is the hinge upon which the story pivots like an opening door.
The one called Cinder sheathed his sword with the sound of a tree cracking under the weight of winter ice.
Who knows the inner turnings of your name [...]?
"All stories are true," Skarpi said. "But this one really happened, if that's what you mean." He took another slow drink, then smiled again, his bright eyes dancing. "More or less. You have to be a bit of a liar to tell a story the right way. Too much truth confuses the facts. Too much honesty makes you sound insincere."
There were other locked doors in the University, places where dangerous things were kept, where old and forgotten secrets slept: silent and hidden. Doors whose opening was forbidden. Doors whose thresholds no one crossed, whose keys had been destroyed or lost, or locked away themselves for safety's sake.
The rhyme...