In El-harím, there lived a man, a man with yellow eyes. To me, he said, "Beware the whispers, for they whisper lies. Do not wrestle with the demons of the dark, Else upon your mind they'll place a mark; Do not listen to the shadows of the deep, Else they haunt you even when you sleep.

Fame or infamy, either one is preferable to being forgotten when you have passed from this realm.

Not anymore. I'm afraid I've degenerated into a bibliophile." "A what?" asked Eragon. "One who loves books," explained Jeod.

Arya.' He looked down the silvery river and then back at Arya, and he gripped the hilt of Brisingr. He was so full of emotion, he trembled. He did not want to leave, but he knew he must. 'Stay with me-' Her gaze darted up. 'I cannot.' '...stay with me until the first curve in the river.' She hesitated, then nodded.

You cannot miss what you have never had.

The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can't.

He tapped one of the ivory spikes between his legs and said, 'There be as good a way to lose your manhood as ever I've seen'.