Really! Between you and Eragon, I seem to spend most of my time among the Varden healing people to silly to realize they need to avoid getting chopped into tiny little pieces

I have to admit, that's a remarkable bruise. You should be proud; it's quite a feat to get injured in the manner you did and in that...particular...place.

I'm afraid I've degenerated into a bibliophile.

Haven't had your fill of interesting events?" "Never. They are the spice of life." She held up her half-finished hat. "How do you like it?" "It's nice. The blue is pretty. But what do the runes say?" "Raxacori-Oh, never mind. It wouldn't mean a thing to you anyway. Safe travels to you and Saphira, Eragon. And remember to watch out for earwigs and wild hamsters. Ferocious things, wild hamsters."

Magic is the art of thinking, not strength or language.

As he was about to leave, she said, "Murtagh." He paused and turned to regard her. She hesitated for a moment, then mustered her courage and said, "Why?" She though he understood her meaning: Why her? Why save her, and now why try to rescue her? She had guessed at the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it. He stared at her for the longest while, and then, in a low, hard voice, he said, "You know why.

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.