Hoid Quotes

Why hasn't anyone killed him yet?” “Dumb luck,” Wit said. “In that I’m lucky you’re all so dumb.

What did you put in the fire?" Kaladin said. "To make that special smoke?" "Nothing. It was just and ordinary fire." "But, I saw-" "What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind." "What does the story mean, then?" "It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

All stories told have been told before. We tell them to ourselves, as did all men who ever were. And all men who ever will be. The only things new are the names.

Two blind men waited at the end of an era, contemplating beauty.

I like visiting people in prison. I can say whatever I want to them, and they can’t do anything about it.

Can you feel it? Something just changed. I believe that’s the sound the world makes when it pisses itself.

What do you know?” “Almost everything. That almost part can be a real kick in the teeth sometimes.” “What do you want, then?” “What I can’t have.” Wit turned to him, eyes solemn. “Same as everyone else, Kaladin Stormblessed.

For glory lit, and life alive, for goals unreached and aims to strive. All men must try, the wind did see. It is the test, it is the dream.

Expectation. That is the true soul of art. If you can give a man more than he expects, then he will laud you his entire life. If you can create an air of anticipation and feed it properly, you will succeed.

What you did tonight was clever,” Wit said. “You turned an attack into a promise. The wisest of men know that to render an insult powerless, you often need only to embrace it.

What is it we value? Innovation. Originality. Novelty. But most importantly...timeliness. I fear you may be too late, my confused, unfortunate, friend.

Yes, yes. Aim for the sun. That way if you miss, at least your arrow will fall far away, and the person it kills will likely be someone you don't know.

I like to live every day like it's my last." Shallan nodded. "And by that I mean lying in a puddle of my own urine, calling for the nurse to bring me more pudding.

Some men, as they age, grow kinder. I am not one of those, for I have seen how the cosmere can mistreat the innocent - and that leaves me disinclined toward kindness. Some men, as they age, grow wiser. I am not one of those, for wisdom and I have always been at cross-purposes, and I have yet to learn the tongue in which she speaks. Some men, as they age, grow more cynical. I, fortunately, am not one of those. If I were, the very air would warp around me, sucking in all emotion, leaving only scorn. Other men...other men, as they age, merely grow stranger. I fear that I am one of those. I am the bones of a foreign species left drying on the plain that was once, long ago, a sea. A curiosity, perhaps a reminder, that all has not always been as it is now.

I’ll admit, Jasnah, that I empathize with your skepticism, but I don’t agree with it. I just think you've been looking for God in the wrong places.” “I suppose that you’re going to tell me where you think I should look.” “You’ll find God in the same place you’re going to find salvation from this mess,” Wit said. “Inside the hearts of men.” “Curiously,” Jasnah said, “I believe I can actually agree with that, though I suspect for different reasons than you imply.

What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn’t live until it is imagined in someone’s mind.” “What does the story mean, then?” “It means what you want it to mean,” Hoid said. “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

El propósito del cuentacuentos no es decirte cómo pensar, sino plantearte dudas que te hagan reflexionar. Demasiado a menudo, lo olvidamos. -Hoid-

Oh, my lord, I know it, I do.” The beggar laughed. “I own the place, technically. Now, regarding those coins for old Hoid, my good lord…

Well, this isn't the part of the story where you ask questions. So kindly keep them to yourself.

(And no, for those searching, Hoid does not make an appearance. Unfortunately, he needed to be somewhere else in the timeline at this point.)

No, my friend,” Wit said, standing up. “I’ve abandoned my real name. But when next we meet, I’ll think of a clever one for you to call me. Until then, Wit will suffice—or if you must, you may call me Hoid. Watch yourself; Sadeas is planning a revelation at the feast tonight, though I know not what it is. Farewell. I’m sorry I didn’t insult you more.

...Kaladin glanced over the pages. They had odd symbols on them, which made Kaladin nervous, but Wit insisted it wasn't actual writing. Merely marks on a paper representing sounds. It took Kaladin a few minutes to realize the joke.

Hoid looked up, smiling. “I learned it many, many years ago from a man who didn’t know who he was, Your Majesty. It was a distant place where two lands meet and gods have died. But that is unimportant.

Kaldıramayacağı bir silahı olan çocuktan korkmadığım gibi, düşünmeyen bir adamın aklından da asla korkmayacağım.

My true advantage has never been my uncommon intellect. It’s been my ability to find the right people and stick close to them.

Hey, Hoid. Can I catch a ride up there with you?” The new coachman shrugged, making room for Wayne on top of the carriage.

Now, you might say to me, “Hoid, this entire story has shown me the opposite. Lem’s family is always scrimping to survive.” And I would reply, “Please stop interrupting.

What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind." "What does the story mean, then?" "It means what you want it to mean. The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

Try not to flirt with the girl," Wit whispered. "Young Adolin seems to be growing possessive. Or... what am I saying? Flirt with the girl, Kaladin. It might make the prince's eyes bulge.

You ever feel,” Wayne said, “like you wish life was like the stories?” “What do you mean?” Hoid asked. “There’s always a good ending in those stories. The ones my ma used to tell … they meant something. People, they were worth something.” “I think we live stories every day,” Hoid replied. “Ones that we will remember, and tell, and shape like clay to be what we need them to be.

Derethil and his men set sail, and though the winds were still, they rode the Wandersail around the whirlpool, using the momentum to spin them out and away from the islands. Long after they left, they could see the smoke rising from the ostensibly peaceful lands. They gathered on the deck, watching, and Derethil asked Nafti the reason for the terrible riots.” Hoid fell silent, letting his words rise with the strange smoke, lost to the night. “Well?” Kaladin demanded. “What was her response?” “Holding a blanket around herself, staring with haunted eyes at her lands, she replied, 'Do you not see, Traveling One? If the emperor is dead, and has been all these years, then the murders we committed are not his responsibility. They are our own.

Derethil and his men set sail, and though the winds were still, they rode the Wandersail around the whirlpool, using the momentum to spin them out and away from the islands. Long after they left, they could see the smoke rising from the ostensibly peaceful lands. They gathered on the deck, watching, and Derethil asked Nafti the reason for the terrible riots.” Hoid fell silent, letting his words rise with the strange smoke, lost to the night. “Well?” Kaladin demanded. “What was her response?” “Holding a blanket around herself, staring with haunted eyes at her lands, she replied, ‘Do you not see, Traveling One? If the emperor is dead, and has been all these years, then the murders we committed are not his responsibility. They are our own.

A story doesn’t live until it is imagined in someone’s mind.” “What does the story mean, then?” “It means what you want it to mean,” Hoid said. “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

What does the story mean, then?” “It means what you want it to mean,” Hoid said. “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.” Kaladin

Kelsier dropped a coin and launched himself into the air. As he landed on a rooftop, he caught a glimpse of Hoid scuttling over to pluck the coin off the ground. Hoid didn’t have any trouble locating it, despite his “weak eyesight.” Kelsier smiled, then kept moving. Hoid hadn’t mentioned Kelsier’s tardiness, but Kelsier’s next appointment would not be so forgiving.

What did you put in the fire?” Kaladin said. “To make that special smoke?” “Nothing. It was just an ordinary fire.” “But, I saw—” “What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn’t live until it is imagined in someone’s mind.” “What does the story mean, then?” “It means what you want it to mean,” Hoid said. “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

It means what you want it to mean,” Hoid said. “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind... the purpose of the storyteller is not to tell you how to think but to give you questions to think upon." -Hoid

It was delivered by Hoid the cabin boy. (Yes, that’s me. What tipped you off? Was it perhaps the name?)

A mí me encantaba, dijo Aux. Antes de… Nómada exhaló con fuerza y apretó los párpados. No fue culpa tuya. —Le dije que sí a Hoid. Y te vinculé a ti. No sabías qué consecuencias tendría ninguna de las dos cosas. —Permití que la Esquirla del Amanecer nos consumiera, Auxiliar. Le permití alimentarse de ti. Rescaté un poco. Esta parte de mi mente. El último fragmento de mi alma.

Hoid,

Until then, Wit will suffice—or if you must, you may call me Hoid.

—¿Nos ayudas, Diseño? —estaba preguntando Pintor—. ¿Puedes encontrar una manera de arreglar lo que nos ha pasado? —No lo sé —dijo Diseño—. Estas cosas… no se me dan demasiado bien. La persona que os interesa para este asunto es Hoid. Es un grano en el culo, ya sea espectacular o no, pero comprende la teoría realmática mejor que nadie a quien conozca. (Es bonito que te valoren).

if you must, you may call me Hoid.

This is Hoid,” Lightsong said. “Master storyteller. I believe you had some questions you wished to ask…

—Lo que viste te pertenece a ti. Una historia no vive hasta que es imaginada en la mente de alguien. -Hoid

Slowly deteriorating every day, time itself marching them toward oblivion to the cadence of their beating hearts.

Even small actions have consequences. And while we can often choose our actions, we rarely get to choose our consequences.

Se la entregó Hoid el grumete. (Sí, ese soy yo. ¿Cómo te has dado cuenta? ¿Ha sido por el nombre, quizá?).

Oh, my lord, I know it, I do.” The beggar laughed. “I own the place, technically. Now, regarding those coins for old Hoid, my good lord…” He pushed his hand forward farther, eyes staring sightlessly.

Hey, Hoid. Can I catch a ride up there with you?” "The new coachman shrugged, making room for Wayne on top of the carriage.

He abandonado mi verdadero nombre. Pero, la próxima vez que nos veamos, pensaré en uno astuto para que me llames. Hasta entonces, Sagaz bastará... O si quieres, puedes llamarme Hoid. Ten cuidado: Sadeas planea una revelación en el banquete de esta noche, aunque no sé cuál es. Adiós. Lamento no haberte insultado más.

Eligió a un informador en el otro lado del espectro, un mendigo llamado Hoid. [...] Canturreaba para sí, como sus instructores le decían que estaría haciendo. Vin vaciló. No sabía decir qué era, pero algo la molestaba.

What does the story mean, then?” “It means what you want it to mean,” Hoid said. “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

Kui te mu küsimust pahaks ei pane, söör Tuul," sõnas September mõne aja möödudes. "kuidas sinna Haldjamaale pääseb? Varsti oleme me juba Indiast. Jaapanist ja Californiast üle lennanud ja jõuame tagasi minu maja juurde."Roheline Tuul kugistas naerda. "Ma usun, et see oleks tõesti nii, kui maakera oleks ümmargune.""Ma olen päris kindel, et see on ... ""Tead, sa pead lõpetama sedasorti tagurliku vanamoodsa mõtlemise. Konservatiivsus pole kuigi veetlev iseloomujoon. Haldjamaa on vägagi teaduslik paik. Meil käivad kõik parimad teadusajakirjad."Leebe Tuule Leopard tõi kuuldavale kerge möirge. Väikesed pilved hüppasid pahuralt tee pealt eest. "Maakera, mu kullake, on laias laastus trapets, mõnes mõttes romb, terake nagu hüperkuup ja läbinisti pahur, kui teda vastukarva silitada. Lühidalt, see on mõistatus, mu sügisene leid, nagu omavahel ühendatud hõbedased rõngad, mis su tädi Margaret Türgist kaasa tõi, kui sa üheksa olid.""Kuidas te mu tädi Margaretist teadsite?" hüüatas September, käega juukseid kinni hoides."Olin just samal ajal oma keskpäevast iili üles keerutamas. Tädi kandis musta seelikut, sina kollast ahvipärdikutega kleiti. Karmidel iilidel on hea mälu asjade peale, mida nad saputanud on.""See mõistatus ei erine väga palju neist rõngastest," ütles Roheline Tuul pilku üle rohekate prillide kergitades. "Me pöörame maakera lukust lahti ja siis pöörame uuesti lukku ja kui me seda teinud oleme, jõuame me järgmisele rõngale, mida nimetatakse Haldjamaaks. Sinna pole enam palju jäänud.

Kui te leiate kellegi, kellest kinni hoides te võite maailma eest silmad sulgeda, siis on teil vedanud. Isegi kui see kestab vaid ainsa minuti või päeva.

He'd dusted off his old beggar's costume - well, it was supposed to be dirty, so he'd more dusted onto it - for an appearance here and there. However, he wanted to be gainfully occupied. And stay close to some important, relevant people who tended to look poorly on someone who could fill a garden with good topsoil merely by shivering

Hoid.

Tendría que ir a buscar a Valentía. Después de todo el tiempo que había dedicado a manipular a Dalinar, al final había sido el viejo Espina Negra quien había manipulado a Hoid… y a todas las Esquirlas, de la primera a la última. —Muy buen trabajo, amigo mío —dijo, saliendo a la calle a zancadas—. Brillante tormentoso trabajo. Nos has dado una oportunidad. Espero que podamos estar a la altura.

Truth is, people are just as fluid as time is. We adapt to our situation like water in a strangely shaped jug, thought it might take us a little while to ooze into all the little nooks. Because we adapt, we sometimes don't recognize how twisted, uncomfortable, or downright wrong the container is we've been told to inhabit. We can keep going the way for a while. We can pretend to fit that jug, nooks and all. But the longer we do, the worse it gets. The more it weighs on us. The more exhausted we become. Even if we're doing nothing at all, because simply holding the shape can take all the effort in the world. More, if we want to make it look natural.

Yes, intellectuals and scholars are paid to think deep thoughts - but these thoughts are often owned by others. It is a great irony that society tend to look down on those who sell their bodies, but not on those who lease out their minds.

Indeed, the path to life without empathy is a long and painful one, full of bartered humanity sold a steep discount. -Hoid

Painful or passionate, surreal or sublime, we cherish those little rocks with the ever-smoothing touch of a recycled proxy living. In doing so, we make of our memories the gods in which we judge our current lives.

Allí, bajo el relámpago rojo y sobre una llanura llena de abismos que había reclamado como propia, Sigzil se encontró a sí mismo. De un modo que entrenar con el maestro Hoid, o aprender de Kaladin, nunca había logrado. Sigzil era, por fin, el hombre que siempre había querido ser.

Together they enjoyed the silent presence of one another, drinking in the moment. It’s said that everything you eat, even the air you breathe, becomes part of you. The axi that make up the matter you take in come to make up you instead. I, however, find that the moments we take into our souls as memories are far more important than what we eat. We need those moments as surely as the air, and they linger. Potent. Yes, a person is more than their experiences, stacked up like stones. But our best moments are the foundations we use to reach for the sky. - Hoid