"Yes?" His eyes followed a squirrel across the road and up a tree.
"I still don't understand about names."
"I will teach you to understand," he said easily. "The nature of names cannot be described, only experienced and understood."
"Why can't it be described?" I asked. "If you understand a thing, you can describe it."
"Can you describe all the things you understand?" he looked sideways at me.
"Of course."
Elodin pointed down the street. "What colour is that boy's shirt?"
"Blue."
"What do you mean by blue? Describe it."
I struggled for a moment, failed. "So blue is a name?"
"It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself."
My head was swimming by the point. "I still don't understand."
He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating." He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. "But there are other ways to understanding!" he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms up to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still laughing. "Look!" he shouted tilting his head back. "Blue! Blue! Blue!"
from The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss
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