Have I ever told you how glad I am we're not enemies? Eragon asked.
No, but it's very sweet of you.

There is no more exciting sport than flying, for if you lose, you die.

She lowered her head until it was at his level. He stroked the line of her jaw, and then pressed his forehead against her hard snout and held her as tightly as he could, her scales sharp against his fingers. Hot tears began to slide down his cheeks.
'Why do you cry?' she asked.
'Because... I'm lucky enough to be bonded with you.'
'Little one.

I'm healthy as an ox. And you?" "To compare myself with a bovine would be both ridiculous and insulting, but I'm fit as ever, if that is what you are asking.

I have a new name for pain.
What’s that?
The Obliterator. Because when you’re in pain, nothing else can exist. Not thought. Not emotion. Only the drive to escape the pain. When it’s strong enough, the Obliterator strips us of everything that makes us who we are, until we’re reduced to creatures less than animals, creatures with a single desire and goal: escape.
A good name, then.

Eragon went to see the dragon for the first time since it had spoken to him. He approached apprehensively, aware now that it was an equal.
"Eragon."
"Is that all you can say?" he snapped.
"Yes."
His eyes widened at the unexpected reply, and he sat down roughly.
Now it has a sense of humor. What next?