The Time of Contempt (The Witcher #2)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

you’re not mistaken. There is only she, Yennefer, at my side, here and now, and only she matters. Here and now. And what she was long ago, where she was long ago and who she was with long ago doesn’t have any, doesn’t have the slightest, importance. Now she’s with me, here, among you all. With me, with no one else. That’s what I’m thinking right now, thinking only about her, thinking endlessly about her, smelling the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her body. And you can all choke on your envy.

“I’m dreaming of a painting in the Gallery of Glory. The two of us seated at a table and on a brass plaque the title: Vilgefortz of Roggeveen Entering Into a Pact with Geralt of Rivia.”

Keep dreaming. Babe.

I’d prefer a more realistic painting, entitled: In Which Vilgefortz Explains to Geralt What This Is All About.”

I love sassy men. 😍

I mistook stars reflected in a pond at night for those in the sky.”

But I still cannot believe that the conscience of not one sorcerer was pricked.”

She stood in front of the looking glass. She straightened her hair. She smoothed her dress. She brushed a non-existent speck from her puffed sleeve. She straightened the ruby necklace on her breast.

Queen of OCD.

Tissaia de Vries sat down on the chair by the table, blew out a candle, straightened the quill lying across the letter one more time and severed the arteries in both wrists.