The Time of Contempt (The Witcher #2)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

The witcher says that beast’s a manticore and is very dangerous, and they can shove their hundred crowns up their arses, he won’t risk his neck for it. So the officer gets pissed off and says tough luck, it’s a witcher’s fate to risk his neck, and that a witcher is perfectly suited to it, like an arse is perfectly suited to shitting.

If you want to save Ciri … I wouldn’t have thought you could afford the luxury of contempt. No, that was badly expressed. You can’t afford the luxury of spurning contempt. A time of contempt is approaching, Witcher, my friend, a time of great and utter contempt.

‘It may turn out,’ said the white-haired man a moment later, ‘that their comrades or cronies may ask what befell these evil men. Tell them the Wolf bit them. The White Wolf. And add that they should keep glancing over their shoulders. One day they’ll look back and see the Wolf.’

‘Molnar,’ she said coldly, ‘don’t stick your fingers in a door with broken hinges.

‘What smells so delicious round here?’ ‘Doughnuts,’ said Fabio, feeling the pouch. ‘Do you wish to eat one?’ ‘I wish to eat two.’

An enchantress always takes action. Wrongly or rightly; that is revealed later. But you should act, be brave, seize life by the scruff of the neck. Believe me, little one, you should only regret inactivity, indecisiveness, hesitation. You shouldn’t regret actions or decisions, even if they occasionally end in sadness and regret.

We know little about love. Love is like a pear. A pear is sweet and has a distinct shape. Try to define the shape of a pear.

‘It’s a joy for me to see you again, Yennefer,’ replied the chief of King Vizimir’s secret service. ‘Particularly in such agreeable company. Geralt, my respects come from the bottom of my heart …’ Geralt, refraining from telling Dijkstra his respect came from the heart of his bottom, shook the proffered hand–or rather tried to. Its dimensions exceeded the norm which made shaking it practically impossible.

‘I will,’ he sighed. ‘But I can’t imagine your wily old fox is capable of surprising me. Not after what I’ve been through here. I’ve been mauled by spies and jumped by endangered reptiles and ermines. I’ve been fed non-existent caviar. Nymphomaniacs with no interest in men have questioned my manhood. I’ve been threatened with rape on a hedgehog, menaced by the prospect of pregnancy, and even of an orgasm, but one without any of the ritual movements. Ugh …’

‘Nature doesn’t know the concept of philosophy, Geralt of Rivia. The pathetic–ridiculous–attempts which people undertake to try to understand nature are typically termed philosophy. The results of such attempts are also considered philosophy. It’s as though a cabbage tried to investigate the causes and effects of its existence, called the result of these reflections “an eternal and mysterious conflict between head and root”, and considered rain an unfathomable causative power. We, sorcerers, don’t waste time puzzling out what nature is. We know what it is; for we are nature ourselves. Do you understand?’ ‘I’m trying to, but please talk more slowly. Don’t forget you’re talking to a cabbage.’

‘According to elvish tradition, Tor Lara is connected by a portal to the mysterious, still undiscovered Tor Zireael, the Tower of Swallows.’

But do you know when stories stop being stories? The moment someone begins to believe in them.

No way out of there? I’m glad to hear it. That means there’s only one way in. The one I’m blocking.’

You mistook the stars reflected in a pond at night for the sky.