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“Now you’re lying, Dandelion.” “Not lying, just embellishing, and there’s a difference.”
The sorcerer smiled contemptuously and condescendingly.
Yes, Yennefer, fecundity, fecundity and once again fecundity. So take up bearing children, my dear; it’s the most natural pursuit for you. It will occupy the time you are currently fruitlessly wasting on dreaming up nonsense. Farewell.”
“What poppycock is that?” Herbolth asked, looking askance at him. “You need two to reproduce, I mean a male and a female. What, do those zeugls hatch like fleas or mice, from the rotten straw in a palliasse? Every dimwit knows there aren’t he-mice and she-mice, that they’re all identical and hatch out of themselves from rotten straw.” “And snails hatch from wet leaves,” secretary Peregrib interjected, still busy piling up coins. “Everyone knows,” Geralt concurred, smiling cheerfully. “There aren’t he-snails and she-snails. There are only leaves. And anyone who thinks differently is mistaken.”
“Doubts. Only evil, sir, never has any. But no one can escape his destiny.”
Who would want to destroy the world? Wars aren’t waged to destroy. Wars are waged for two reasons. One is power and the other is money.”
