The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain #2)

by Lloyd Alexander

there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood.”

“There is much to be known,” said Adaon, “and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts.”

“You fought well, Son of Pen-Llarcau,” he said quietly. “I think that I owe you my life.” Ellidyr turned to him with the same glance of contempt Taran had seen in the grove. “It is a small debt,” he replied. “You value it more than I do.”

We are only deceiving ourselves if we think we can bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben.” “That may be true,” Eilonwy sighed wearily. “But I don’t know what else we can do, except keep on deceiving ourselves. And perhaps by that time we’ll be home.”

“Somehow, we must find a way to escape. We dare not lose hope.” “I agree absolutely,” Fflewddur answered. “Your general idea is excellent; it’s only the details that are lacking.

“It is easy to judge evil unmixed,” replied Gwydion. “But, alas, in most of us good and bad are closely woven as the threads on a loom; greater wisdom than mine is needed for the judging.