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Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster; for if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you. Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
I consider gazing into the abyss utter foolishness. There are many things in the world much more worth gazing into. Dandelion, Half a Century of Poetry
Geralt, who always maintained there was no such thing as an ugly woman, suddenly felt compelled to revise this opinion.
What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
Guard against disappointments, because appearances can deceive. Things that are really as they seem are rare. And a woman is never as she seems. Dandelion, Half a Century of Poetry
“Guilt has to be proved. Not innocence.”
If you don’t undertake the task I’m commissioning you with, I’ll destroy you, Witcher. I’ll ruin your reputation. Unless you serve me. Decide. Yes or no?” “
Draw me not without reason; sheath me not without honour
She doesn’t have a sense of humour.” I felt like advising him to try tickling her with a hen’s feather in her intergluteal cleft. For such a measure can cheer up even the greatest of sourpusses.
The most certain method of preventing wars is to have a terrible weapon as a deterrent: the more terrible it is, the more enduring and certain the peace.
The artilleryman using the invention, when asked about the weapon’s usefulness, apparently said that the missile-hurler was like his mother-in-law. Heavy, ugly, totally useless and only fit to be taken and thrown in a river.
He, Ortolan, would give humanity the benefit of peace, even if it would first be necessary to destroy half of it.
“You’re doing poorly, Tzara. That’s not how it’s done. In order to insult someone properly, you need more than overwhelming desire, enthusiasm and fervour. You need technique.”
Which was why he knew that declarations about their safety could be classified along with such statements as: “my little dog doesn’t bite,” “my son’s a good boy,” “this stew’s fresh,” “I’ll give you the money back the day after tomorrow at the latest,” “he was only getting something out of my eye,” “the good of the fatherland comes before everything,” and “just answer a few questions and you’re free to go.”
Anxiety is never irrational, Geralt thought to himself. Aside from psychological disturbances. It was one of the first things novice witchers were taught. It’s good to feel fear. If you feel fear it means there’s something to be feared, so be vigilant. Fear doesn’t have to be overcome. Just don’t yield to it. And you can learn from it.
Firstly, he was still alive, and where there’s life there’s hope, as his preceptor in Kaer Morhen, Vesemir, used to say.
“I came from Cidaris on a stagecoach and await a transfer. Time is dragging, so the honourable witcher and I are sitting together, conversing and converting beer into urine.”
“‘A story is a largely false account, of largely trivial events, fed to us by historians who are largely idiots,’” smiled the Witcher.
“Someone once rightly listed the three most beautiful sights in the world,” said Addario Bach, staring at the spectacle. “A ship in full sail, a galloping horse and you know… a naked woman lying in bed.” “Dancing.” A faint smile played around the Witcher’s lips. “A woman dancing, Addario.” “If you say so,” the dwarf agreed. “A naked woman dancing.
“No offence, but your explanations are as foggy as urine from an infected bladder,” Geralt commented calmly.
“So what if he’s a big ’un?” said the dwarf, his gaze sweeping around the others. “He just makes a louder bang when he hits the ground.”
“Lot number seven: a bell with a handle, brass, dwarven work, the age of the item is difficult to ascertain, but it is without doubt antique. There is an engraving on the rim in dwarven runes, reading: ‘Why are you ringing it, you twat?’ Starting price…
A mon retour (hé! je m’en désespere!) Tu m’as reçu d’un baiser tout glacé. Pierre de Ronsard
Vain digressions, he decided. Perhaps, who knows, maybe. What has happened has happened, nothing can change it now. And there’s no sense going on about it.
what you used to be means more to people than what you are.
“I had to,” he said. “I was carrying out orders.” The Witcher looked long and hard at him. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard similar words,” he finally said. “But it’s comforting to think it was usually from the mouths of men who were about to hang.”
A sword of siderite steel, total length forty and one half inches, the blade twenty-seven and one quarter inches long. Weight: thirty-seven ounces. The hilt and cross guard simple, but elegant. The second sword, of a similar length and weight: silver. Partially, of course, for pure silver is too soft to take a good edge. Magical glyphs on the cross guard, runic signs along the entire length of the blade.
Pyral Pratt’s expert had been unable to decipher them, demonstrating his poor expertise in so doing. The ancient runes formed an inscription. Dubhenn haern am glândeal, morc’h am fhean aiesin. My gleam penetrates the darkness, my brightness disperses the gloom
