Lady of the Lake (The Witcher, #7)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

I have plenty of dwarf friends.’ Of course you do, he thought.

The past, present and future lurk in every moment of time. Eternity is hidden in every moment of time. Do you understand?’

No matter how much he hurried, urged, fumed and stormed, the Witcher remained in Toussaint almost the whole winter. What were the reasons? I shall not write about them. It is all over. There is no point dwelling on it. Anyone who would condemn the Witcher I would remind that love has many names and not to judge less they themselves are judged. Dandelion, Half a Century of Poetry

Is Dandelion, whom I know as a realist, now beginning all of a sudden to live in the sphere of illusion? Open your bloody eyes, you dolt.’

‘Let’s go and find a bed somewhere,’ the Witcher suggested, a little hoarsely. ‘It doesn’t do to treat books like this.’

We told each other many things. We told each other very trivial truths. We told each other very beautiful lies. But those lies, although they were lies, weren’t calculated to deceive.

Geralt cautiously withdrew. Soundlessly. Like a bat.

‘I think,’ the vampire said calmly, ‘that you are wrong, Madam Vigo. The dream that the Witcher is dreaming, I humbly submit with respect, is an enchanting and beautiful one. But every dream, if dreamed too long, turns into a nightmare. And we awake from such dreams screaming.’

beyond the Solveiga Gate and the Elskerdeg pass.

He flew like shit off his shovel and smashed with a crunch at the foot of a pile of rotten wood.

Women don’t need money. I mean what for? They don’t drink, they don’t play dice, and they’re bloody women themselves.

‘After all,’ added Sheala, pouting her lips, ‘it’s befallen all of us at some time. Each of us, sitting here, has been cheated, taken advantage of, and made a laughing stock of by some man, at some time.’

Everything has been, everything has happened. And everything has already been written about. Vysogota of Corvo

reference. What is eight days or eight weeks? Time means nothing.’ ‘Very well!’ she screamed in anger. ‘I agree I’m not a wise elf, I’m a stupid human. To me time does mean something. I count the days, I even count

curious, questioning, clinging looks of the other elves and elf-women. On every other occasion studiously indifferent, now the elves were betraying their curiosity on the subject of the royal bedchamber,

more comparisons. I’ll test you on them

Not everything here is beautiful. For the unaccustomed this world means death.

I am the Master of Worlds, she recalled. I am of the Elder Blood, I have power over time and place.

A flash. Darkness. The next place.

The rain was quite simply a catharsis.

She was alone. Alone again. All alone. A wanderer, a permanent vagabond, a sailor lost on the boundless sea among the archipelago of places and times. A sailor losing hope.

‘Even if it’s my last bath, I’m not going to bathe in my clothes.’

‘I’m telling you. They’ve gone. Apart from us three there isn’t a living soul here. Get dressed. You look awfully funny in the nude.’

For whoever doesn’t overcome the cowardice inside themselves will die of fear to the end of their days.