As soon as a friendship passed a certain point - some obscure and secret boundary - a woman quite automatically became overwhelmed by a raging compulsion to complicate things.
Everything is idiocy if you choose to look at it in the proper perspective.
The old man was peering intently at the shelves. 'I'll have to admit that he's a very competent scholar.' Isn't he just a librarian?' Garion asked, 'somebody who looks after books?' That's where all the rest of scholarship starts, Garion. All the books in the world won't help you if they're just piled up in a heap.
All I knew was that I would die if he sent me away. He shrugged. You can cut a man’s heart out with a shrug, did you know that?
It's only a story, isn't it?"... "Who's to say what's only a story and what's truth disguised as a story?
It's gaudy, ugly, and in terribly bad taste. It does, however, suit my personality almost perfectly.
The one of us who lies the best will get the better of the bargain. It's a game. A very exciting game that's played all over the world. Good players got rich, and bad players don't.
Any time there's something so ridiculously dangerous that no rational human being would try it, they send for me.' --Garion
Its a perfectly good face, Sparhawk." "It covers the front of my head. What else can you expect from a face?
It's one of the advantages of being a woman. I get to do all sorts of unfair things, and you have to accept them because you're too polite not to. --Polgara
If the general opinion is pessimistic, fantasy is going to hold its own.
Zakath's face grew thoughtful. "You know something, Garion?" he said. "Man thinks he owns the world, but we share it with all sorts of creatures who are indifferent to our overlordship. They have their own societies, and I supposed even their own cultures. They don't even pay attention to us, do you?" "Only when we inconvenience them...It teaches us humility," Garion agreed.
If you're going to maintain any kind of self-respect, you're going to have to keep secrets from yourself.
Isn't it easier to forgive than to hate? -Eriond
Exaggerating?" Silk sounded shocked. "You don't mean to say that horses can actually lie, do you? Hettar shrugged. "Of course. They lie all the time. They're very good at it." For a moment Silk looked outraged at the thought, and then he suddenly laughed. "Somehow that restores my faith in the order of the universe," he declared. Wolf looked pained. "Silk," he said pointedly, "you're a very evil man. Did you know that?" "One does one's best," Silk replied mockingly.
Nothing that's really worthwhile should be easy, Belgarion. If it's easy, we don't value it.
Ce'Nedra returned, frowning and a little angry. "They won't give me their eggs, Lady Polgara," she complained. "They're sitting one them." "You have to reach under them and take the eggs, dear." "Won't that make them angry?" "Are you afraid of a chicken?
Water....I'm thirsty not dirty.
When you get down to the bottom of it, only about half of what we remember really happened. We tend to modify things to make ourselves look better in our own eyes and in the eyes of others. Then, if what we did wasn't really very admirable, we tend to forget that it ever happened. A normal human being's grasp on reality is very tenuous at best. Our imaginary lives are usually much nicer.
The dullest man in the world is charming beyond belief when he's pouring gold coins from one hand to the other.
...If there's a noise in the woods, and there's nobody around to hear it, is it really a noise?" "Of course it is," she replied calmly. "How did you reach that conclusion?" Beldin demanded. "Because there's no such thing as an empty place, uncle. There are always creatures around --wild animals, mice, insects, birds --and they can all hear." "But what if there weren't? What if the woods are truly empty?" "Why waste your time talking about an impossibility?
Heroes aren't allowed to be nervous." "Who made up that rule?" "It's a known fact.
Nothing that ever happens is so unimportant that it doesn't change things.
Contemporary fantasists all bow politely to Lord Tennyson and Papa Tolkien, then step around them to go back to the original texts for inspiration--and there are a lot of those texts. We have King Arthur and his gang in English; we've got Siegfried and Brunhild in German; Charlemagne and Roland in French; El Cid in Spanish; Sigurd the Volsung in Icelandic; and assorted 'myghtiest Knights on lyfe' in a half-dozen other cultures. Without shame, we pillage medieval romance for all we're worth.
...Zedar was gone...As an owl, though, I was able to drift silently from tree to tree until I caught up with him...He wasn't really hard to follow, since he'd conjured up a dim, greenish light to see by --and to hold off the boogiemen. Did I ever tell you that Zedar's afraid of the dark? That adds another dimension to his present situation, doesn't it? He was bundled to the ears in furs, and he was muttering to himself as he floundered along through the snow. Zedar talks to himself a lot. He always has. ...I drifted to a nearby tree and watched him --owlishly. Sorry. I couldn't resist that.
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