Andrzej Sapkowski Quotes

If the dreamlike visions were stripped of all pretense of order and meaning, then they could safely ignore them. According to the rules: "If I do not remember it, it means, it was not worth remembering." In the jargon of the dreamers these dreams are called "lemons".

I mistook stars reflected in a pond at night for those in the sky.

But you should act, be brave, seize life by the scruff of the neck. Believe me, little one, you should only regret inactivity, indecisiveness, hesitation. You shouldn't regret actions or decisions, even if they occasionally end in sadness and regret.

Only Evil and Greater Evil exist and beyond them, in the shadows, lurks True Evil. True Evil, Geralt, is something you can barely imagine, even if you believe nothing can still surprise you. And sometimes True Evil seizes you by the throat and demands that you choose between it and another, slightly lesser, Evil.

Worse and somehow embarrassing affair are "ghost" dreams, from which the dreamer only remembers fragments, and very short snippets of events, after which the next morning is left only a vague feeling of a messaged received. If the "ghost" is repeated several times, it is certain that it is a dream which is important for some reason. Then the dreamer, through concentration and auto-suggestion tries to force the dream again, this time a more specific "ghost". The best result are to force oneself to dream again immediately after waking up - called "hooking". If the dream does not produce a "hook" they try and produce a vision during one of the following session by concentration and meditation prior to going to sleep. Such pressure programming is called "anchoring".

I thought I was choosing the lesser evil. I chose the lesser evil. Lesser evil! I'm Geralt! Witcher ... I'm the Butcher of Blaviken -

The person who discovered my modest abilities was, of course, a sorcerer,
whom I met by accident,' continued Vilgefortz calmly. 'He offered me a tremen-
dous gift: the chance of an education and of self-improvement, with a view to join-
ing the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.'
'And you,' said the Witcher softly, 'accepted the offer.'
'No,' said Vilgefortz, his voice becoming increasingly cold and unpleasant. 'I re-
jected it in a rude – even boorish – way. I unloaded all my anger on the old fool. I
wanted him to feel guilty; he and his entire magical fraternity. Guilty, naturally, for
the gutter in Lan Exeter; guilty that one or two detestable conjurers – bastards with-
out hearts or human feelings – had thrown me into that gutter at birth, and not be-
fore, when I wouldn't have survived. The sorcerer, it goes without saying, didn't
understand; wasn't concerned by what I told him. He shrugged and went on his
way, by doing so branding himself and his fellows with the stigma of insensitive,
arrogant, whoresons, worthy of the greatest contempt.

For I must tell you, gentle reader, that Geralt the Witcher was always a modest, prudent and composed man, with a soul as simple and uncomplicated as the shaft of a halberd.

Geralt . . . Listen to me - ' 'Listen to what?' shouted the Witcher, before his voice suddenly faltered. 'I can't leave - I can't just leave her to her fate. She's completely alone . . . She cannot be left alone, Dandelion. You'll never understand that. No one will ever understand that, but I know. If she remains alone, the same thing will happen to her as once happened to me . . . You'll never understand that . .

Aridea quite often turned to the Mirror - ' 'With the usual question, I take it,' interrupted Geralt. '"Who is the fairest of them all?" I know; all Nehalenia's Mirrors are either polite or broken.

They weren't lying. They firmly believed it all. Which doesn't change the facts.

Women don't have a say in my house. But, just between us, don't do what you did during supper last time in front of her again." "You mean when I threw my fork at that rat?" "No. I mean when you hit it, even in the dark.

Listen, Geralt - "
"No. You won't win me over with your reasons nor convince me that Eltibad wasn't a murdering madman, so let's get back to the monster threatening you. You'd better understand that, after the introduction you've given me, I don't like the story. But I'll hear you out."
"Without interrupting with spiteful comments?"
"That I can't promise.

"No. You" title="Andrzej Sapkowski Quotes: Listen, Geralt - "
"No. You" width="913px" height="515px" loading="lazy"/>

Life is full of hazards, selection also occurs in life, Geralt. Misfortune, sicknesses and wars also select. Defying destiny may be just as hazardous as succumbing to it.

A story is a largely false account of largely trivial events, fed to us by historians who are largely idiots.

Progress,' he said finally, 'is like a herd of pigs. That's how you should look at progress, that's how you should judge it. Like a herd of pigs trotting around a farmyard. Numerous benefits derive from the fact of that herd's existence. There's pork knuckle. There's sausage, there's fatback, there are trotters in aspic. In a word, there are benefits! There's no point turning your nose up at the shit everywhere.

Don't be embarrassed,' she said, throwing an armful of clothing on the hook. 'I don't faint at the sight of a naked man. Triss Merigold, a friend, says if you've seen one, you've seen them all.

Nothing is as it seems,' Ciri replied, blushing again.

'An accurate statement,' said the hermit, while adding another skin to the appropriate lot. 'And how inevitably it leads to the conclusion that we, Ciri, we know nothing about each other. We know only the appearances and they lie.'

He waited a moment, but Ciri did not hasten to say anything.

'Although we both have succeeded in making a preliminary inquiry, we still don't know anything. I do not know who you are, you do not know who I am…'

This time he deliberately waited. She looked at him and her eyes burned with the question he was expecting. Her eyes flashed when she asked:

'Who will start?

It is better to go forward without a goal, than to have a goal and stay in one place, and it is certainly better than to stay in one place without a goal.

It is easy to let go of the string and think: This isn't me, it's the arrow. My hands do not bear the blood of this boy, it's the arrow that killed him, not me. But the arrow does not dream at night.

Anyone,' Ayallac'h wiped his hands on a rag, 'can foretell the future. And everyone does it, for it is simple. It is no great art to foretell it. The art is in foretelling it accurately.' 'An

Shut up, you brat," interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily "Halt your uncontrolled little tongue. You speak to a lady who deserves respect, especially from a Knight of the White Rose ...

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

humans,' Zoltan Chivay said grimly. 'Every sentient creature on this earth, when it falls into want, poverty and misfortune, usually cleaves to his own. Because it's easier to survive the bad times in a group, helping one another. But you, humans, you just wait for a chance to make money from other people's mishaps. When there's hunger you don't share out your food, you just devour the weakest ones. This practice works among wolves, since it lets the healthiest and strongest individuals survive. But among sentient races selection of that kind usually allows the biggest bastards to survive and dominate the rest. Come to your own conclusions and make your own predictions.' Dandelion

Only death can finish the fight, everything else only interrupts the fighting.

Destiny isn't the judgements of providence, isn't scrolls written by the hand of a demiurge, isn't fatalism. Destiny is hope. Being full of hope, believing that what is meant to happen will happen.

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.

Night and day the streets resounded with music, song, and the clinking of chalices and tankards, for it is well known that nothing is such thirsty work as the acquisition of knowledge.

He deftly sheathed the sword he was holding into the scabbard on his back. He approached the bar, not even gracing the body lying on the floor with a glance. The innkeeper cringed. 'Those evil men...' said the white-haired one huskily, 'those evil men are dead. When the bailiff arrives, it may turn out there was a bounty on their heads. He should do with it as he sees fit.' The innkeeper nodded eagerly. 'It may turn out,' said the white-haired man a moment later, 'that their comrades or cronies may ask what befell these evil men. Tell them the Wolf bit them. The White Wolf. And add that they should keep glancing over their shoulders. One day they'll look back and see the Wolf.

He interrupted her with a kiss, an embrace, a touch, caresses and then with everything, his whole being, his every thought, his only thought, everything, everything, everything. They broke the silence with sighs and the rustle of clothing strewn on the floor. They broke the silence very gently, lazily, and they were considerate and very thorough. They were caring and tender and, although neither quite knew what caring and tenderness were, they succeeded because they very much wanted to. And they were in no hurry whatsoever. The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it seemed like a whole eternity.

What is truth? The negation of lies? Or the statement of a fact? And if the fact is a lie, what then is the truth?

We won't manage to do much more than we're capable of,' he said more quietly and more warmly. 'But we shall all do our best to make sure it won't be much less.

He didn't notice the fist clad in a black silver-studded glove as it flew towards the side of his face. But although the night was dark, the moon was new and the sky overcast, he suddenly saw ten thousand dazzlingly bright stars.

Some have brains, so they get a book! Others are feather-brained, so they get a broom!

Caldemeyn waddled on the spot and looked at Geralt. The witcher shrugged. Carrypebble picked his nose with serious concentration.

You also ought to know that mandrake is a powerful aphrodisiac and is used in love magic, particularly to break down female resistance. That's the explanation of mandrake's folk name: love apple. It's a herb used to pander lovers.' 'Blockhead,' Milva commented. 'And

For the law is not jurisprudence, not a weighty tome full of articles, not philosophical treatises, not peevish nonsense about justice, not hackneyed platitudes about morality and ethics. The law means safe paths and highways. It means backstreets one can walk along even after sundown. It means inns and taverns one can leave to visit the privy, leaving one's purse on the table and one's wife beside it. The law is the sleep of people certain they'll be woken by the crowing of the rooster and not the crashing of burning roof timbers! And for those who break the law; the noose, the axe, the stake and the red-hot iron! Punishments which deter others.

Nonsense," said the witcher. "And what's more, it doesn't rhyme. All decent predictions rhyme.

Spell?" The priest proudly raised his head. "I'm not a godless sorcerer! I don't cast spells! My power comes from faith and prayer!" "Can you or can't you?" "I can." "Then get on with it, because time's pressing on." "Geralt,

What a company I ended up with,' Geralt continued, shaking his head. 'Brothers in arms! A team of heroes! What have I done to deserve it? A poetaster with a lute. A wild and lippy half-dryad, half-woman. A vampire, who's about to notch up his fifth century. And a bloody Nilfgaardian who insists he isn't a Nilfgaardian.

Incredible, Geralt. After so many years? How's it possible?'
'There's a grain of truth in every fairy tale,' said the Witcher quietly. 'Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that - '
'That what, Geralt?'
'It has to be true love.

Men are psychologically unstable, too prone to emotions; not to be relied upon in moments of crisis.' 'That's

It is better to go forward without an aim than loiter without an aim, and with surety much better than to retreat without an aim.

You can't stop a soldier from being frightened but you can give him motivation to help him overcome that fear. I have no such motivation. I can't have. I'm a witcher: an artificially created mutant. I kill monsters for money. I defend children when their parents pay me to. If Nilfgaardian parents pay me, I'll defend Nilfgaardian children. And even if the world lies in ruin - which does not seem likely to me - I'll carry on killing monsters in the ruins of this world until some monster kills me. That is my fate, my reason, my life and my attitude to the world. And it is not what I chose. It was chosen for me.

Geralt knew that bonnet and that feather, which were famed from the Buina to the Yaruga, known in manor houses, fortresses, inns, taverns and whorehouses. Particularly whorehouses.

The sword of destiny has two edges. You are one of them.

You know fuck all, Dandelion.' 'Do

I'm riding with them because I am a servile golem. Because I'm a wisp of oakum blown by the wind along the highway. Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don't break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don't throw stones from behind a fence.

It is easy to kill with a bow, girl. How easy it is to release the bowstring and think, it is not I, it is the arrow. The blood of that boy is not on my hands. The arrow killed him, not I. But the arrow does not dream anything in the night.

She also possessed a very expertly stuffed unicorn, on whose back she liked to make love. Geralt was of the opinion that if there existed a place less suitable for having sex it was probably only the back of a live unicorn.

Sir Falwick," said Geralt, not ceasing to smile. "If he draws his sword, I'll take it from him and beat the snotty-nosed little brat's arse with the flat of his blade. And then I'll batter the door down with him.

All around, everywhere you look, is dullness and uncertainty. Even something born of beauty soon leads to boredom and banality, commonplace, the human ritual, the tedious rhythm of life.

So you've got the honest truth and faithful history of a world where he who shatters the skulls of others most efficiently and swells women's bellies fastest, reigns.

Everyone has some kind of debt. Such is life. Debts and liabilities, obligations, gratitude, payments, doing something for someone. Or perhaps for ourselves? For in fact we are always paying ourselves back and not someone else. Each time we are indebted we pay off the debt to ourselves. In each of us lies a creditor and a debtor at once and the art is for the reckoning to tally inside us. We enter the world as a minute part of the life we are given, and from then on we are ever paying off debts, To ourselves. For ourselves. In order for the final reckoning to tally.

Since when did you know anything about mimicking bird calls, Zoltan?' 'That's the whole point. If you hear a strange, unrecognisable sound, you'll know it's me.

It's an invention, a fairy tale devoid of any sense, like all the legends in which good spirits and fortune tellers fulfill wishes. Stories like that are made up by poor simpletons, who can't even dream of fulfilling their wishes and desires themselves. I'm pleased you're not one of them, Geralt of Rivia. It makes you closer in spirit to me. If I want something, I don't dream of it - I act. And I always get what I want.

Something bad's happening, Geralt," he muttered. "In the castle. Something's frightening people." "What?" "What usually frightens people? A monster. They say it's small, hunchbacked, bristling like a Urcheon. It creeps around the castle at night, rattles chains. Moans and groans in the chambers." "Have

What have you got on your eyelids?"

"Greater self-esteem!

Cahir, wrinkling his brow imperiously, shouted back something menacing about imperial service, backing up his words with the classically military and ever effective 'for fuck's sake'.

The voivode with the hard-to-remember name, who must have heard something about the affairs and problems of Fourhorn, politely asked whether the mares were foaling well. Gerald answered yes, much better than the stallions. He wasn't sure if the joke had been well taken, but the voivode didn't ask any more questions.

Madam Yennefer, Forgive me. I'm riding to Hirundum because I want to see Geralt. I want to see him before I start school. Forgive my disobedience, but I must. I know you'll punish me, but I don't want to regret my indecision and hesitation. If I'm to have regrets, let them be for deeds and actions. I'm an enchantress. I seize life by the scruff of the neck. I'll return when I can. - Ciri

There may no longer be faith nor truth in the world, but surely good sense still exists. What say you, Dandelion? Is there still good sense in the world? Or do only contemptibility and contempt remain?

Everywhere you are a stranger.' Finished Iskra with seeming carelessness, and quickly and unceremoniously placed a beret with turkey feathers on her head. 'An Outsider everywhere and always different. How shall we call you, little hawk?' Ciri looked into her eyes. 'Gvalch'ca.' The elf laughed. 'Once you start to speak, you speak in multiple languages, little hawk! Very good. You will carry the name from the Elder People, a name that you yourself have chosen. You will be called Falka.

The witcher smiled faintly but quite nastily. "If I understand correctly," he said, "I'm to fight the duel because, if I refuse, I'll be hanged. If I fight, I'm to allow my opponent to injure me because if I wound him, I'll be put to the rack. What charming alternatives. Maybe I should save you the bother? I'll thump my head against the pine tree and render myself helpless. Will that grant you satisfaction?" "Don't

Is always murder, regardless of motive or circumstance. Thus those who murder or who prepare to murder are malefactors and criminals, regardless of who they may be: kings, princes, marshals or judges. None who contemplates and commits violence has the right to consider himself better than an ordinary criminal. Because it is in the nature of all violence to lead inevitably to crime.

Pump up your bagpipes and delight our ears with decent martial music. With your permission, noble Calanthe!" "Oh mother of mine," whispered the queen to Geralt, raising her eyes to the vault for a moment in silent resignation. But she nodded her permission, smiling openly and kindly.

If the world is to be saved like that-' the Witcher lifted his head '-it would be better for it to perish

...Maybe one day it will be that you
will need help ...Then call, call into the night. And I'll come."
-Geralt of Rivia

It's as though a cabbage tried to investigate the causes and effects of its existence,

You surround the dead with veneration and memory, you dream of immortality, and in your myths and legends there's always someone being resurrected, conquering death. But were your esteemed late great-grandfather really to suddenly rise from the grave and order a beer, panic would ensue.

But do you know when stories stop being stories? The moment someone begins to believe in them.

It is well known that if there is anything that makes men thirstier than the acquisition of knowledge it is the full or partial prohibition of drinking.

Truth is one thing, poetry another.

I shall tell you. I've heard that it has recently become tiresome to negotiate with you witchers. The thing is that, whenever a witcher is shown a monster to be killed, the witcher, rather than take his sword and slaughter it, begins to ponder whether it is right, whether it is transgressing the limits of what is possible, whether it is not contrary to the code and whether the monster really is a monster, as though it wasn't clear at first glance. It seems to me that you are simply doing too well. In my day, witchers didn't have two pennies to rub together

When you know about something it stops being a nightmare. When you know how to fight something, it stops being so threatening.

The king loved his wife, the queen, without limit, and she loved him with all her heart. Something like that could only end in disaster.

Later, it was said the man came from the north, from Ropers Gate.

Stories like that are made by poor simpletons, who can't even dream of fulfilling their wishes and desires themselves. I'm pleased you're not one of them, Geralt of Rivia. It makes you closer in spirit to me. If I want something, I don't dream of it - I act. And I always get what I want. - Yennefer

We are the children of Mother Nature. And though we do not respect our mother, though we often worry her and cause her pain, though we break her heart, she loves us.

And if someone has friends, and he loses everything in spite of that, it's obvious the friends are to blame. For what they did, or for what they didn't do.

There, where mountains tower today, one day there will be seas; there, where today seas surge, will one day be deserts. But stupidity will remain stupidity.

A mother, you son-of-a-bitch, is sacred!

Because I've overcome the vanity and pride of being different. I've understood that they are a pitiful defense against being different. Because I've understood that the sun shines differently when something changes, but I'm not the axis of those changes.

Forgive me,' he said a moment later. 'You're right. I put you at risk. It was too dangerous a task for a - ' 'For a woman, you mean?' she said, jerking her head back, flicking her still wet hair from her shoulder with a sudden movement. 'Is that what you were going to say? Are you playing the gentleman all of a sudden? I may have to squat to piss, but my coat is lined with wolf skin, not coney fur! Don't call me a coward, because you don't know me!

There was someone in his little attic room. Geralt knew it before he even reached the door, sensing it through the barely perceptible vibration of his medallion. He blew out the oil lamp which had lit his path up the stairs, pulled the dagger from his boot, slipped it into the back of his belt and pressed the door handle. The room was dark. But not for a witcher. He was deliberately slow in crossing the threshold; he closed the door behind him carefully. The next second he dived at the person sitting on his bed, crushed them into the linen, forced his forearm under their chin and reached for his dagger. He didn't pull it out. Something wasn't right. "Not a bad start," she said in a muffled voice, lying motionless beneath him. "I expected something like this, but I didn't think we'd both be in bed so quickly. Take your hand from my throat please." "It's

Beautiful, long, loose hair was a rarity, an indication of a woman's position, her status, the sign of a free woman, a woman who belonged to herself. The sign of an unusual woman – because "normal" maidens wore their hair in plaits, "normal" married women hid theirs beneath a caul or a coif. Women of high birth, including queens, curled their hair and styled it. Warriors cut it short. Only druids and magicians – and whores – wore their hair naturally so as to emphasise their independence and freedom.

Like all cats, they could see what was invisible and could not be deceived by a simple spell. 'This parade

Nothing. I've had a bit to drink and I'm philosophizing. I'm looking for general truths. And I've found one: lesser evils exist, but we can't choose them. Only True Evil can force us to such a choice. Whether we like it or not.

I'm beside myself with joy. I was worried you were going to ask me another one of your unequal grand questions.' 'Why not? I like your unequal grand answers!

They are not demons, not devils...
Worse than that.
They are people.

Witcher,' Three Jackdaws suddenly said, 'I want to ask you a question.'
'Ask it.'
'Why don't you turn back?'
The Witcher looked at him in silence for a moment. 'Do you really want to know?'
'Yes, I do,' Three Jackdaws said, turning his face towards Geralt.
'I'm riding with them because I'm a servile golem. Because I'm a wisp of oakum blown by the wind along the highway. Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don't break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don't throw stones from behind a fence. I'm riding with them for the same reason I rode with you to the log drivers' inn. Because it's all the same to me. I don't have a goal to head towards. I don't have a destination at the end of the road.'
Three Jackdaws cleared his throat. 'There's a destination at the end of every road. Everybody has one. Even you, although you like to think you're somehow different.'
'Now I'll ask you a question.'
'Ask it.'
'Do you have a destination at the end of the road?'
'I do.'
'Lucky for you.'
'It is not a matter of luck, Geralt. It is a matter of what you believe in and what you serve. No one ought to know that better than… than a witcher.'
'I keep hearing about goals today,' Geralt sighed. 'Niedamir's aim is to seize Malleore. Eyck of Denesle's calling is t

There was talk about a great victory in this war; it was so important that… That this war put an end to all wars.' Sheldon Skaggs snorted, spitting beer onto his beer. Zoltan Chivay roared with laughter. 'What do you think, gentlemen?'
Now it was Dennis Cranmer's turn to burst out laughing. Yarpen Zigrin retained his seriousness. He studied the young man attentively and seemed concerned.

'Son,' he said very seriously. 'Look. There, sitting at the counter is Evangelina Parr. She is admittedly, substantial. Indeed, even great. But despite her actions, not one whore can put an end to all whores.

It was a ceremonial supper. For they were going to part in the morning. In the morning each of them was going to go their own way; in search of something they already had. But they did not know they had it, they could not even imagine it. They could not imagine where the roads they were meant to set off on the next morning would lead. Each of them travelling separately.

down. Remember Zivelena, who became the Queen of Metinna with the help of the gnome Rumplestelt, and in return promised him her firstborn?

Then, four years later I received news from Aridea. She'd tracked down the little one, who was living in Mahakam with seven gnomes whom she'd managed to convince it was more profitable to rob merchants on the roads than to pollute their lungs with dust from the mines.

The hell with all of you, you cooperative fellowship of idiots, united by a common goal which none of you understand. And the hell with me too.' This time the others, following Cahir's example, also remained tactfully silent. Dandelion, Maria Barring, also known as Milva, and Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. 'What a company I ended up with,' Geralt continued, shaking his head. 'Brothers in arms! A team of heroes! What have I done to deserve it? A poetaster with a lute. A wild and lippy half-dryad, half-woman. A vampire, who's about to notch up his fifth century. And a bloody Nilfgaardian who insists he isn't a Nilfgaardian.' 'And

The bounty hunter looked at him long and hard. Until Tawny Owl's smirk finally vanished. 'Indeed,' he said. 'Everyone has to make a living. Some earn money doing what they've learned. Others do what they have to. But not many craftsmen have been as lucky in life as I am: they pay me for a trade I truly and honestly enjoy. Not even whores can say that.

No. I've no time to waste. Winter's coming.

And let us be seated, gentlemen. Drinking standing up, in a rush and without due reverence, does not become the nobility.' They

You won't do it.' Bonhart's voice resounded in the complete silence. 'You won't do it, witcher girl. In Kaer Morhen you were taught how to kill, so you kill like a machine. Instinctively. To kill yourself you need character, strength, determination and courage. And they couldn't teach you that.