Цитатите, които ни промиха

[Кал]

The door of the Underbelly fell in. Standing in the light were more snow-trolls. The spellbinders groaned and rattled their empty glasses. The newcomers joined the fun. But it was a lost cause – the superior bulk of the stalactrolls, the superior shortness of the vamans, the sheer malevolence of Spikes and the sheer surprise of Steel-Bunz were now working together, and the newcomers were welcomed with stunning blows, sharp stabs and vicious nibbles.

[Кал]

‘Who are you, O noble one?’ asked Gaam, ‘My friend the centauress has walked these lands many times, but she has never seen one as mighty as you.’

‘Then heed my words, dwarf,’--the Kol-dwellers all flinched and looked at Gaam, but he was unmoved--‘and tell thy woman-horse I am Sir Cyr, Guardian of the Bridge.’

‘Sir what?’ asked Gaam.

‘Sir Cyr.’

‘Never mind. (...)’

[Кал]

‘Why do dragons lust for gold?’

‘Dragons do not lust for gold. They hoard gold because they are often lazy, and do not like to go out in search for food. Rumours about their hoards ensure a steady stream of questing heroes, in other words, a staple diet. The dragon lust for gold should be called the dragon lust for gold-lusting food,’ said Asvin.

[Кал]

Of course, some adjustments had to be made [to heroic quests]. For example, when a giant sea serpent had been spotted idling in the ocean, no doubt scouting for a pleasant coastline to ravage, they had known it would attack a maiden tied to a rock. The only problem had been getting a maiden to volunteer to be tied to a rock. No one in Bolvudis particularly wanted to end up inside a sea serpent’s stomach. Asvin had been very surprised, until Gaam had explained that it was not always the case that a hero’s mere presence would cast all damsels in the area into perilous predicaments he could rescue them from. Most of the rescues in the legends were, Gaam said, either fictitious or pre-arranged, and hardly ever sheer coincidence or fate. In the end a grumbling Maya had let herself be tied to a rock while Asvin, sword in hand, prowled the beach.

The fact that the serpent’s arrival had created a huge wave that had swept Gaam and Asvin far away and Maya had had to burn off her ropes and kill the monster on her own was, they all agreed, best kept secret.

[Кал]

‘Just ask me anything you can think of,’ said Gaam kindly.

The Sphinx leaned forward. ‘What have I got in my pockets?’ she asked, an insane glare in her eyes.

‘That’s not a riddle, that’s a question!’ said Gaam indignantly.

‘Well, you said she could ask you anything,’ said Erkila smoothly. ‘So you have to answer her. But I admit it’s a little strange. Where did you get this riddle?’ she asked the Sphinx.

‘I don’t remember. Possibly from someone I ate,’ murmured the Sphinx. ‘Well, mortal?’

‘Are you sure you want me to answer your riddle?’ asked Gaam.

‘Of course.’

‘And you will let me go if I answer correctly?’

The Sphinx shot a look at Erkila, watching them calmly. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Very well. When I saw you first, I noticed that like all Sphinxes, you are half woman and half lioness. Also, like all Sphinxes, you do not wear clothes. Since you do not wear clothes, you have no pockets. Therefore, you cannot possibly have anything in your pockets.’ He bowed. ‘A somewhat impulsive question, if I may say so.’

‘There’s no need to gloat,’ grumbled the Sphinx. She padded off, leaving Gaam with Erkila.

[Кал]

Spot the influence:

As Thog and the fishmongers began their dance of demand and supply, a crippled beggar dragged himself painfully on hands and knees through the mud, scales and thin streams of blood on Four-Ps Alley. People around him looked at him in surprise as he struggled towards Thog; beggars were rare in the touristy parts of Kol thanks to the vigilance of the city guards. They looked away quickly, though – the sight of the beggar’s twisted, mangled right leg dragging through the mud was not pretty.

‘King,’ wheezed the beggar at Thog, who jumped in alarm. ‘King?’

‘Please go away,’ said Thog.

The beggar laughed, pausing to cough horribly. He spat, ignoring the streams of invective flowing from the fishmongers, and dragged himself towards Thog again.

‘King?’ He flailed his arms wildly, trying to grab Thog’s leg, and fell face first in the fish-scales on the street.

‘Look, my good man, I’m not a king, and I have no idea how you would know in any case,’ said Thog, annoyed. ‘Now be about your business.’

‘Buz’ness blurry beggin’!’ the beggar slurred, lunging towards Thog and gripping his hand.

‘Hands off!’ Thog leaped back. Someone called out for guards.

Then a huge collective gasp flew through Piscine Alley.

The beggar stood up. His leg straightened. He prodded it tentatively, and looked at Thog again, amazement all over his face.

‘You cured me!’ he cried.

‘I did nothing of the sort.’

‘He cured me!’ cried the beggar, and everyone in the alley heard. There was a sudden buzz of whispers. ‘I can walk, the king cured me! It’s a bloody miracle!’

‘This is some kind of trick,’ said Thog loudly, as passers-by stopped.

‘The hands of a king are the hands of a healer!’ cried the beggar, hopping around on his right leg in delight. Evidently Thog had healed his grammar as well.

And other people shouted in answer. First, there was curious ring of people. Two seconds later, there was a crowd.

The crowd parted, creating a space around Thog so everyone could gawk at him better. He felt a rush of panic, looking into their wonder-struck faces; something was wrong, they were all looking at him as if they knew him. Normally, nothing male and not bleeding ever held a Kol crowd’s attention for more than ten seconds. But this crowd was swaying gently like some sort of obscure religious congregation whose rituals involved holding fish; its members looked like people on the verge of breaking into a huge choreographed dance on the lines of those Bolvudis spectaculars one of Thog’s fellow heroes had told him about. They were smiling, their eyes were shining and filled with admiration and love.

‘The king has returned!’ yelled a female voice somewhere in the crowd, and quite a few Kolis took up the call.

[Кал]

A black-clad figure crept through a narrow passage in the labyrinth under the Civilian’s palace. This in itself was nothing remarkable; there were usually people in the passages in the labyrinth, they were usually clad, usually clad in black, and usually creeping. And the passages were usually narrow.

[Кал]

It was afternoon when movement on the ground caught the attention of the eagle-eyed guardians of Ekyavan, These guardians were, in fact, eagles, majestic Avrantic eagles (Rigallig aligals), ever-vigilant watchers with great mad eyes, sterling celestial-weapon reviewing skills and fashionable habits (such as never turning up before the last quarter of any major battle).

[Кал]

A violet glow spread in the east. On Kirin’s arm, the Gauntlet of Tatsu bled an angry scarlet fire. The dragon on their left snorted impatiently.

It is time, said Kirin.

What is time? asked his dragon, confused.

It, snapped Kirin. Move.

[Кал]

But the Horsemen were not particularly pleased when they reached a narrow bridge they intended to cross, and saw a spectacularly ugly pashan standing in the middle of it, looking at them without displaying any sign of panic. (...)

Tzimem snorted impatiently and spurred his horse forward. ‘End this,’ he growled. ‘We must be on our way.’

‘Stop me if you’ve heard this before,’ said Spikes, ‘but None Shall Pass.’

[Кал]

Most people believe that gods exist. Many do not; this does not trouble the gods, who know that if gods, in turn, were to not believe that people exist, people would actually cease to exist. Mortal belief does make gods stronger; it inflates their egos, which is always good for the metabolism.

[Кал]

Gods are beings of quicksilver, of dreams and half-thoughts and portents; their servants, usually talented local artisans, are the ones who actually push the elements around, and millennia of working for gods have not yet succeeded in eradicating their regrettable tendencies towards literalness. When Zivran the Creator had asked Sambo, his nagual, to create birds, a set of beings with wings, that would live in the sky, Sambo had, after much research on flight dynamics, aerial vectors and hollow bones (all of which he’d had to invent first in order to study better) produced the safat, a triumph of semi-divine engineering, a born master of the air. Unfortunately, Zivran had said nothing about this bird ever needing to touch the ground, so the safat had no legs and was doomed to fly all through its life; a similar mistake had left sharks incapable of sleep and permanently bad-tempered.

[Кал]

‘(...) This was about twelve years ago, when I was just starting out in the business. There was this fearsome old pirate called Greenbeard. Killed hundreds of people, sank ships, robbed, plundered, pillaged, was generally unpleasant. You know the type.’

‘Why was his beard green?’

‘It wasn’t. But the other colours were taken. (...)’

[Кал]

‘Of course, all we’ve done so far is outwit the servant. I wonder what we’ll do when the master gets here.’

‘If you’re thinking what I’m thinking,’ said Maya, ‘you have absolutely no idea.’

[Кал]

He is gruff and reticent in the beginning, but on closer acquaintance one might discover that he is also uncouth, violent and unhygienic.

[Кал]

King Zibeb said our victory marked the dawn of a New Age for Obiyalis. He also said this when he entered the portal, when he married the human Maya and when he captured the akashraths. No doubt he will say it again when the Dark Tower falls.

[Кал]

Sensing an escape attempt, and roundly delighted at this turn of events, I raced out of the privy, to see the queen perched in a most undignified manner on a windowsill at the far end of the corridor. Our eyes met, and she threw me an enraged, hurt, bewildered look I found most thrilling. She was probably trying to come up with some sort of foolish plan to injure me, but I stopped her with a wink and a finger to the lips, and pointed out a nearby door that would give her access to the stables. She was charmingly confused by this, and I took the opportunity to inform her that the price for my assistance would be a little queenly affection. She responded with fiery passion. In the form of a large and inconvenient  ball of fire that narrowly missed me, and an air-based explosive spell that did not.

[Кал]

(...) in front of a division of archers and a war-band of danavs, wielding a massive two-handed claymore, stood Laird MacGaffen, a hero from the highlands of North Ventelot. His face was painted blue and he looked very depressed; leading asurs into battle was never easy. On a recent training exercise, he’d given his asurs a rousing speech about freedom and pride, but they hadn’t understood a word, because of his thick accent, and when he’d raised his kilt in a show of bare-buttocked defiance towards an imaginary enemy, the asurs had gotten the message entirely wrong. Laird MacGaffen had not been able to walk straight since then, and he had a lot of anger to work off.

[Кал]

>examine harmonica

This is the Larry Adler Special Chromatina, as featured in the movie "Blow Mah Organ, Big Boy." If you put it in your mouth and blow, it makes a happy sound. Same old story, huh?

[Кал]

Recently a pensive disciple of mine (a certain Criton) asked me: "Master, how can we best approach death?" I replied that the only way to prepare for death is to convince yourself that everyone else is a complete idiot.

Seeing Criton's amazement, I explained. You see, I told him, how can you approach death, even if you are a believer, if you think that, as you lie dying, desirable young people of both sexes are dancing in discos and having the time of their lives, enlightened scientists are revealing the last secrets of the universe, incorruptible politicians are creating a better society, newspapers and television are bent on giving only important news, responsible business people are ensuring that their products will not damage the environment and doing their utmost to restore a nature in which there are streams with drinkable water, wooded hillsides, clear, serene skies protected by a providential ozone layer, and fluffy clouds from which sweet rain falls once more? The thought that you must leave while all these marvelous things are going on would be intolerable.

So try to think, when you sense the time has come for your departure from this vale, that the world (six billion human beings) is full of idiots, that the dancers at the disco are all idiots, the scientists who think they have solved the mysteries of the universe are idiots, the politicians who propose panaceas for all our ills are idiots, the journalists who fill page after page with vacuous gossip are idiots, and the manufacturers who are destroying the planets are idiots. In that moment would you not be happy, relieved, and satisfied to leave this vale of idiots?

And then Criton asked me: "Master, when must I start thinking like this?" I told him that one mustn't start too soon, because a person of twenty or thirty years of age who thinks that everyone else is an idiot is an idiot himself who will never attain wisdom. We should begin by thinking that all the others are better than us and then shift bit by bit, having our first doubts around forty, revising our opinions between fifty and sixty, and attaining certainty as we aim for one hundred, ready to call it quits just as soon as the telegram containing the summons arrives. Convincing ourselves that everyone around us is an idiot is a subtle, shrewd art, not at the disposal of the first Cebes to come along with a ring in his ear (or nose). It requires study and toil. You mustn't go at it too quickly. You must get there gradually, just in time to die with serenity. Right up to the day before, you must still think that someone you love and admire is not an idiot. Wisdom consists in recognizing only at the right moment (and not before) that he too is an idiot. Only then can you die.

The great art lies in studying universal thought a bit at a time, scrutinizing changes in customs; monitoring the mass media day by day, the statements of self-assured artists, the apothegms of politicians who shoot their mouths off, the pilosophemes of apocalyptic critics, the aphorisms of charismatic heroes; studying theories, propositions, appeals, images, and visions. Only then, in the end, will you experience the insight that everyone is an idiot. And at that point you are ready for death.

Until the end, you must doggedly insist that some people say sensible things, that a certain book is better than others, that a certain leader really desires the common good. It's natural, human, and proper to our species to resist the idea that all people are idiots, otherwise why go on living? But at the end you will understand why it is worth the effort and how it can be a splendid thing to die.

Then Criton said to me: "Master, I wouldn't like to make hasty decisions, but I suspect that you are an idiot." See, I replied, you are already on the right track.

[Radiant Dragon]

Spoiler

Аз по тая логика съм същински аватар на смъртта - безсмъртен, вечнопрераждащ се феникс с претенцията, че макар и да съм идиот поне го осъзнавам, за разлика от останалите идиоти.

[Кал]

The stamp on the leaflet is worth 42 Zalagasan Wossnames (the Zalagasans were too idle to think of a name for their currency) and shows an extremely bad picture of an Ai-Ai. The Ai-Ai is of course a terribly, terribly rare sort of lemur which is a rare sort of monkey so altogether pretty rare, so rare that nobody has ever seen one, which is why the picture is such a blurred and rotten likeness. Actually, come to think of it, since nobody has ever seen the real thing, the picture might in fact be a really sharp, accurate likeness of a blurred and rotten animal.

[Кал]

(...) time spent with impossible-to-achieve guys is time well spent because it gives you a chance to find reasons not to like them.

[Кал]

“What did the mystic say to the hot dog vendor?”

Sophia’s eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t know, Isaiah, what did the mystic say?”

“Make me one with everything.”

[Кал]

“Money is just money.”

“I agree. In fact, it’s pure shit.”

“It is—but I’m surprised to hear you [a billionaire] say that.”

“And like shit, it fertilizes everything it touches and makes it grow.”

[Кал]

And God promised men that good and obedient wives would be found in all corners of the world. Then He made the earth round and laughed.

Source unknown

[Кал]

Ahem...

Next to that was a religious icon painted on a folding wood panel depicting the martyrdom of St. Sebastian. That wasn’t too unusual—Sebastian was a very popular saint—but this painting was remarkable because he actually looked like he was dying, not just sitting there being hunky with a few arrows jabbed artistically into his rippling abs.

[Radiant Dragon]

Най-кратката секс сцена - и най-загатната - на която някога съм попадал. Бас държа, че 99% от съвременните читатели под 30 ще я пропуснат; literally a "blink and you'll miss" moment.

Looking out on the drive, they glimpse Zannez and his troupe, en route to their rooms in the other wing.
“And what do we call them!” Cory murmurs, only half-facetiously, as they reach their own private chamber behind the “Admin.” door.
“One fairly strange kettle of fish,” Kip says reflectively. “Still, remember that lot of Sleeping-God worshippers we got first time?”
“Whew!” Cory shakes out her rich brown hair.
“I wonder if we’ll ever see Bram again?” Kip’s tone changes. “Speaking of which, if the Planet Administrator has a moment, I have a problem requiring her undivided attention … “
A wordless time later, Cory pulls back.
[...]