417 Quotes by Andrzej Sapkowski
- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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I was deprived of the ability to feel so I wouldn’t be able to feel how dreadfully vile is that vileness, so I wouldn’t retreat from it, wouldn’t run horror-stricken from it. Yes, I was stripped of feelings, But not utterly. Whoever did it made a botch of it, Yen.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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But every dream, if dreamed too long, turns into a nightmare. And we awake from such dreams screaming.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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The sea is free and open. Trade is free. Profit is sacred. Love the trade and profit of your neighbour like your own. To hinder someone’s trading and profiting is to break the laws of nature.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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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.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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But do you know when stories stop being stories? The moment someone begins to believe in them.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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Truly, great is pride and blindness, so that the blood dripping from the scaffold would be called justice. – Epigraph to the 5′th chapter.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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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.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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He would not even have declined had she suggested they walked into hell to drink a cup of boiling tar with some fiery demons.
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- Author Andrzej Sapkowski
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Yet this faint sound was enough to wake the witcher – or maybe it only tore him from the half-slumber in which he rocked monotonously, as though travelling though fathomless depths, suspended between the sea bed and its calm surface amidst gently undulating strands of seaweed. He.
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