A coward,' he declared with dignity, when he'd stopped coughing and had got his breath back, 'dies a hundred times. A brave man dies but once. But Dame Fortune favours the brave and holds the coward in contempt.'— Dandelion

I can hear… music…” Dandelion suddenly sobbed.“It happens,” said the witcher, looking at the arrowheads. “Don’t worry. There’s no shame in fear.

Some of the flames were tall and strong, burning brightly and vividly, while others were tiny, flickering and quavering, and their light diminished and died. At the very end was but one tiny flame, so weak it barely flickered and glimmered, now struggling to flare up, now almost going out entirely."Whose is the dying flame?" asked the Witcher."Yours." Death replied.

To Milva the Archer.' Zoltan Chivay cleared his throat, saluting with his cup, 'To the Nilfgaardian. To Regis the herbalist, he entertained the travelers in his cottage with moonshine and mandrake, and to Angoulême whom i never knew. May the earth lie lightly on them all. My they have in the beyond, plenty of whatever they were short of on earth. And may their names live forever in songs and tales. Let us drink to them.

Zaznał pełnych litości spojrzeń, zająknień, współczującego kiwania głową, doświadczył niby to solidarnych męskich uścisków i niby to kamrackich walnięć w bark. Nasłuchał się apeli, by się trzymał i był twardym. Powodujących, że od razu miękł i przestawał się trzymać, choć jeszcze przed momentem było, zdawałoby się, już całkiem dobrze.