160 Quotes About Medieval

I remember the fire, it burns bright, always around me. I close my eyes, and tears stream out. The tides of the past seize me, bear me out to sea.

I’ll sing you a tale,Of evil and woe,On his way to school, was little Joe,All that was found was his bloody coat,His bastard tormentor had cut his throat.

Those darling byegone times, Mr Carker,' said Cleopatra, 'with their delicious fortresses, and their dear old dungeons, and their delightful places of torture, and their romantic vengeances, and their picturesque assaults and sieges, and everything that makes life truly charming! How dreadfully we have degenerated!

she was like the merlin in pursuit of its airborne quarry, perhaps the snow bunting or a small meadow pipit; the avian prey is nimble but so is the predatory merlin with its inexhaustible stamina and unparalleled agility – round and round it chases the pipit, and the two flying at speeds almost impossible for the observer to follow.

You were rightly destined for our family, Catherine. Almost by instinct you seem to have stumbled on the old tradition by which the châtelaines of Montsalvy would go to Puy, in times of war and danger, to implore divine help and offer their most beautiful jewels to the Madonna. Go, my daughter, you think as a true Montsalvy would!

She loves this man and he loves her, and that is the only thing that matters. Let them have their love, Jasper. Now, shut your pie hole. I have come to witness a wedding and I will not hear your voice again.

And you dare to wear the golden spurs of a knight? You dare to call yourself a Marshal of France and carry the fleur-de-lis on your coat of arms? The meanest lackey in this hall knows more of honour and loyalty than you! Hang and burn my servants and kill me - kill too, now that you have handed your companion-in-arms Arnaud de Montsalvy, to your cousin. With my last breath, I shall call on Heaven to witness that Gilles de Rais is a traitor and a felon!

I never was the type of noblewoman to stay by the hearth while the men rode into battle anyway. As my father always used to say with the shake of his head, the blood of the Old Tribes runs strong in me.

A sudden yearning to hold Artagan close overtakes me, to smell the scent of his skin and run my hands through his tousled black hair. He will soon ride into peril again as he has many times before. No matter how often he rides away, I never get used to it.