Celtic Warrior Quotes

That's certainly the roots of heavy metal. That whole sense of revolution and wanting to be powerful is definetly a puberty thing. Fans don't have to be offended by that. Everybody goes through it. That's why heavy metal is so powerful.

What is deemed as “his-story” is often determined by those who survived to write it. In other words, history is written by the victors...Now, with the help of the Roman historian Tacitus, I shall tell you Queen Boudicca’s story, her-story……

Faintly he smiled, but his voice was hard. “Lass, you do not want what I have.” As if to prove it, he overturned his hand and dragged a calloused thumb roughly across her bottom lip. All the breath came out of her in a hot rush. “Oh.” ~From THE KING'S OUTLAW, part of the Captured by a Celtic Warrior anthology

Tell me you aren't crying. My whole image of you as a bad-ass warrior is crumbling.

As she peeked through the curtains with the phone in her hand, waiting for the police dispatcher to pick up, she realized there was one thing she did know about the naked stranger in her yard. He had, without a doubt, the finest butt on the planet.

The Tylwyth Teg were immortal beings, but the burden of living for endless millennia was often tedium. It was one reason that the Fair Ones tended to play terrible pranks upon mortals. Like bored children, they sprang upon the unwary, seeking diversion. So it had been when a weary Celtic warrior turned reluctant gladiator had fought his way to freedom at last. Wounded and near death, pursued by his former captors, he’d blundered straight into the territory of the Tylwyth Teg in the steep hills northwest of Isca Silurum….

The Romans did not like kings. We needed them, however. Over many generations we had evolved the pattern of living that best suited Celtic natures. Kings led noble warriors in battle that defined tribal territory and gave men a shape for their pride. Less aggressive common people farmed the land and did the labor of the tribe. Druids were responsible for the intangible essentials upon which all else depended. Man and Earth and Otherworld were thus held in balance----until the coming of Caesar, who wanted to destroy our warriors and our druids so he could make the rest of us his slaves.

Professional wrestling is simply the most modern interpretation of an ancient tradition of stylized verbal battles between enemies.  From the time that Homer recorded the Iliad, the emergence of what Scottish scholars call ‘flyting’—” “That would be a verbal battle preceding a physical one, but considered equally as important to the overall outcome,” Carwyn interjected.   “Exactly.  Throughout world myth, warriors have engaged in a verbal struggle that is as symbolically important as the battle itself.  You can see examples in early Anglo-Saxon literature—” “You’ve read Beowulf, haven’t you, English major?” Giovanni glanced at the priest, but continued in his most academic voice.  “Beowulf is only one example, of course.  The concept is also prevalent in various Nordic, Celtic, and Germanic epic traditions.  Even Japanese and Arabic literature are rife with examples.”  “Exactly.”  Carwyn nodded along.  “See, modern professional wrestling is following in a grand epic tradition.  Doesn’t matter if it’s staged, and it doesn’t matter who wins, really—” “Well, I don’t know about—” “What matters,” Carwyn shot his friend a look before he continued, “is that the warriors impress the audience as

The ordinary reader today knows about the Grail thanks only to Richard Wagner's Parsifal, which, in its Romantic approach, really deforms and twists the whole myth. Equally misleading is the attempt to interpret the mystery of the Grail in Christian terms: for Christian elements only play an accessory, secondary and concealing role in the saga. In order to grasp the true significance of the myth, it is necessary instead to consider the more immediate points of reference represented by the themes and echoes pertaining to the cycle of King Arthur, which survives in the Celtic and Nordic traditions. The Grail essentially embodies the source of a transcendent and immortalizing power of primordial origin that has been preserved after the 'Fall', degeneration and decadence of humanity. Significantly, all sources agree that the guardians of the Grail are not priests, but are knights and warriors - besides, the very place where the Grail is kept is described not as a temple or church, but as a royal palace or castle. In the book, I argued that the Grail can be seen to possess an initiatory (rather than vaguely mystical) character: that it embodies the mystery of warrior initiation. Most commonly, the sagas emphasize one additional element: the duties deriving from such initiation. The predestined Knight - he who has received the calling and has enjoyed a vision of the Grail, or received its boons – or he who has 'fought his way' to the Grail (as described in certain texts) must accomplish his duty of restoring legitimate power, lest he forever be damned. The Knight must either allow a prostrate, deceased, wounded or only apparently living King to regain his strength, or personally assume the regal role, thus restoring a fallen kingdom. The sagas usually attribute this function to the power of the Grail. A significant means to assess the dignity or intentions of the Knight is to 'ask the question': the question concerning the purpose of the Grail. In many cases, the posing of this crucial question coincides with the miracle of awakening, of healing or of restoration.

One of the most important functions of monasteries was as schools. Monastic schools were well attended (mostly by boys). Some of the students were treated as foster children by the monks, living in the care of another family until they were ready to return to their homes and adult responsibilities. Many noble warrior fathers seem to have thought that their sons would be safer in a monastery than at home. Students had to find and prepare food for the monks and help out with the business of running the monastery. But most of their time was spent studying and working.

But soon he stopped short: a giant, three-headed dog was blocking his path, growling and gnashing its huge white teeth, long and sharp as a warrior’s dagger. This was Cerberus, the guardian of the gates of Hades, offspring of the Titans Echidna and Typhon. But Orpheus did not fear the great dog: again, he took up his lyre and he sang, this time a soothing lullaby, and soon the great beast’s eyes began to close, and it swayed, and then fell to the floor, fast asleep.

Of the greatest of the gods, the victor of the battle on the Plain of Towers, Lugh Lámhfada, god of all knowledge, patron of all arts and crafts, his name is still known today. But as memory of the mighty warrior, the invincible god, has faded, he is known only as Lugh-chromain, little stooping Lugh of the sídhe, relegated to the role of a fairy craftsman. And, as even the language in which he was venerated has disappeared, all that is left of the supreme god of the Children of Danu is the distorted form of that name Lugh-chromain . . . leprechaun.

Berserker is a viking word for a warrior who goes so crazy when they fight that it is impossible to stop them. The stories say that Cú Chulainn’s eyes would bulge and his muscles would expand and his veins would stick out like ropes when this happened to him. You didn’t want to be anywhere near Cú Chulainn when he went berserk because he would pretty much kill anything in sight, and those seven pupils meant that he could see a lot of things! But Cú Chulainn was famous long before he fought Queen Maebh’s army and there are many stories about his boyhood and even how he was born.

Leprechauns are not twee beings dreamed up by the tourist board, but warriors of legend. That name comes from the Celtic god of commerce and war, Lugh. Their mission, their life’s work, is to protect the gold. What better way to hide it than to become a joke, a story nobody takes seriously?

He had come looking for a docile, submissive, sweet-natured girl and found instead a Celtic warrior woman, ferocious in her protectiveness of those she loved. Yet he had expected she would become the girl of his dreams simply because he dreamed it.

In one Globetrotter’s skit, it involved Globetrotter’s Captain Meadowlark Lemon collapsing on the ground, and Wilt threw him up in the air several feet high and caught him like a baby. Lemon weighed 210 lbs. Lemon, and other people including Arnold Schwarzenegger, said that Wilt was the strongest athlete that ever lived. On March 9, 2000, his number 13 was retired by the Globetrotters. Wilt’s NBA Career Accomplishments On October 24, 1959 Wilt finally made his NBA debut. Wilt played for the then, “Philadelphia Warriors.” Wilt immediately became the league’s top earner making $30,000 topping Bob Cousy who was making $25,000. The $30,000 is equivalent to $263,000 in today’s currency as per the year 2019. In Wilt’s 1959-1960 season, which was his rookie year, his team made the playoffs. The Warriors beat the Syracuse Nationals then had to go on to play the Eastern Conference Champions, the Boston Celtics. Coach Red Auerbach strategized his forward Tom Heinsohn to commit fouls on Wilt. When the Warriors shot free throws, Heinsohn grabbed and pushed Wilt to stop him from getting back on defense, so quickly. Wilt was a prolific shot blocker, and this allowed Celtics to score quickly without Wilt protecting the basket. The Warriors lost the series 4 games to two after Tom Heinsohn got a last second tip in to seal the win of the series for the Celtics. As a rookie Wilt shocked Warriors' fans by saying he was thinking of retiring from basketball. He was tired of being double- and triple-teamed, and of teams fouling him very hard. Wilt was afraid that he would lose his temper one day which he did in the playoff series versus Boston. Wilt punched Heinsohn and injured his hand. Wilt played for The Philadelphia Warriors, who then relocated to San Francisco, The Philadelphia 76ers, and The Los Angeles Lakers. He won one title with the 76ers then one with the Lakers. First NBA game Wilt scored 43 points and snatched 28 rebounds. Grabbed his rookie career high of 43 rebounds in a win over the New York Knicks.

Even your children are not immortal, my sister. The time will come when they will be defeated. The time will come when no one will want gods and goddesses to nurture them, when they will be driven into the darkness, like my children have been this day. “The time approaches when the summers of Inisfáil will be flowerless, when the cows shall be without milk, and the men will be weak and the women shall be shameless; the seas will be without fish, the trees without fruit and old men will give false judgments; the judges will make unjust laws and honour will count for little and warriors will betray each other and resort to thievery. There will come a time when there will be no more virtue left in this world.

Cú Chulainn, the greatest of the champions of Conchobhar Mac Nessa, King of Ulaidh, sat with other members of the Craobh Ríoga, the warriors of the Royal Branch, bodyguards to the king. It should be explained that the Craobh Ríoga, because of the tired eyesight of an ancient scribe, was mis-transcribed long ago as the Craobh Ruadha, or Red Branch warriors. We, however, shall forgive the scribe’s mistake and return those ancient warriors to their real appellation

The leaders of the hunt can be viewed as fertility spirits, representations of unrestrained sexuality. In earlier times, the Wild Hunt was associated with fertility cults, but in Christian times it became a symbol of the devil at work, which perhaps highlights the differing sexual attitudes of pagans and Christians. To the former, the sexual urge is wild, chaotic, and celebrated, while to the Christians it is fearsome, demonic, and strange.

Back in the roundhouse, Prasutagus and I adjourned to the formal meeting chamber. “I must send word to Bran and Caturix,” I told him. Prasutagus nodded. “We must speak to Caturix in person. Ask him to join us here in Venta, if you think he will.” “Of all my siblings, Caturix’s mind is the one I understand the least, but I will impress upon him the urgency. The Northern Iceni who rode with us haven’t yet left. I will send the messengers to my brothers then rejoin you,” I told Prasutagus, then went in search of Davin, Cai, and the others. I found the Northern Iceni warriors huddled together in the dining hall. Cai rose when I entered. “Is it true, Boudica? The Romans? We did not see them, but everyone was talking.” I nodded. “Yes,” I said, then gestured for them to sit down.

Nennius tells us, what Gildas omits, the name of the British soldier who won the crowning mercy of Mount Badon, and that name takes us out of the mist of dimly remembered history into the daylight of romance. There looms, large, uncertain, dim but glittering, the legend of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Somewhere in the Island a great captain gathered the forces of Roman Britain and fought the barbarian invaders to the death. Around him, around his name and his deeds, shine all that romance and poetry can bestow. Twelve battles, all located in scenes untraceable, with foes unknown, except that they were heathen, are punctiliously set forth in the Latin of Nennius. Other authorities say, “No Arthur; at least, no proof of any Arthur.” It was only when Geoffrey of Monmouth six hundred years later was praising the splendours of feudalism and martial aristocracy that chivalry, honour, the Christian faith, knights in steel and ladies bewitching, are enshrined in a glorious circle lit by victory. Later these tales would be retold and embellished by the genius of Mallory, Spenser, and Tennyson. True or false, they have gained an immortal hold upon the thoughts of men. It is difficult to believe it was all an invention of a Welsh writer. If it was he must have been a marvellous inventor. Modern research has not accepted the annihilation of Arthur. Timidly but resolutely the latest and best-informed writers unite to proclaim his reality. They cannot tell when in this dark period he lived, or where he held sway and fought his battles. They are ready to believe however that there was a great British warrior, who kept the light of civilisation burning against all the storms that beat, and that behind his sword there sheltered a faithful following of which the memory did not fail. All four groups of the Celtic tribes which dwelt in the tilted uplands of Britain cheered themselves with the Arthurian legend, and each claimed their own region as the scene of his exploits. From Cornwall to Cumberland a search for Arthur’s realm or sphere has been pursued.The reserve of modern assertions is sometimes pushed to extremes, in which the fear of being contradicted leads the writer to strip himself of almost all sense and meaning. One specimen of this method will suffice: "It is reasonably certain that a petty chieftain named Arthur did exist, probably in South Wales. It is possible that he may have held some military command uniting the tribal forces of the Celtic or highland zone or part of it against raiders and invaders (not all of them necessarily Teutonic). It is also possible that he may have engaged in all or some of the battles attributed to him; on the other hand, this attribution may belong to a later date." This is not much to show after so much toil and learning. Nonetheless, to have established a basis of fact for the story of Arthur is a service which should be respected. In this account we prefer to believe that the story with which Geoffrey delighted the fiction-loving Europe of the twelfth century is not all fancy. If we could see exactly what happened we should find ourselves in the presence of a theme as well founded, as inspired, and as inalienable from the inheritance of mankind as the Odyssey or the Old Testament. It is all true, or it ought to be; and more and better besides. And wherever men are fighting against barbarism, tyranny, and massacre, for freedom, law, and honour, let them remember that the fame of their deeds, even though they themselves be exterminated, may perhaps be celebrated as long as the world rolls round. Let us then declare that King Arthur and his noble knights, guarding the Sacred Flame of Christianity and the theme of a world order, sustained by valour, physical strength, and good horses and armour, slaughtered innumerable hosts of foul barbarians and set decent folk an example for all time.

Now the emerging consciousness of women represents a fundamental challenge to the gods of Western culture. Far from not wanting to have anything to do with religion, a position adopted by some feminists, the voices of women call for a renewed religious consciousness. We must undergo a profound conversion to a spirituality and worldview that honors womanhood and empowers our being; one that reveres the earth upon which all our foundations rest. Such a conversion will require a radical leap of faith into the unknown; we will often confront the ghosts and demons of the past, and all we will have to sustain us will be the barest hope and possibility that our efforts will succeed. Far from knocking at the door of patriarchy to get in, we need to overthrow the patriarchal “gods of displaced responsibility”, together with their warriors and priests if our world is to survive.

I love you, Killian O’Brien. Every inch of you from your thick brown hair to your large warrior’s feet, and a good many inches in between.

Many of the battles these women fought are still relevant. Almost thirty years ago, Antonia Fraser, in her groundbreaking book Boadicea’s Chariot, traced the line of ‘warrior queens’ from the ancient world to the Iron Lady. She identified several tropes of female leadership-the Chaste Syndrome and the Voracity Syndrome, the role of a woman as Holy (Armed) Figurehead or Peacemaker-and traced them from Celtic mythology and the Roman Empire to the female leaders of her own day: Golda Meir, Margaret Thatcher, Indira Gandhi.

Robin Goodfellow to those he knows. Puck to those he kills. He’s lived among humans for centuries, they think he’s a demon. The teenagers he’s forced to protect, despise him. This exiled warrior, traitor to the Fae and victim of persecution because of his sexuality, has turned into a lonely and unforgiving bastard. The perfect stooge to kill a king.

The gods of the Celtic pantheons are warriors, adventurers, and accomplished poets to a one—even the most sensitive poet was also a fearsome warrior. It was not simply bravery and fearlessness that was expected of the hero, but also learning, skill, cleverness, and loyalty. A lack of any of these qualities spelled the tragic downfall of many a great Celtic hero.

while gods of healing and rebirth might appear as snakes or stags—animals who are continually reborn through the shedding of skin or antlers.