Dragon's Lair Quotes

I just rely on natural talent," said Adrian, strolling up to the start of the Dragon's Lair. "When you have such a wealth of it to draw from, the danger comes from having too much.

Most of us know what we should expect to find in a dragon's lair, but, as I said before, Eustace had read only the wrong books. They had a lot to say about exports and imports and governments and drains, but they were weak on dragons.

To Vik Lovell who told me dragons did not exist, then led me to their lairs ...

When evening in the Shire was grey his footsteps on the Hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

He peppers kisses all over my face. “It’s like… I breathe you babe. There is no other way to explain it.

Enter my lair, said the dragon. I have shiny treasure for you to play with, I’ll keep you warm and safe, and if it suits my purpose, I’ll chain you to the floor and kill your client by throwing quarters at him with my magic. Been there, done that.

Fire, water, earth, and air, All meet in the dragon's lair. Six brave hearts have failed the test;One continues in the quest. Remember well the words you know When on to find your fate you go.

When walking into the lair of the dragon after robbing his hoard, the least you could do is hold you head high [...]

Once Incarceron became a dragon, and a Prisoner crawled into his lair. They made a wager. They would ask each other riddles, and the one who could not answer would lose. It it was the man, he would give his life. The Prison offered a secret way of Escape. But even as the man agreed, he felt its hidden laughter. They played for a year and a day. The lights stayed dark. The dead were not removed. Food was not provided. The Prison ignored the cries of its inmates. Sapphique was the man. He had one riddle left. He said, "What is the Key that unlocks the heart?" For a day Incarceron thought. For two days. For three. Then it said, "If I ever knew the answer, I have forgotten it." --Sapphique in the Tunnels of Madness

How would you like it if I poked you?” he asks, trying to keep a straight face. “You already did, you asshole! That’s how I got pregnant!” I yell in his face.

I walk out into the kitchen the next morning, rubbing my eyes. I stop in my tracks as I see a man standing over the stove. Naked. He has an extremely white ass and is frying something in the pan.

The corn is planted first, followed by beans, then squash between the rows.They are called the Three Sisters. They sustain each other, the earth, and us. But the Big Ones do not know that. They do not care for the earth, and its children, properly.

Condoms aren’t a hundred percent you know,” he reminds me calmly. My mind flashes to a certain episode of Friends, and I suddenly feel like yelling out that they should put that on the outside of the box.

Did you never wonder why the old books are so full of dragons chasing after maidens? The serpents think the girls are orphans, and long to get them away in a lair so that they may grow up strong and tall.

Ouch,” I mutter. Okay definitely not a dream. That freaking hurt.

White, red, evil, green. What haunts these woods stays unseen Dragons roam and take to air. Cut down those who are near his lair. Eat your meat and drink your blood. Leave remains in the tub. Bone white, blood red. Along this path you'll soon be dead.

Enter my lair, said the dragon. I have shiny treasure for you to play with, I’ll keep you warm and safe, and if it suits my purpose, I’ll chain you to the floor and kill your client by throwing quarters at him with my magic. Been there, done that. “I

Fine but I don’t care who offers you hospitality with their women, you say no. There is no what happens on the road stays on the road with us.” I let my expression tell him how serious I am about this.

my jaw drops open at the scene before me. I hope you got her to sign a consent form or a contract or some shit, i say , staring at the two of them. Fifty shades of Rake!

If there was magic in this world, it happened within sight of the three bases and home plate. All the gems in my world that decorated the walls and floors of dragons' lairs, the sword hilts of privileged princes, and crowns worn by emperors and kings, were nothing compared to the beauty and splendor of the diamond in Wrigley Stadium. It wasn't just a yard with dirt, chalk lines, bases, and a small hill in its center. Wrigley was a field of dreams. Dreams of eternal glory for the men who ran to the outfield, who took their respective bases, and prepared for battle against those who would dare enter their hallowed realm. Dreams for the kids in the stands, all wanting to don a uniform, kiss their moms goodbye, and wield their bats as enchanted weapons destined to knock the cover off the ball. And for the adults who had already selected their lot in life, Wrigley made the dreams of past innocence, lost wonder, and the promise that there was something inherently good still left in the world, come true. Yeah, corny as hell. But all true.

There were two mysteries, actually: one old, one new. The old one opened his mind, but it was the new one that climbed inside, turned several circle, and settled in with a grunt--like a satisfied dragon in a new cozy lair. And there it would remain--the mystery, in his mind--exhaling enigma for years to come.

He surveyed me, his eyes half closed, as if wondering if I were a delicious snack. I had an image of a massive dragon circling me slowly, eyes full of magic fixed on me as he moved, considering if he should bite me in half. “Dragons.” Rogan snapped his fingers. Oh crap. “I wondered why I kept getting dragons around you.” He leaned forward. His eyes lit up, turning back to their clear sky blue. “You think I’m a dragon.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” My face felt hot. I was probably blushing. Damn it. His smile went from amused to sexual, so charged with promise that carnal was the only way to describe it. I almost bolted out of my chair. “Big powerful scary dragon.” “You have delusions of grandeur.” “Do I have a lair? Did I kidnap you to it from your castle?” I stared straight at him, trying to frost my voice. “You have some strange fantasies, Rogan. You may need professional help.” “Would you like to volunteer?” “No. Besides, dragons kidnap virgins, so I’m out.” And why had I just told him I was not a virgin? Why did I even go there? “It doesn’t matter if I’m the first. It only matters that I’ll be the last.” “You won’t be the first, the last, or anything in between. Not in a million years.” He laughed. “Rogan,” I ground out through my teeth. “I’m on the clock. My client is in the next room mourning his wife. Stop flirting with me.” “Stop? I haven’t even started.

In the dawn of the language, the word 'worm' had a somewhat different meaning from that in use to-day. It was an adaptation of the Anglo-Saxon 'wyrm,' meaning a dragon or snake; or from the Gothic 'waurms,' a serpent;

Hiki Komori stirred Aurora away from the orgy and handed her a clean napkin. ‘Sorry about them. It’s the Rhapsody. To them, the real world is something akin to a cardboard reality.’ ‘Why do it at all?’ she pouted, trying to wipe her shoe with the napkin. ‘Why take the damn drug?’ ‘To escape their mortality, naturally. The great curtain call frightens them, so they avoid the applause. More so, they perform badly, spitting their lines out in spite. They are embittered and hungry and will no doubt eat your child. 'Yes, the soul of humanity will end in two days. But we’ve buried its body fifty decades before, wouldn’t you think? Come, Miss Aurora,’ he beckoned, ‘the lair of the Dragon runs deeper still.

Little boys jump, but they do not know where. Into the mouth of the demon lair. Hold still and you will see, in his hand is the key. Fire and brimstone. Brimstone and fire. Your ally is clever. a thief and a liar. All is not lost. You can turn it around. But, for a moment...all will be well.....peaceful and sound." Alice.

Odd lair for a dragon", Darnak said, "and I've seen one or two in my times." "Do all dragons own flower gardens?" "This is the first one I've come across.

So this guy walks into a dragon’s lair and he says why the long tale? HAR HAR BUDDY says the dragon FUCK YOU.

The Readers... We write to inspire, to move and to share. What is a book without someone to read it? Simply words on a page and nothing more. ~Kali Willows~

People will love you. People will hate you. And none of it will have anything to do with you. —Abraham-Hicks

The eye of the spirit can nowhere find more dazzling brilliance and more shadow than in man; it can fix itself on no other thing which is more formidable, more complicated, more mysterious, and more infinite. There is a spectacle more grand than the sea; it is heaven: there is a spectacle more grand than heaven; it is the inmost recesses of the soul. To make the poem of the human conscience, were it only with reference to a single man, were it only in connection with the basest of men, would be to blend all epics into one superior and definitive epic. Conscience is the chaos of chimeras, of lusts, and of temptations; the furnace of dreams; the lair of ideas of which we are ashamed; it is the pandemonium of sophisms; it is the battlefield of the passions. Penetrate, at certain hours, past the livid face of a human being who is engaged in reflection, and look behind, gaze into that soul, gaze into that obscurity. There, beneath that external silence, battles of giants, like those recorded in Homer, are in progress; skirmishes of dragons and hydras and swarms of phantoms, as in Milton; visionary circles, as in Dante. What a solemn thing is this infinity which every man bears within him, and which he measures with despair against the caprices of his brain and the actions of his life!

The only way to free yourself from a lifetime of being tyrannized by your own thought processes, whether you suffer from excessive anxiety or not, is to come to see your thoughts for what they are and to discern the sometimes subtle—but most often not-so-subtle—seeds of craving and aversion, of greed and hatred, at work within them. When you can successfully step back and see that you are not your thoughts and feelings, that you do not have to believe them, and that you certainly do not have to act on them, when you see vividly that many of them are inaccurate, judgmental, and fundamentally greedy or aversive, you will have found the key to understanding why you feel so much fear and anxiety. At the same time you will have found the key to maintaining your equilibrium. Fear, panic, and anxiety will no longer be uncontrollable demons. Instead you will see them as natural mental states that can be worked with and accepted just like any others. Then, lo and behold, the demons may not come around and bother you so much. You may find that you don’t see them at all for long stretches. You may wonder where they went or even whether they ever existed. Occasionally you may see some smoke, just enough to remind you that the lair of the dragon is still occupied, that fear is a natural part of living, but not something you have to be afraid of.

The old one opened his mind, but it was the new one that climbed inside, turned several circles, and settled in with a grunt—like a satisfied dragon in a cozy new lair. And there it would remain—the

Found in trees. Sometimes also in old silent movie theaters, seaside zoos, magic shops, hat shops, time-travel shops, topiary gardents, cowboy boots, castle turrets, comet museums, dog pounds, mermaid ponds, dragon lairs, library stacks (the ones in the back), piles of leaves, piles of pancakes, the belly of a fiddle, the bell of a flower, or in the company of wild herds of typewriters. But mostly in trees.

Elrond knew all about runes of every kind. That day he looked at the swords they had brought from the trolls' lair, and he said: "These are not troll-make. They are old swords, very old swords of High Elves of the West, my kin. They were made in Gondolin for the Goblin-wars. They must have come from a dragon's hoard or goblin plunder, for dragons and goblins destroyed that city many ages ago. This, Thorin, the runes name Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver in the ancient tongue of Gondolin; it was a famous blade. This, Gandalf, was Glamdring, Foe-hammer that the kind of Gondolin once wore. Keep them well!

When you peer into an abyss, you see a monster. If it is a small abyss, then it is a small monster. But if it is the ultimate abyss, then it is the ultimate monster. That is certainly a dragon—perhaps even the dragon of evil itself. The conceptualization of the monster in the abyss is the eternal predator lurking in the night, ready and able to devour its unsuspecting prey. That is an image that is tens of millions of years old, something coded as deeply in the recesses of our biological structure as anything conceptual can be coded. And it is not just the monsters of nature, but the tyrants of culture and the malevolence of individuals. It is all of that, with the latter dominant, terrible as that is to consider. And it is in the nature of mankind not to cower and freeze as helpless prey animals, nor to become a turncoat and serve evil itself, but to confront the lions in their lairs. That is the nature of our ancestors: immensely courageous hunters, defenders, shepherds, voyagers, inventors, warriors, and founders of cities and states. That is the father you could rescue; the ancestor you could become. And he is to be discovered in the deepest possible place, as that is where you must go if you wish to take full responsibility and become who you could be.

When evening in the Shire was grey his footsteps on the hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger; quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

CHAPTER II—THE LOWEST DEPTHS There disinterestedness vanishes. The demon is vaguely outlined; each one is for himself. The I in the eyes howls, seeks, fumbles, and gnaws. The social Ugolino is in this gulf. The wild spectres who roam in this grave, almost beasts, almost phantoms, are not occupied with universal progress; they are ignorant both of the idea and of the word; they take no thought for anything but the satisfaction of their individual desires. They are almost unconscious, and there exists within them a sort of terrible obliteration. They have two mothers, both step-mothers, ignorance and misery. They have a guide, necessity; and for all forms of satisfaction, appetite. They are brutally voracious, that is to say, ferocious, not after the fashion of the tyrant, but after the fashion of the tiger. From suffering these spectres pass to crime; fatal affiliation, dizzy creation, logic of darkness. That which crawls in the social third lower level is no longer complaint stifled by the absolute; it is the protest of matter. Man there becomes a dragon. To be hungry, to be thirsty—that is the point of departure; to be Satan—that is the point reached. From that vault Lacenaire emerges. We have just seen, in Book Fourth, one of the compartments of the upper mine, of the great political, revolutionary, and philosophical excavation. There, as we have just said, all is pure, noble, dignified, honest. There, assuredly, one might be misled; but error is worthy of veneration there, so thoroughly does it imply heroism. The work there effected, taken as a whole has a name: Progress. The moment has now come when we must take a look at other depths, hideous depths. There exists beneath society, we insist upon this point, and there will exist, until that day when ignorance shall be dissipated, the great cavern of evil. This cavern is below all, and is the foe of all. It is hatred, without exception. This cavern knows no philosophers; its dagger has never cut a pen. Its blackness has no connection with the sublime blackness of the inkstand. Never have the fingers of night which contract beneath this stifling ceiling, turned the leaves of a book nor unfolded a newspaper. Babeuf is a speculator to Cartouche; Marat is an aristocrat to Schinderhannes. This cavern has for its object the destruction of everything. Of everything. Including the upper superior mines, which it execrates. It not only undermines, in its hideous swarming, the actual social order; it undermines philosophy, it undermines human thought, it undermines civilization, it undermines revolution, it undermines progress. Its name is simply theft, prostitution, murder, assassination. It is darkness, and it desires chaos. Its vault is formed of ignorance. All the others, those above it, have but one object—to suppress it. It is to this point that philosophy and progress tend, with all their organs simultaneously, by their amelioration of the real, as well as by their contemplation of the absolute. Destroy the cavern Ignorance and you destroy the lair Crime. Let us condense, in a few words, a part of what we have just written. The only social peril is darkness. Humanity is identity. All men are made of the same clay. There is no difference, here below, at least, in predestination. The same shadow in front, the same flesh in the present, the same ashes afterwards. But ignorance, mingled with the human paste, blackens it. This incurable blackness takes possession of the interior of a man and is there converted into evil.

I can’t afford you, so I guess I will have to steal you.” “Nah, I’m cheap, you don’t have to steal,” muttered Zak, slowly driving into the garage, which was cluttered by tools and all kinds of trash that he didn’t find interesting at all. He exhaled and stopped the car, pulling out the key. It felt like driving into the dragon’s lair. Even more so when Stitch pressed on the button again and the garage door started closing. The lair had a drawbridge and it was being pulled up. “You’re priceless to me,” Stitch said quietly, his eyes shining and aware. Zak stared at him, his lungs emptying so much they started burning. With his throat tight, he turned to Stitch, overwhelmed by the intensity in those deep brown eyes. Stitch wasn’t lying. It was the raw truth presented on a platter along with a still-beating heart. Zak never expected to hear anything like this, from anyone, and as much as he liked to listen to reason, the confession sent his mind into chaos. “I’m gonna kill you if you’re just trying to get into my pants by saying stuff like that.” Stitch smirked and leaned over to kiss Zak’s lips. It was the slightest brush of mouths, but it sent a powerful charge all the way to Zak’s feet. “I’ll die a happy man,” he said and left the car.

then coiling his length together, roaring like thunder underground, he sped from his deep lair through its great door, out into the huge passages of the mountain-palace and up towards the Front Gate. To hunt the whole mountain till he had caught the thief and had torn and trampled him was his one thought. He issued from the Gate, the waters rose in fierce whistling steam, and up he soared blazing into the air and settled on the mountain-top in a spout of green and scarlet flame. The dwarves heard the awful rumour of his flight, and they crouched against the walls of the grassy terrace cringing under boulders, hoping somehow to escape the frightful eyes of the hunting dragon. There they would have all been killed, if it had not been for Bilbo once again. “Quick! Quick!” he gasped.

Well, we do need to find a new lair for your treasure.” She knew he didn't want to leave his homeland, but she would make him squirm for just a few minutes. “I hear the middle of nowhere Nebraska has a large population of Czech people. They even have Nebraska Czech Days, where we can eat goulash and kledniki and kolaches.” She only knew all of this because she'd had a young lady from Clarkson, Nebraska who needed to have a big fat Bohemian wedding.

3Strengthen those who are discouraged.g Energize those who feel defeated.h 4Say to the anxious and fearful, “Be strong and never afraid. Look, here comes your God! He is breaking through to give you victory! He comes to avenge your enemies. With divine retribution he comes to save you!”i 5Then blind eyes will open and deaf ears will hear. 6Then the lame will leapj like playful deer and the tongue-tied will sing songs of triumph. Gushing water will spring up in the wilderness and streams will flow through the desert.k 7The burning sand will become a refreshing oasis, the parched ground bubbling springs, and the dragon’sl lair a meadow with grass, reeds, and papyrus. 8There will be a highway of holiness called the Sacred Way. The impure will not be permitted on this road, but it will be accessible to God’s people.m And not even fools will lose their way.n 9The liono will not be found there; no wild beast will travel on it— they will not be found there. But the redeemed will find a pathway on it. 10Yahweh’s ransomed ones will return with glee to Zion. They will enter with a song of rejoicing and be crowned with everlasting joy. Ecstatic joy will overwhelm them; weariness and grief will disappear!

It was said once inside Eye of the Storm, there was no way out but up.

Condoms aren’t a hundred percent foolproof, you know,” he reminds me calmly. My mind flashes to a certain episode of Friends, and I suddenly feel like yelling out that they should put that on the outside of the box.

When you enter the lair of a dragon you must expect to get a little burnt.

We’ve been summoned to the Dragon Lady’s lair. I think we’re in trouble.

when I was a lad half your age, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was like to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware of weasels.

Like a slapstick comedian, Dirk suffered all kinds of iniquities. He battled past Mud Men, skeletons, creepy crawlies, giant bats and an obstinate suit of flying horse armour. If he survived the castle’s traps, he’d ultimately find the shapely Princess Daphne waiting for him, locked away inside a glass bubble in Singe the Dragon’s coin-filled lair. She was a blonde siren with nipples erect enough to hang your coat on - and her design owed more to animator Gary Goldman’s Playboy magazine collection than to the chaste Cinderellas and Snow Whites of Disney.

Hanson is a great band, and nothing he says will make me change my mind.

What were the rules?” I asked. Felix held up a hand to count off. “Don’t touch an orc’s gold, don’t go into a dragon’s lair, don’t drag a vampire into the sun, and don’t taunt the Hungry Man.” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait. The Hungry Man?” He ignored me and continued walking up to the ship. “F-Felix wait, the Hungry Man is real?” He refused to turn back around. But his shoulders shook slightly. He cleared his throat before looking around. “I sure hope one didn’t make it onto the ship.” My teeth grit as indignation rose within. “Fallon put you up to this, didn’t he? You are both terrible!

WHITE, RED, EVIL, GREEN. WHAT HAUNTS THESE WOODS STAYS UNSEEN. DRAGONS ROAM AND TAKE TO AIR. CUT DOWN THOSE WHO NEAR HIS LAIR. EAT YOUR MEAT AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD. LEAVE REMAINS IN THE TUB. BONE WHITE, BLOOD RED. ALONG THIS PATH, YOU’LL SOON BE DEAD. “Oh, goodness,” I muttered.

Having with incomparable cunning set up a scenario in which this motley brown Dragon believed he was kidnapping a helpless victim to the King’s heinous plan,” she elaborated, “the wicked Princess took over the Dragon’s lair, stole all his artworks and flogged them to the highest bidder for a fine profit. The Dragon, having shed his scales in shock at the Princess’ impudence

I’ll just pretend this is a ride at Disneyland. Dragonland? Xren-land? Sure to be a hit when I get back to Earth and found an amusement park company. There will be dragon rides and bumper dragons and a haunted lair and a Ferris dragon and tilt-a-dragons. And dragonfireworks every night. Free treatment at the burn ward next door.

And so she made her decision. She would be the princess to walk willingly into the dragon's lair, and she would beg the dragon to save her.

When evening in the Shire was grey his [Gandalf] footsteps on the Hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

Brela focused on the flicker of freedom from her debts — the flame that rested far on the horizon, but still burning — and she put it out. “It seems I’ll be walking into that dragon’s lair after all.

Yes, at Pod Jaszczury. Under the Dragon. Yes, we will meet here, in the dragon’s lair, to discuss the beast itself.

WHITE, RED, EVIL, GREEN. WHAT HAUNTS THESE WOODS STAYS UNSEEN. DRAGONS ROAM AND TAKE TO AIR. CUT DOWN THOSE WHO NEAR HIS LAIR. EAT YOUR MEAT AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD. LEAVE REMAINS IN THE TUB. BONE WHITE, BLOOD RED. ALONG THIS PATH YOU’LL SOON BE DEAD.

Seriously, last I heard, he had two hundred of you death-bound critters scampering around his lair! That’s the dragon equivalent of being a crazy cat lady, you know.

Slay the dragon in his lair before he comes to your village. If you run from the things you are afraid of, you run from what you need, in fact, to find.