Elric Of Melnibone Quotes

And now, Elric had told three lies. The first concerned his cousin Yyrkoon. The second concerned the Black Sword. The third concerned Cymoril. And upon those three lies was Elric's destiny to be built, for it is only about things which concern us most profoundly that we lie clearly and with profound conviction.

Man may trust man, Prince Elric, but perhaps we'll never have a truly sane world until men learn to trust mankind. That would mean the death of magic, I think.

Elric knew that everything that existed had its opposite. In danger he might find peace. And yet, of course, in peace there was danger. Being an imperfect creature in an imperfect world he would always know paradox. And that was why in paradox there was always a kind of truth. That was why philosophers and soothsayers flourished. In a perfect world there would be no place for them. In an imperfect world the mysteries were always without solution and that was why there was always a great choice of solutions.

Why should their pain produce such marvelous beauty? he wonders. Or is all beauty created through pain? Is that the secret of great art, both human and Melnibonen?

We must be bound to one another then," Elric murmured despairingly. "Bound by hell-forged chains and fate-haunted circumstance. Well, then—let it be thus so—and men will have cause to tremble and flee when they hear the names of Elric of Melinbone and Stormbringer, his sword. We are two of a kind—produced by an age which has deserted us. Let us give this age cause to hate us!

Know this. Elric cannot have want he desires most. What he desires does not exist. What he desires is dead. All Elric has is sorrow, guilt, malice, hatred. This is all he deserves and all he will ever desire.

We must be bound to one another then. Bound by hell-forged chains and fate-haunted circumstance. Well, then - let it be thus so - and men will have cause to tremble and flee when they hear the names of Elric of Melnibone and Stormbringer, his sword. We are two of a kind - produced by an age which has deserted us. Let us give this age cause to hate us.

Aye," said Elric darkly, "return me to my realm, so that I may fulfill my own doom-laden destiny ..." Werther looked upon the albino with affectionate delight. "Aha! A fellow spirit! I, too, have a doomladen destiny." "I doubt it is as doom-laden as mine.

I respect you for the destiny you will fulfil and for the great sacrifices you will make, for you were born, Elric of Melnibone, to suffer all the world can do to make a mortal suffer, to lose what is most painful for a mortal to lose, and you reward for that will be unbearable loneliness, terrible grief and hopeless death; the death of memory and friendship. You will be remembered in you histories as a pale and nameless shadow and in your myths as one of many doomed heroes. With others of your ilk there will be none to remember you or your world. You will be remembered, Elric, by the better world your death will help create, but it will be as a dream, a vaguely recalled memory of your life and actions.