Odin's Ravens Quotes

I had forgotten that, while Thor hurls his Hammer from storm-clouds, Odin prefers his strike to come out of a calm sky.

Are you prepared?" she asked when the other Valkyries had their passengers in place. "Sure," Matt said. "But we could use a soundtrack this time. Maybe a little Wagner. Da-da-da DUM dum." Hildar looked back at hiim blankly. "Wagner? Ride of the Valkyries? Da-da-da...Er, never mind." "Oh!" Baldwin said. "I know that one!" "Don't feed the geek," Fen muttered. "Hey," Matt said. "I'm not a-" "Oh, yeah, you are, Thorsen. You really are," Fen said in a voice that might have been teasing.

There's something in there," Matt said. "Something alive. It punched me." "Punched you?" Baldwin's face screwed up. "Are you sure a bat didn't fly into you? I bet there are a few in there." Matt rubbed his tender jaw. "Unless its name is Bruce Wayne, that wasn't a bat.

The black bird cocked its head to one side, and then said, in a voice like stones being struck, 'You shadow man.' 'I'm Shadow,' said Shadow. The bird hopped up onto the fawn's rump, raised its head, ruffled its crown and neck feathers. It was enormous and its eyes were black beads. There was something intimidating about a bird that size, this close. 'Says he will see you in Kay-ro.' tokked the raven. Shadow wondered which of Odin's ravens this was: Huginn or Munnin, Memory or Thought. 'Kay-ro?' he asked. 'In Egypt.' 'How am I going to go to Egypt?' 'Follow Mississippi. Go south. Find Jackal.' 'Look,' said Shadow, 'I don't want to seem like I'm-- Jesus, look...' he paused. Regrouped. He was cold, standing in a wood, talking to a big black bird who was currently brunching on Bambi. 'Okay. What I'm trying to say is I don't want mysteries.' 'Mysteries,' agreed the bird helpfully. 'What I want is explanations. Jackal in Kay-ro. This does not help me. It's a line from a bad spy thriller.

He has two ravens, whom he calls Huginn and Muninn, which mean “thought” and “memory.” These birds fly back and forth across the world, seeking news and bringing Odin all the knowledge of things. They perch on his shoulders and whisper into his ears.

What are you doing?" Matt's eyes snapped open to see Reyna walking toward him. "I was ... thinking," he said. "That's a weird pose for thinking." She imitated him, closing her eyes and holding out her hand. Then she screwed up her face, like she needed to go to the bathroom.

This was no game of thrones where generals sacrificed and maneuvered on the backs of their soldiers; this was the most primal sort of conflict—Odin’s weather, the red chaos of slaughter—where men stood breast-to-breast and shield-to-shield, and dealt the same blows they took in kind.

A fox will kill every chicken in the coop just because it can do it. However, a wolf takes only one lamb, and the rest of the sheeps start to fear him

1 You said ‘The world is going back to Paganism’. Oh bright Vision! I saw our dynasty in the bar of the House Spill from their tumblers a libation to the Erinyes, And Leavis with Lord Russell wreathed in flowers, heralded with flutes, Leading white bulls to the cathedral of the solemn Muses To pay where due the glory of their latest theorem. Hestia’s fire in every flat, rekindled, burned before The Lardergods. Unmarried daughters with obedient hands Tended it. By the hearth the white-armd venerable mother Domum servabat, lanam faciebat. At the hour Of sacrifice their brothers came, silent, corrected, grave Before their elders; on their downy cheeks easily the blush Arose (it is the mark of freemen’s children) as they trooped, Gleaming with oil, demurely home from the palaestra or the dance. Walk carefully, do not wake the envy of the happy gods, Shun Hubris. The middle of the road, the middle sort of men, Are best. Aidos surpasses gold. Reverence for the aged Is wholesome as seasonable rain, and for a man to die Defending the city in battle is a harmonious thing. Thus with magistral hand the Puritan Sophrosune Cooled and schooled and tempered our uneasy motions; Heathendom came again, the circumspection and the holy fears … You said it. Did you mean it? Oh inordinate liar, stop. 2 Or did you mean another kind of heathenry? Think, then, that under heaven-roof the little disc of the earth, Fortified Midgard, lies encircled by the ravening Worm. Over its icy bastions faces of giant and troll Look in, ready to invade it. The Wolf, admittedly, is bound; But the bond wil1 break, the Beast run free. The weary gods, Scarred with old wounds the one-eyed Odin, Tyr who has lost a hand, Will limp to their stations for the Last defence. Make it your hope To be counted worthy on that day to stand beside them; For the end of man is to partake of their defeat and die His second, final death in good company. The stupid, strong Unteachable monsters are certain to be victorious at last, And every man of decent blood is on the losing side. Take as your model the tall women with yellow hair in plaits Who walked back into burning houses to die with men, Or him who as the death spear entered into his vitals Made critical comments on its workmanship and aim. Are these the Pagans you spoke of? Know your betters and crouch, dogs; You that have Vichy water in your veins and worship the event Your goddess History (whom your fathers called the strumpet Fortune).

So what do I get?" Reyna asked. "You already have the cloak." "How about this boar Matt mentioned?" "Not yet, daughter of Freya." Hildar paused, as if thinking. "There is the chariot drawn by cats." "Cats? Like leopards? Tigers?" "Just cats. House cats, I believe you call them.

Can I get my swans?" Reyna asked. Hildar turned to her. "Freya does not have swans." "Right," Matt said. "I got that wrong. Sorry. Freya is said to be the leader of the Valkyries, who are swan maidens." "We are not swan maidens," Hildar said, straightening and lifting her sword. "But you can turn into swans." "No, we are not swans." "Not even vicious killer swans?" Reyna asked. "No." "Okay, but I'm still your leader, right, Like Matt said, Freya -" "No." Hildar hesitated. "You are not battle proven. You may lead us one day. But we are still not swans.

The dark warrior jumped high into the air, his knees almost striking his chest, then landed in a crouch and leapt back up spinning around, his sword slicing the air. And I wondered how it was possible for him to move like that in mail... Beynor just stood there, rooted to the ground like an ash. "Heimdall's hairy ballsack," he said, "he's a giant flea!

It's the goats," he said, his voice low. "The what?" Fen said. "The, uh, goats. Thor ... in the myths ... Thor has goats." Fen pressed his lips together, but after only a moment, he sputtered a laugh. Baldwin joined in. Even Laurie seemed to be trying to hold one back. Matt's cheeks heated. "Seriously? Goats?" Fen said. "That is awesome." "They're magical goats," Matt said. "Magical ..." Fen couldn't even manage the rest without choking on his laughter. "Do not mock the son of Thor," Hildar said. "The goats are very important. It is an aspect of the great god. Oku-Thor." "Oku-Thor?" Fen said. "Lord of the Goats," Hildar said. All three burst out laughing, even Laurie. Matt tried to explain that wasn't the real translation - it meant "Driver Thor", referring to the goat cart he drove, not the actual goats, but no one was listening to him. The damage was done.

Okay, so Hildar said that Glaemir only has some of his people with him, forty or so, and I already told the ... goats to meet us there." Matt paused sort of awkwardly. "Hildar gave me directions that the goats could follow, so they're on the move." "The goats are on the move," Baldwin said in a low voice before cracking up. The twins smiled at him. Fen rolled his eyes, but like everything Baldwin did, Fen thought it was fine. Even Owen's lips curled in a small grin.

Are you prepared?" she asked when the other Valkyries had their passengers in place. "Sure," Matt said. "But we could use a soundtrack this time. Maybe a little Wagner. Da-da-da DUM dum." Hildar looked back at him blankly. "Wagner? Ride of the Valkyries? Da-da-da ... Er, never mind." "Oh!" Baldwin said. "I know that one!" "Don't feed the geek," Fen muttered. "Hey," Matt said. "I'm not a -" "Oh, yeah, you are, Thorsen. You really are," Fen said in a voice that might have been teasing.

In the presence of our families and friends, I take you, Celestia, to be my mate, my love, my consort, and my wife. Together, we can accomplish more than I could ever do alone. I will never let the pressures of the present and uncertainty of the future stop me from loving you, because you are my partner in mayhem, my enabler in trouble, and my companion in a life full of unexpected, strange adventures. I will encourage you to try new things and revisit the old to refresh your memories. I promise to celebrate our love daily, snuggle with you often, and make you laugh out loud. I vow to lend you my strength only when you need it, and to cheer you on from the sideline and support you when you don’t. I pledge to nurture and be respectful of your talents and quirks even when they involve dead animals.” He glanced at a raven in the back of the room, which I’d assumed was one of Odin’s. “You have a huge, kind, and giving heart, and I’m the lucky man you’ve given it to for safekeeping. I promise to never give you a reason to doubt my love for you, because this is just the beginning of our journey together. We have forever, and I will love you always.

Kavanagh continued his walk in the direction of Mr. Churchill's residence. This, at least, was unchanged,⁠—quite unchanged. The same white front, the same brass knocker, the same old wooden gate, with its chain and ball, the same damask roses under the windows, the same sunshine without and within. The outer door and study door were both open, as usual in the warm weather, and at the table sat Mr. Churchill, writing. Over each ear was a black and inky stump of a pen, which, like the two ravens perched on Odin's shoulders, seemed to whisper to him all that passed in heaven and on earth. On this occasion, their revelations were of the earth. He was correcting school exercises.

When's the last time you called them?" "I haven't. But they needed to rescue us just the other day. From the bison." "They rescued you from -?" Reyna shook her head. " I don't want to know. So when else have they rescued you?" "Well, never, but I'm supposed to do this on my own. They told me where to find Mjölnir, right after they gave me my goats." "Goats? No, again, I don't want to know." She paused. "Wait, actually, I do. You get goats?" "Magic battle goats." "Of course. So you get magic goats, a magic necklace, a magic hammer, a magic shield. You're like the favourite child who gets all the best Christmas gifts. What does Freya have?" "Um, a magic cloak." She waved that off. "Got it already. What else?" "There's the boar, Hildisvini." "Who? What?" "Hildisvini. He's a boar. It's a wild pig -" "I know what a boar is. That's almost as bad as goats. What else?" "Um ... swans, I think?" "Swans? Great. You get killer goats, and I get pretty birds." "Have you ever met a swan? They're vicious. I think I'd rather take my chances with a goat." Her eyes lit up. "Really? Now that would be cool. Everyone would think they were just pretty birds and then they attack. Stealth swans.

There's something in there," Matt said. "Something alive. It punched me." "Punched you?" Baldwin's face screwed up. "Are you sure a bat didn't fly at you? I bet there are a few in there." Matt rubbed his tender jaw. "Unless its name is Bruce Wayne, that wasn't a bat.

The Jotunn looked like a two-headed WWE wrestler on nuclear-powered steroids,

When the mist passed, the “statue” stood another ten feet away. “See?” Matt said. “That’s creepy,” Fen grumbled. “Statues aren’t supposed to move.” “They’re

Everyone would think they were just pretty birds and then they attack. Stealth swans.” Matt

The goats are on the move,

The stench of the thing was overpowering, smelling like a combination of rotting meat and an overfilled portable toilet in the hottest South Dakota summer. And

A sooty-red cock from the halls of Hel,’” he recited.

He reaches into the backseat, returning with his laptop case. “Way ahead of you, babe.” Unzipping it, he pulls out his laptop while I openly gawk at the side of his face. “If you’re going to keep acting crazy every time I call you that, then I’ll be forced to stop doing it.” I press my lips together. “Sorry. It’s just… Babe. I like babe.” “I thought you might.” He slinks a side-look at me that’s part teasing, part totally sexy and boyfriend-y, and… fucking mine. Great Odin’s raven, I have zero chill right now.

Its inventor was a Thuringian rassragr who used to joke the machine was more intelligent than an infinitude of Odin’s ravens but, thankfully, considerably kinder. Trumba, however, had no use for a humane machine. The inventor killed himself, the High Urdur reported, apparently by eating an apple laced with cyanide when his correctional hormone treatments didn’t take. His continued fondness for jokes somehow lived on in his machine. When MIM spoke, it used his arch voice and clipped vowels.

If there was one thing worse than seeing a giant's head rise from the ground, it was seeing two giant heads. Belching fire. Still, if they killed Matt, his soul wouldn't have far to travel ... considering he was already in the afterlife. "At least it's only one giant," Matt said as they crouched behind a rock. Fen gave him a look. "What? It's true. A single two-headed giant is better than two one-headed giants." And this, Matt realized, was what their world had come to. A week ago, his biggest worry was failing his science fair project. Now he was taking comfort in the thought that he faced only one fifty-foot-tall, fire-breathing giant.

Great Odin’s raven, I have zero chill right now.

No one can say exactly when the process of combining the different historical, legendary, and mythic elements into a Volsung cycle began, but it was probably at an early date. By the ninth century the legends of the Gothic Jormunrek and those of the destruction of the Burgundians had already been linked in Scandinavia, where the ninth-century “Lay of Ragnar” by the poet Bragi the Old treats both subjects. Bragi’s poem describes a shield on which a picture of the maiming of Jormunrek was either painted or carved and refers to the brothers Hamdir and Sorli from the Gothic section of the saga as “kinsmen of Gjuki,” the Burgundian father of King Gunnar. The “Lay of Ragnar” has other connections with the Volsung legend. The thirteenth-century Icelandic writer Snorri Sturluson identifies the central figure of the lay, whose gift inspired the poem in his honor, with Ragnar Hairy Breeches, a supposed ancestor of the Ynglings, Norway’s royal family. Ragnar’s son-in-law relationship to Sigurd through his marriage to Sigurd’s daughter Aslaug (mentioned earlier in connection with stave church carvings) is reflected in the sequence of texts in the vellum manuscript: The Saga of the Volsungs immediately precedes The Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok. Ragnar’s saga, in turn, is followed by Krákumál (Lay of the Raven), Ragnar’s death poem, in which Ragnar, thrown into the snakepit by the Anglo-Saxon King Ella, boasts that he will die laughing. The Volsung and Ragnar stories are further linked by internal textual references. It is likely that the The Saga of the Volsungs was purposely set first in the manuscript to serve as a prelude to the Ragnar material. The opening section of Ragnar’s saga may originally have been the ending of The Saga of the Volsungs. Just where the division between these two sagas occurs in the manuscript is unclear. Together these narratives chronicle the ancestry of the Ynglings—the legendary line (through Sigurd and Ragnar) and the divine one (through Odin). Such links to Odin, or Wotan, were common among northern dynasties; by tracing their ancestry through Sigurd, later Norwegian kings availed themselves of one of the greatest heroes in northern lore. In so doing, they probably helped to preserve the story for us.” (Jesse Byock)

Also previously mentioned, Huginn and Muninn are Odin’s ravens, who could observe all mankind and who also represented both memory and thinking.

Meet Huginn and Muninn,” she said fondly. “Named after Odin’s ravens in Norse mythology.” Huginn playfully nibbled her earlobe, while Muninn hopped onto her head and pecked at the ribbon that held her hair.

It'll be easier for you to persuade the sea not to get wet.

Gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed saepe cadendo - the drops carve the stone, but not because of the force, but rather because they often fall on him.

...black, a color of lust, decaying and ending of all things. Or, perhaps, it just marks the blackness of the deepest rage, when the mind lowers itself to the coldest depths and when you lose control over yourself.

The beauty is the shallow trophy, Raven, but you will never have to drink from it.

Death is death, however it comes.

A famous story is constantly hungry, so you need to feed it if you want to keep it.

A wise man makes a few oaths in his life and he never breaks it...

The trouble is that you think too much when completely sober. Your thoughts fly inside your head, whether you called them or not, and they are more obvious as you try to ignore them.

If a man doesn't know what's in the pot, he just becomes more hungry.

If a man doesn't know what's in the pot, he only gets hungrier.

...people are like ships - they move easily when their cargo holds are empty.

You can't feel the battle in your bones, so you won't know when the danger threatens you.

Dreams are sometimes cruel - they offer us a short view to what might have been, while they fill our soul with strange and pure joy, but too fast they take it from us, so we feel worse then losing a fortune in silver, which we claimed after a hard battle.

...strength alone sometimes is useful as the decoration on the hilt of a sword.

We all change, Raven, like the stones consumed by the sea.

A wolf that eats peasant's sheep loses his teeth before the one that must hunt in the woods.

Beauty is a shallow trophy, Raven, but you shall never have drink from it.

...the wounds are good, because they remind thief where he's been, and they are welcomed spice for stories and sagas.

Warriors sought battle and glory, but when the moment for bloodshed comes, Yngvar learned that most glory-seekers would rather melt back to their fields than truly face a bloody death. It only takes one time seeing men writhing on the ground, holding in their guts and screaming like children to never want to experience it again. Perhaps these men were remembering such a time. They climbed the rise toward the mead hall.

Thankfully, a messenger raven swooped into the pavilion just then to summon me to the thane meeting. “At last,” I muttered as I headed to the Thing Room. “A moment of sanity.” I opened the conference room door to find my trusted advisors twirling in their plush leather chairs. “Whoever spins the longest without getting sick wins!” one of the Eriks yelled. “Thanes!” I roared. “Come to order!” My advisors quickly pulled their chairs to the table (except for Snorri Sturluson, who staggered to the nearest trash bin and threw up).

the blade gets dull,if we don't use it

I fly upon the blackest of wings, I soar through the dark night sky, I answer to no call but my own, I alone forge my reality, for I am the Raven, Child of Odin.” ~ Viking Proverb

[Editor’s Note: Snorri Sturluson has had issues with accuracy in the past. To ensure this is not an issue with this and other interviews recorded in this book, a raven scribe accompanied him to his meetings. The transcripts therefore include impartial observations as well as the conversations themselves.] SNORRI STURLUSON: Thank you, my lord, for agreeing to talk with me. I’m certain readers will be extremely interested in whatever you say. ODIN: Probably. SS: May I ask my first question? O: You just did. SS [laughing delightedly]: Oh, you got me that time! Wise and witty, all in one package! But now to the question. Odin, tell us, in your own words…what was it like when you lost your eye? O [cheerfully]: I didn’t lose it, Snorri. I gouged it out with my own fingers. SS [looking green]: In…deed. And, erm, what was that like? O: Not fun. But I got something worthwhile in exchange for it. SS: And that was? O: This cool eye patch. SS: Ah. Nothing else?

I'm sorry," Matt said. "I messed up. Thank you for -" "We had to rescue you. From buffalo." Fen stepped forward. "And the fact that we messed up because we just finished rescuing Baldwin from Hel doesn't count at all? Really?" "We are pleased with you for that, son of Loki. As we are pleased with the son of Thor for getting you all out of Hel safely." "Um, I didn't get us out," Matt said. "It was a joint effort. I actually fell in a river of acid." "As you should," she said. "We are pleased for that, too." Obviously she was being sarcastic, but her expression and tone gave no sign of it.

Fen stared helplessly at the pocket that had been on his jeans and now was dangling half out of the goat's mouth. "It bit me!" "Nooo," Laurie corrected. "It bit your jeans." Fen looked over his shoulder where his boxers were now exposed for any and all to see. Considering where they stood - utterly surrounded by goats - any and all was pretty much three other descendants of the North and a heard of goats. Matt grinned. "You might not want to walk around like that." "I think I have a ... skirt in my bag." Laurie couldn't even finish the sentence without laughing. Her words were broken up by giggles. Fen's expression was somewhere between horrified and furious. "Thanks," he said sarcastically. "Scots wore kilts," Baldwin pointed out, "and some guys like skirts -" "No," Fen interrupted. "I'm not 'some guys' ... or Scottish." He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a flannel shirt. Instead of putting it on, he tied it around his hips so the shirt hung down over his backside. "All fixed," Fen pronounced with a smug smile ... which lasted all of a moment before several goats started trying to nibble the dangling shirt.

The draugr continued, "You say you are the champion? We can settle this easily. Inside that crypt lies Mjölnir. Bring it to me." "It's a trick," Baldwin hissed. "Yes, it is a trick," the draugr said. "If the boy is truly a Thorsen, he already knows that. Do you think no one has found that hammer before now? They have. But they cannot lift it. It lies in its bed of stone, and only Thor's true champion and raise it out. Only the living embodiment of the great god himself." "Uh, isn't that Excalibur?" Baldwin said. Matt tried to shush him, but Baldwin said, "It is Excalibur. With the stone. I saw the musical." He lowered his voice. "I think his brains are rotting, too. He seems confused." "The son of Balder, I see," the draugr said. "I would believe you are the living embodiment of Frigg's doomed son. As pleasant and a sun-warmed stone. And just as intelligent." "Hey!" Baldwin said.

The twins had returned. "Goth Barbie and Ken, are you stopping in for a visit?" Fen asked as he came to his feet. "Just passing by?" "Fen," Laurie cautioned him. "No, it's fine. Wolf-boy felt abandoned," Reyna said. "We had a puppy once that misbehaved when we left it alone, and the trainer suggested a crate. Do we need a crate?" "Funny." Fen bared his teeth at her. Ray stepped up beside his twin. Baldwin snorted in laughter, earning a dirty look from Fen and a smile from Reyna. "What?" he said. "It was funny." When Fen didn't crack a smile, Baldwin shrugged. "I thought it was funny.

The draugr leaped up, surprisingly agile for a leather-bound skeleton. "The true champion would never have let Mjölnir slip from his grasp. You are an impostor, and I will put you in the earth, where you belong." It was a great speech. The draugr even followed it up with a roar, ready to reinflate. Except ... well, the problem with battlefield speeches? If you're talking, you aren't fighting. So when the draugr began to roar, he got it from all sides. An arrow in the back of the head. A wolf clamping down on his arm bone. And Matt running full speed and slamming him in the face with the shield.

If I had been invited by my dear family sooner, I would've dealt with Glaemir by now," said a voice behind them. "Aunt Helen!" Laurie exclaimed. "Niece." The ruler of Hel wore another living dress, this one covered by death's-head moths. Aside from the tiny little skull shape on the backs of the moths, they weren't particularly odd. Helen's habit of dressing in living things, however, was a bit creepy. "Speak of the devil," Fen murmured. Helen laughed and shook her finger at him. "Now, now, Nephew. I'm standing here with the godlings. Would I do that if I were a devil?

Glory is the prize that can never be burned,stolen by anyone or lost

A wise guest knows when to leave the off the table

a traitor doesn't know to think deep,although he's,in some way,quite cunning

The world goes one, despite the chaos we cause, Raven, so let Odin offers us a time to write our names in the earth, thus allowing the others to watch out on every step.

With people, who live from raiding, you'll find patience rarely, like a successful marriage.

It'll be like putting your hand in wolf's jaws and hoping it won't bite you.

Warriors make an oath to the chief, who, in return, has to make them famous and rich, but in those benefits they cannot enjoy if they're dead.

...a tale is dry if we talk about it, without moistening the tongue.