Quest For Camelot Quotes

If there's one thing I've learned in my long life, it's that every villain thinks they're the hero of their own story.

Is it really a Lie if someone is unwilling to see the Truth?

Relationships are about taking off the mask you wear to make someone like you and letting them see the real you. The one you hid all the time. The one you never thought was good enough to find love in the first place.

[B]eware trying to bend the Truth to fit your story instead of facing it head-on. That was your father's mistake. And that's how a Snake becomes a Lion and a Lion becomes a Snake. Because the more you bend the Truth to fit a story, the more it turns into Lies without you even realizing it.

At last, her Weasel had come.

Someone had to save him from himself.

And as a cloud passed over the sun, sending the scene into shadows, the last thing Agatha saw was a new king cast in a golden glow and the old one dragged into the dark by his twisted green chains... The Snake become the Lion and the Lion become the Snake.

You may have been born to do it, but that doesn't mean you'll do it well.

This is no longer a tale about whether you will find fame or fortune or your perfect little happy ending. This is a tale about whether you are capable of growing from the snake of your own story into the hero of someone else's.

Enemies disguise as friends and friends as enemies.

Sometimes the last person you should ask for the Truth is the one who knows it.

To me, a king is a lighthouse. A guide who can cast his glow across his kingdom and bring every last one of us out of the shadows. A beacon who we can look up to when the world seems lost. A bridge who can unite us when our differences seem to stark to reconcile. Tonight, we need a king who is all of those things. A king who can look each of you in the eye and make you feel that you won't just fight for him or his kingdom, but you'll fight for our way of life.

Slowly Tedros lifted his eyes. That’s when he started to cry.

Even when the stories told were true, they never talked about what happened after the quest. About all the wounds–visible and otherwise–that lingered long after the neat close of the tale. They had rescued the damsel. The end. But there was still so much pain there, and perhaps there always would be.

He was standing in the Inner Court, shouting for his enemy. When Guenever saw him, and he saw her, the electric message went between their eyes before they spoke a word. It was as if Elaine and the whole Quest for the Grail had never been. So far as we can make it out, she had accepted her defeat. He must have seen in her eyes that she had given in to him, that she was prepared to leave him to be himself-to love God, and to do whatever he pleased-so long as he was only Lancelot. she was serene and sane again. she had renounced her possessive madness and was joyful to see him living, whatever he did. They were young creatures-the same creatures whose eyes had met with the almost forgotten click of magnets in the smoky Hall of Camelot so long ago. And, in truly yielding, she had won the battle by mistake.

The old man cursed at her and went back inside. Dot smiled. “He’s such a good friend.

I'm completely happy on my own, unattached and untroubled by the vagaries of love.

That sordid, slippery little Snake looked us in the eyes and dared us to sire a king. And tonight, that king will have his vengeance.

When it comes to women, men can be quite weak.

So we all paid a price for our mistakes in the end.

But I'm still yours," said Agatha. "Because without your love, I'd never have become who I really am. So even if I die, I'll always be your Good Deed, Sophie. And no evil in the world will ever erase that.

A change in direction was required. The story you finished was perhaps never the one you began. Yes! He would take charge of his life anew, binding his breaking selves together. Those changes in himself that he sought, he himself would initiate and make them. No more of this miasmic, absent drift. How had he ever persuaded himself that his money-mad burg would rescue him all by itself, this Gotham in which Jokers and Penguins were running riot with no Batman (or even Robin) to frustrate their schemes, this Metropolis built of Kryptonite in which no Superman dared set foot, where wealth was mistaken for riches and the joy of possession for happiness, where people lived such polished lives that the great rough truths of raw existence had been rubbed and buffed away, and in which human souls had wandered so separately for so long that they barely remembered how to touch; this city whose fabled electricity powered the electric fences that were being erected between men and men, and men and women, too? Rome did not fall because her armies weakened but because Romans forgot what being Roman meant. Might this new Rome actually be more provincial than its provinces; might these new Romans have forgotten what and how to value, or had they never known? Were all empires so undeserving, or was this one particularly crass? Was nobody in all this bustling endeavor and material plenitude engaged, any longer, on the deep quarry-work of the mind and heart? O Dream-America, was civilization's quest to end in obesity and trivia, at Roy Rogers and Planet Hollywood, in USA Today and on E!; or in million-dollar-game-show greed or fly-on-the-wall voyeurism; or in the eternal confessional booth of Ricki and Oprah and Jerry, whose guests murdered each other after the show; or in a spurt of gross-out dumb-and-dumber comedies designed for young people who sat in darkness howling their ignorance at the silver screen; or even at the unattainable tables of Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Alain Ducasse? What of the search for the hidden keys that unlock the doors of exaltation? Who demolished the City on the Hill and put in its place a row of electric chairs, those dealers in death's democracy, where everyone, the innocent, the mentally deficient, the guilty, could come to die side by side? Who paved Paradise and put up a parking lot? Who settled for George W. Gush's boredom and Al Bore's gush? Who let Charlton Heston out of his cage and then asked why children were getting shot? What, America, of the Grail? O ye Yankee Galahads, ye Hoosier Lancelots, O Parsifals of the stockyards, what of the Table Round? He felt a flood bursting in him and did not hold back. Yes, it had seduced him, America; yes, its brilliance aroused him, and its vast potency too, and he was compromised by this seduction. What he opposed in it he must also attack in himself. It made him want what it promised and eternally withheld. Everyone was an American now, or at least Americanized: Indians, Uzbeks, Japanese, Lilliputians, all. America was the world's playing field, its rule book, umpire, and ball. Even anti-Americanism was Americanism in disguise, conceding, as it did, that America was the only game in town and the matter of America the only business at hand; and so, like everyone, Malik Solanka now walked its high corridors cap in hand, a supplicant at its feast; but that did not mean he could not look it in the eye. Arthur had fallen, Excalibur was lost and dark Mordred was king. Beside him on the throne of Camelot sat the queen, his sister, the witch Morgan le Fay.

But is it fake if people believe in it? You assume that it is truth that makes a story valuable, because the tales that come from the Storian are true. The Storian writes history. But man is capable of writing stories too and man has no obligation to truth or to history.

The group dismissed the rest of the crowds by shooting sparks into the sky—“THANK YOU!” read Beatrix’s message to the Evers; “GO HOME” read Hester’s to the Nevers—and together, they sealed the gates to Camelot Park and went into Town Hall together to listen to Tedros’ speech.

If only we could go back to our graveyard before we ever thought about boys.

Please tell me you can turn a person to chocolate,” Anadil asked Dot. “I have enough trouble with lentil cakes, thank you,” Dot nipped.

At its edge, Hester and Anadil leaned against each other, speaking softly as they roasted marshmallows and ate them off sticks.

Nonsense. I’ll do it while we travel. I just need two assistants on board, a fleet of courier crows, and an unlimited budget—

One day no one will question my place as king— He tripped over a hole in a carpet and toppled through an open door, his crown flying off him, his body splaying onto a wet floor.

Sophie piddled half of a chicken breast and a bit of cabbage onto her plate. She hesitated, then added a teaspoon of ice cream.

The Snake become the Lion and the Lion become the Snake.

Dot

stand by him in his finest and darkest hours. But instead they were both alone, fending for themselves.

Agatha,

A king is only as strong as his kingdom. A king is only as strong as his allies. A king is only as strong as his army.

You know what you’ve turned into? One of those tiny yapping dogs who thinks it’s scary when all the other dogs think it’s pathetic.

And I’m on the stage so believe me when I say I’m moving as fast as I can!” Hester berated.

Sophie blinked at her. “You eavesdropped on everything we were saying?” “Eavesdropped? You were yelling,” said Beatrix, looking up. “About the Lion,” said Anadil. “And the kiss,” said Nicola. “And how you don’t know his name,” said Hort, stonefaced. “Sophie kisses Rafal, Sophie kisses Tedros, now Sophie kisses Lion with No Name,” said Kiko. “My mother said kiss too many boys and you turn into a snail.” “Preach,” said Hester. Sophie

Find out how a boy of our own came to lie on her shores. At the very least, she must help you bury him.” Professor Dovey choked up, her face translucent. “He is worthy of a home in the same grove as King Arthur, for he was a devoted friend to his son. Chaddick was an honorable boy. He didn’t

Dot didn’t answer. The Sheriff bared his teeth at her. “You ugly, disgusting pig.” He raised his hand to strike her— Hester’s demon slammed into him, bashing the Sheriff in the groin with its horns. Before it could gore him again, a scim ripped through the demon’s claw, pinning the demon to the ceiling. The Sheriff crumpled to the floor, wailing high-pitched noises. Hester gasped, buckling against the wall, as if the wind had been crushed out of her, her skin turning white. Overhead, her red-skinned demon bleated in pain. “H-H-Hester, you okay?” Agatha sputtered. But Hester wasn’t listening, her eyes bloodshot and still fixed on the Sheriff. “Too bad for you, your daughter has friends,” she said. “Lots of friends,” Anadil seethed. “And if you ever touch Dot, you ever speak to her like that again, those friends will tear out your throat,” said Hester. “We will kill her own father to protect her and we won’t feel an ounce of guilt. You don’t know us. You don’t know what we’re capable of.” “And you don’t know the truth about your daughter either,” said Anadil, red glare slashing through the Sheriff. “She isn’t an embarrassment or ugly or any of the other lies you dump on her. She’s a miracle. You know why? Because she came from stock like you and is still the best friend anyone could ask for.” Dot’s face flooded with tears, her whole body quivering. The Sheriff sobbed in pain behind the couch.

We’ve come so far it feels like,” I said. “And while this isn’t the quest we set out to accomplish, I’m so glad to have you two with me. Even when I was with Boney Pete, I don’t know if I was happier than I am today.” Lucius and Alex both blushed this time. They knew how much it meant for me to say that. Alex was the first to recover. She punched me softly on the shoulder. “Hey, we’ll get your skeleton friend back. Don’t worry. I do have to admit that I kinda like this place. I wanted to leave as soon as I got here, but the longer I stay… I mean, there are times I… I wonder if I could…” “Could what?” “Could forget. Could leave my quest behind and stay here. It might be nice, except for the people always disappearing.” Lucius got a starry look in his eye. “And think of the lore, the rich history this world has. There are books to be written about it all. I have a mind to say a while as well—or at least, to return once we rescue Boney Pete.” Alex put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I wouldn’t stay until we saved your friend.” I gave them the smile they wanted, even it was weak. The talk of Boney Pete reminded me of seeing him with Herobrine. There was that moment… but no. That was just Herobrine’s trick. Boney Pete loved me and needed me. Of course, the part of me that Arthur had trained said I should get a second opinion. I decided to ask Lucius once this was all over, and then was reminded of our bigger problem.