Robin Of Sherwood Quotes

Robin Hood just called, he wants Sherwood Forest back.

Doctor: 'I am not a hero." Robin Hood: 'Well, neither am I, but if we both keep pretending to be, perhaps others will be heroes in our name. Perhaps we will both be stories and may those stories never end.

One keeps searching for ease, she did not say, and not finding it, till the memories of no-pain seem only like daydreams.

She fell asleep, leaning on his chest, and he edged her a little off a particularly painful bruise, leaned his head back against the tree he had propped them up against, and closed his own eyes.

It wasn't Sherwood Forest he haunted, it was Marian. She carried him in her thoughts and she would carry out his will with her own hands.

Her betrothed is a lout, her father is a boor; and now her brother is trailing around looking like a thunderstorm about to burst. Men are not sensible creatures.' 'Thank you,' said Robin.

She poured the water, arranged some bread near enough the embers to scorch but not catch fire, and looked up at Little John. She was so accustomed to his step, to his bulk, that it took a moment to notice his face; and when she did . . . It was, she thought, rather like the moment it took to realize one had cut one's finger as one stared dumbly at the first drop of blood on the knife-blade. You know it is going to hurt quite a lot in a minute.

I have a mastery of the art of worrying that is a burden to me if I may not use it.

...and again she wished for Sherwood, and the dappled roof of leaves that never weighed upon her. She pulled her scarf closer around her and thought, I would rather live in a hut in the woods; a hut like the one of my first memories, with a clean-swept dirt floor, and a brown-eyed boy watching me from behind his mother's skirts as I watched him from behind mine.

Because the law will never be just. Perhaps it can come close— so close the line is hard to see. But laws are written by men, who are imperfect by nature, and justice belongs to something beyond the power of men.

Tales are as much the necessary fabric of our lives as our bodies are.

The man paused and added with a grin, "He also wishes your porter's head on a silver plate for not opening the gate at once upon his herald's declaration of his visit. This tale of threatening brigands is all very well, but can't I see he's the sheriff?

Little John, watching her standing next to her brother, half-glowering in the old Cecil manner and half-comforted by Robin's words, saw for a moment what it had been like for her as Will's litter sister. Some of what she was good at, and some of what she was bad at, as his pupil, came clear to him in that moment; and something else came clear to him too, but he set it aside so quickly that he allowed himself not to recognize it for what it was.

Robin: I'm sure you've learnt to bake, but you have not learned to handle Much. The phrases that you need my lady, are "No", "No you can't", and "No, get out of here before I throw something at you".

IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood.

I don't remember this earlier,' said Tuck. 'No?' said Robin in a neutral voice, and Tuck was too busy to pursue it, but merely bound it up and told him it was time for him, too, to try to sleep. Robin never had to tell anyone of his meeting, weaponless and with an armful of dead branches to break up for firewood, with one of Guy's men. The next day, when the burying began, no one questioned the body of another mercenary.

Oh,' she said, too bone-weary to pretend: 'I would far rather that I love you as I saw yesterday I do than that I had gone on worshiping you as I did not long since.' And she turned away hastily, and did not see that Little John would reach out to her; and half-running, went to Tuck's cottage, where she could pull on her half-dry clothes, and become a proper outlaw again. At least, she thought, fighting back tears, like this I am Cecil, with a place among friends, and a task to do. I am someone. I wonder if perhaps if I am no longer Cecil, I am no one at all.

Robin: Golden arrow? And what would we do with a golden arrow? Give it to Alan for a lute string? I could hang it around my neck on a chain, perhaps, and let it stab me in the ribs when I tried to sit. Marian: And your honour as an outlaw? Robin: My honour as an outlaw concerns staying alive; and presenting my neck anywhere near the Sheriff of Notingham, who feels it wants lengthening, runs directly counter to that honour. Marian: The sheriff will be gravely disappointed. Robin: That's the best news I've heard all week.

Walking away barefoot on the soft loam, with mist rising in ribbons all around her, Etty tucked the year's first violets into her hair.

Etty saw Rowan, daughter of Robin Hood, lifting her green kirtle, her brown braid lashing like a wildcat's tail as she tried to run.

Golden arrow? And what would we do with a golden arrow? Give it to Alan for a lute string? I could hang it around my neck on a chain, perhaps, and let it stab me in the ribs when I tried to sit.

Robin Hood. To a Friend. No! those days are gone away, And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Ofthe leaves of many years: Many times have winter's shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor rent nor leases. No, the bugle sounds no more, And the twanging bow no more; Silent is the ivory shrill Past the heath and up the hill; There is no mid-forest laugh, Where lone Echo gives the half To some wight, amaz'd to hear Jesting, deep in forest drear. On the fairest time of June You may go, with sun or moon, Or the seven stars to light you, Or the polar ray to right you; But you never may behold Little John, or Robin bold; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on an empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth his green way beguile To fair hostess Merriment, Down beside the pasture Trent; For he left the merry tale, Messenger for spicy ale. Gone, the merry morris din; Gone, the song of Gamelyn; Gone, the tough-belted outlaw Idling in the "grene shawe"; All are gone away and past! And if Robin should be cast Sudden from his turfed grave, And if Marian should have Once again her forest days, She would weep, and he would craze: He would swear, for all his oaks, Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes, Have rotted on the briny seas; She would weep that her wild bees Sang not to her---strange! that honey Can't be got without hard money! So it is; yet let us sing Honour to the old bow-string! Honour to the bugle-horn! Honour to the woods unshorn! Honour to the Lincoln green! Honour to the archer keen! Honour to tight little John, And the horse he rode upon! Honour to bold Robin Hood, Sleeping in the underwood! Honour to maid Marian, And to all the Sherwood clan! Though their days have hurried by Let us two a burden try.

Little John: I would come too. He might want knocking in a stream to cool his anger. Much: I will come too, to fish him out again, and to reassure him that not all of us have this queer craving for hurling folks in water.

The king will catch us if the sheriff should fail to and then the Saxon race can be symbolically and romantically hung by the neck till dead.

Her words flew like butterflies through the vibrant air of the hall; and the company was quiet, as if watching them.

She lay all too aware of how frost stiffened her hair, furred her blankets.

You're still drunk on the stories you learned at your father’s knee, stories from a world that has passed away. But Leofric was the last gasp of a dying age. The Norman spike has driven itself deep into this soil. They have settled in the country and populated the towns, built fortresses and governed shires. They have left our brightest and best in a smoldering heap, from which the smoke can never more be gathered. We cannot expect to raise the stalk back up again when it has been ground into feed.

I cannot return," she said, sadness weighing down each word. "I am sorry." "We need you, Isabelle," Adam said, his voice rough. "We need your clever brain and your wicked shot and your passion for helping people." "You are talking about Robin," she whispered. "No, I'm not," he said forcefully. "I'm talking about you. The girl that stood up to a camp of outlaws and challenged for her place among them. The girl who took on the most powerful man in the country and beat him. The girl who stared down a soldier of the king to protect innocent people. We've got our hands full helping the rebel barons and protecting the people of Sherwood. No one knows about Robin's death besides the Men, and we can't let anyone find out. The people need something to believe in now more then ever. We need Robin Hood to live on, even if the man himself is gone. But I'm too tall and Little's a terrible shot. Helena's the only one with a bow arm good enough to pretend to be Robin, and she won't let any of us hear the end of it. We need you." He cleared his throat. "I need you.

The Sherwood Forest Chronicles . 1. If Robin Hood steals from the rich, doesn't that make them poor? Does he give them their money back? I mean, what the point of robbing to begin with if your mission statement is logically flawed? 2. If the Sheriff of Nottingham is such an asshole, why isn’t he the Prime Minister of Nottingham? 3. Why don’t I see elves here? Did all the elves of Sherwood Forest migrate to New Zealand to become extras on the Peter Jackson’s Hobbit films? 4. Does Little John even know what an oxymoron is? 5. If Smokey the Bear came to Sherwood Forest to make a public service announcement about preventing forest fires, would he leave with arrows in his ass or would the Merry Men feast on bear meat for several days? And what makes the Merry Men merry in the first place? 6. What do you think? Does Robin Hood shop at Walmart or Target?

When we entered the library we were surprised to see two other people.  They were friends of Joan who would also be guests here for a part of the holiday.  Their first names were Helen and John and after that the only thing I heard was that she was the Justice of the Peace in Sherwood Forest and he was the Sheriff of Nottingham.      I looked at Tim first who was straight faced as usual, then at Marguerite and we both managed to suppress a grin or a laugh.  I almost said, “Ok, Ok, this shit has gone on long enough, SO we’re not gonna ask if Robin Hood will be here as well.”  Thank heavens I didn’t, because they were deadly serious and it was all true.

Ruling was more difficult than wanting...

She was an arrow in need of a bow, to send her off in one direction or another.

There is no shame in fear. It’s what keeps you and yours alive.

Now come I, forsooth, from good Banbury Town," said the jolly Tinker, "and no one nigh Nottingham--nor Sherwood either, an that be the mark-- can hold cudgel with my grip. Why, lads, did I not meet that mad wag Simon of Ely, even at the famous fair at Hertford Town, and beat him in the ring at that place before Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady? This same Robin Hood, of whom, I wot, I never heard before, is a right merry blade, but gin he be strong, am not I stronger? And gin he be sly, am not I slyer? Now by the bright eyes of Nan o' the Mill, and by mine own name and that's Wat o' the Crabstaff, and by mine own mother's son, and that's myself, will I, even I, Wat o' the Crabstaff, meet this same sturdy rogue, and gin he mind not the seal of our glorious sovereign King Harry, and the warrant of the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I will so bruise, beat, and bemaul his pate that he shall never move finger or toe again! Hear ye that, bully boys?

Although these were easily the darkest days in Alfred’s life, they also were to become the most famous. The stories of his persevering against the Vikings transformed King Alfred into Alfred the Great. The story falls into a category that the modern ear can easily recognize and appreciate. From the legends of Robin Hood hiding out with his band of merry men in Sherwood Forest to the tales of men fighting in the underground French resistance during World War II, the modern listener has been well trained to be moved by the courageous nobility of continuing a campaign of resistance long after being driven into hiding. The seeming despair of a life of defiant resistance, while being hunted in one’s homeland, captures the imagination and takes on a romantic hue. But this was not a category of story that the Anglo-Saxon ear was accustomed to hearing. To his contemporaries, Alfred’s plight was an unqualified tragedy, utterly devoid of romanticism

Marian... turned her face at last; there were tear marks on it, and Robin felt a pricking behind his own eyes, that Marian should cry over him.

Sir Richard ignored this, staring at Robin, who was staring at his feet. "I love her, you see," he said at last, indistinctly. Sir Richard grimaced. "A fine way you have of showing it." "A fine thing I should love her at all, do you not think?" Robin said, looking up.

flute and a brandy snifter. With the lean uprightness of the former looking down upon the squat rotundity of the latter, one could not help but think of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on the plains of the Sierra Morena. Or of Robin Hood and Friar Tuck in the shadows of Sherwood Forest. Or of Prince Hal and Falstaff before the gates of— But there was a knock at the door. The Count stood and hit his head against the ceiling.

Let us not gallop to meet future difficulties,” said Robin. “A walking pace is enough.

For I have been often wrong, and whilst the training of the Church has taught me to admit it, somehow I have never learnt not to be wrong in the first place.

Marian, in her boy’s clothing, sat astride a fallen treetrunk near the Trysetell Tree, her eyes fixed on Robin, who stood perfectly still, waiting. He looked at her, smiling the smile Dummy had noticed before whenever he was in danger, as if he were living entirely in that moment of time without thought for the past or future, and was thoroughly enjoying himself.” “Gilbert wrapped Jehan in a cloak of Lincoln green and laid him tenderly in the Oratory, heaping the bright snow about him.

This was the darkest hour of Alfred’s fortunes. It was some months before he could even start a guerrilla. He led “with thanes and vassals an unquiet life in great tribulation…. For he had nothing wherewith to supply his wants except what in frequent sallies he could seize either stealthily or openly, both from the heathen and from the Christians who had submitted to their rule.” He lived as Robin Hood did in Sherwood Forest long afterwards.

Ah-ha-ha-ha!” Robin Hood threw back his head and laughed heartily. “No, it means Marian scared him off with her sword.” “And I wouldst do it again,” said Marian. “For the scoundrel was sent here by that vile villain the Sheriff of Nottingham.” “Aye,” said Robin, squinting at the shadowy trees. “Methinks there shalt be others eager to earn the price the sheriff hath placed upon my head.” “Well, maybe, I don’t know, you two should go hide in Sherwood Forest or something.” “Forsooth, I like thy notion. Come. Sherwood is over yonder.

Your kind has taken away enough from me…enough from my people.” Robin’s temples throbbed, as if a hundred memories were pulsing through his mind at once. “I don’t intend to let you take any more, not this day.

Our Lord Jesus did not live by the sword, yet God sent Him to save the world by bearing the weight of sin on our behalf. That is why a Christian warrior must always be prepared to lay down his life on behalf of another.

My bonny boy, last night I dreamt of a wily wolf and a swift stag, blessing a sapling among the trees. It is a sign you will make our people proud. They will sing of you when these songs are long forgotten.

Because of all the wild stories they tell of Robin Hood, one has always been true.” Gisborne’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but Marian saw a man searching for support, not readying himself to attack. “He’s in love with the Lady Marian.

The Norman spike has driven itself deep into this soil. They have settled in the country and populated the towns, built fortresses and governed shires. They have left our brightest and best in a smoldering heap, from which the smoke can never more be gathered. We cannot expect to raise the stalk back up again when it has been ground into feed.

Woden was willing to hang upon a tree to prevent the end, yet all his efforts were in vain. I would rather worship a God who would make a fool of Himself for love, hung from a tree so that sinners might be granted pardon and peace. He has gained a victory that cannot be overturned.

Marian shook her head. “Nay, I would see a world that is more concerned with justice and mercy than with rank.

All I ask is that they remember Christ came unto the poor as a child of the poor. God is among them, on their side, and they needn’t be afraid of men like Renouf, Montefault, or Cavendish.

Yes, despite everything, I astonish myself by daring to hope. Marian gives me that hope. There is so much good to be found in England, for we are all her people, no matter our rank or fortune or lineage. Surely it is our choices that define us, no matter which side our sires fought on at Hastings field.

I want you to be the father of my child, yes, more than any other man in the world. I want us to grow old together, and lie tangled up in bed during long winter nights, and walk through the garden at the birth of every spring. I want you to read to me, letters and poems, and I want to feed you when you are sick and keep you warm during fever. I want to be by your side till the day I die.

Such a glorious history you have, slaughtering outnumbered men and torturing helpless women and children! You dare call yourselves civilized? You’re nothing but a pack of Norse pirates, who took the cross only when the French king promised you land to grasp and wine to guzzle and women to deflower!

To hell with the law!” Robin cried. “I would break it into so many pieces! I would make it a victim instead of my people!

There are different kinds of love,” she assured. “One burns brightly and quickly, like the flame of a taper, then it dies by the morning light. But another is strong, and sure, like an oak with deep roots. It lives on beyond the numbered days of men…

Jacob gestured to the children. “Look at them! Do they see Norman and Saxon? No, they just see neighbors. That’s what this is about, this food, this basket. It’s what neighbors do. We’re not so different that I can’t understand the way worry can weigh on a man.

I am the flesh of your flesh, and you are the heart of my heart. When the hand hurts, the eye cries, and when the eye hurts, the hand wipes the tears away. We’re supposed to comfort each other in this life and guide each other to God’s Kingdom in the next. That’s what my mother taught me about marriage. Did she not teach me truly, my lord?

The death of gods and men should hold few terrors for Christian folk. Indeed, we should make merry, for we see death and resurrection alike.

You won’t settle for peace, Rob,” said Owain. “Not after what you’ve seen. You’ll demand justice...yes, and you’ll take it. I know you. And if you want us to be of any help to you when the time comes for you to stand tall, you'll have to teach us how to stand beside you.

You,” she whispered, getting to her feet and extending the horn towards him. “You are the Green Man! Blow as thou wilt!

Methinks some trouble may be worth stirring,” she remarked. “The company Our Lord kept was not altogether lauded either. Some shepherds are determined to find lost sheep, I suppose, even at the risk of smelling like them.

My father fought against the infidels during the last crusade. It cost him his life. But even if one who had served among the Mohammadan rabble sought sanctuary at the chapel gates, I would give it to him. The laws of the Almighty stand above the laws of men.

I play the affable fool at social gatherings and cut deals in back rooms with my fellow Normans. But I cannot trust them with my vulnerability. Only from you I hide nothing, for you are open about your feelings and your cause, even to those on the other side. Yes, you are a Saxon, but…I trust you more than my own people.

God calls to all men through beauty,” he said. “Grace saves us, but is not grace beautiful? I think it must be full womanly, even, to draw men in, and to give us a second birth.

I think our ancestors foresaw grace, the original kind that makes all things grow, and is ever giving birth to greater greenery, not just in the wood, but in the heart. It is ever making us something we once were, and something we have yet to become.

I have not forgotten that I am a Norman, nor the responsibilities that I bear. I swear I will be a lady worthy of our family name, worthy of England, and worthy of my conscience.

Robin Hood might not have existed. Maybe there never was a band of Merry Men waiting in Sherwood Forest for King Richard’s return. But I’d like to think it happened. We’ve seen him in other times and places. Some people still stand up for what’s right, some people do protect the helpless, some people fight for justice – and that’s what makes the story of Robin Hood true.

The Luddites were also excellent trolls. They were, like the movement that was massacred at Peterloo a few years later, a prototypical class insurrection: but they carried it off with tremendous elan. The very name ‘Luddite’ deliberately evoked a fictitious leader, Ned Ludd, a product of legend and fantasy, fear of whom had British authorities and spies searching high and low for sign of him. His supporters decided that Mr Ludd lived in Sherwood Forest, home of the equally legendary Robin Hood, and signed their letters, ‘Ned Ludd’s Office, Sherwood Forest’. They cross-dressed and marched as ‘General Ludd’s wives’.

Sir Robin, I stayed up late last night gazing at the moon through my window, its silvery glow glittering off the lake. It comforts me to know we both stare at the same moon, and no matter where in the world we are, the same moon lights our path at night. Just as it controls the tides, it steers my thoughts to you.

Edward “Ned” Ludd, rebel leader, founder of the Luddites, was said to be holed up in Sherwood Forest, in Nottinghamshire, like Robin Hood. But also like Robin Hood, Ned Ludd was a myth. There may have been a stocking knitter of that name a few decades before who got mad and smashed up some stocking-making equipment. That’s what one newspaper editor said, anyway. But General Ludd, leader of the army of redressers, was an invention—someone made him up, and the myth spread.

This is why we need you,” said Much comfortably. “You’re a pessimist and a good planner.

Just promise us—for this evening—that you won’t try to sacrifice yourself to your stubborn idea of justice to a Norman king. No sacrifices till you’ve had at least one good night’s sleep, and something to eat.

A crying child’s voice will carry half across England. Is there still no news?

And we might have been less bullying out-of-doors if he had been less bullying indoors.

Robin Hood strung his bow and took his place with never a word, albeit his heartstrings quivered with anger and loathing. Twice he shot, the first time hitting within an inch of the wand, the second time splitting it fairly in the middle. Then, without giving the other a chance for speech, he flung his bow upon the ground. "There, thou bloody villain!" cried he fiercely, "let that show thee how little thou knowest of manly sports. And now look thy last upon the daylight, for the good earth hath been befouled long enough by thee, thou vile beast! This day, Our Lady willing, thou diest—I am Robin Hood." So saying, he flashed forth his bright sword in the sunlight.

At Warner Brothers, the importance of interoffice memorandum was underscored with a note to all personnel at the bottom of the studio’s official printed correspondence sheets: VERBAL MESSAGES CAUSE MISUNDERSTANDING AND DELAYS (PLEASE PUT THEM IN WRITING).

He ran till he was blind with running, till he thought he had lived his entire life running, one foot pounding down in front of the other endlessly, till his bones were on fire with it, and every time either foot struck the ground his whole body cried out against the jolt. He set his teeth and ran on.