Sherwood Forest Quotes

They said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest than President of the United States forever.

Robin Hood just called, he wants Sherwood Forest back.

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.

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.

Nothing last forever except change

Once woman is made equal to man, she fancies herself his superior

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.

Werewolves took to Sherwood Forest, started robbing noblemen, inventing ridiculous nicknames for themselves, and gallivanting about in overly tight hosiery. But the vampires, they went underground.” “Gracious,” said Dimity, “I’d no idea. I mean to say, I’d heard about the Sherwood werewolves, of course – who hasn’t? Didn’t they wear hoods with feathers in, or some such rot?

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.

In most parts of the world, people go to sleep without fearing that in the middle of the night a neighbouring tribe might surround their village and slaughter everyone. Well-off British subjects travel daily from Nottingham to London through Sherwood Forest without fear that a gang of merry green-clad brigands will ambush them and take their money to give to the poor (or, more likely, murder them and take the money for themselves). Students brook no canings from their teachers, children need not fear that they will be sold into slavery when their parents can’t pay their bills, and women know that the law forbids their husbands from beating them and forcing them to stay at home. Increasingly, around the world, these expectations are fulfilled.

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.

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

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.

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.

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’.

Song for Lonely Roads Now let us understand each other, love, Long time ago I crept off home, To my own gods I went. The tale is old, It has been told By many men in many lands. The lands belong to those who tell. Now surely that is clear. After the plow had westward swept, The gods bestowed the corn to stand. Long, long it stood, Strong, strong it grew, To make a forest for new song. Deep in the corn the bargain hard Youth with the gods drove home. The gods remember, Youth forgets. Doubt not the soul of song that waits. The singer dies, The singer lives, The gods wait in the corn, The soul of song is in the land. Lift up your lips to that.

Rowan–I mean–is that truly your name?" "Yes. It is now." It was her true name. She wanted him always to call her Rowan.

I like rowan trees," he said softly. "They're slim and small, but they're tough and they'll grow anywhere. They take root in stony soil. They're a mystic tree. Diviners use rowan to find precious metal. And they are beautiful." He looked at her, his blue eyes serious for once, telling her without words that he found her beautiful also. "They make good firewood, too," Ro said, trying to lighten the moment.

They changed, like the wind changes, and we let them be. Sometimes the falcon returns to the falconer. Sometimes not.

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.

Little Georgie was almost as tall at three months as Lizzy was the day her brothers had rescued her from Sherwood Forest.

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.

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.