The Fork The Witch And The Worm Quotes

Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,— For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Sometimes you have to stand and fight. Sometimes running away isn't an option.

- I have questions, he said. - Then you have more wisdom than most.

You can't break something and mend it a moment later with pretty words. Broken things stay broken. Wounds heal into scars, not skin.

Elva just stared, a wise conversational technique that I recommend in a great many situations.

Sailing down from the underside of the firelit clouds was a small ship of grass,

Strive for wisdom! Or at least a decrease in idiocy.

Happiness, Eragon had decided, was a fleeting, futile thing to pursue. Contentment, on the other hand, was a far more worthwhile goal.

Was that a true story?” “Of course it was a true story!” exclaimed Skarghaz, stomping back to his chair. “We would not tell you a story that said wrong things about the world, Rider.” “No, I mean, did it really happen?

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Harpier cries ’Tis time, ’tis time. Round about the cauldron go; In the poison’d entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter’d venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver’d in the moon’s eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver’d by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

Blaming the dead for our mistakes never accomplishes much.

After a moment, she felt Tornac pull her sleeve back down, and he said, "That... is a very impressive scar. You should be proud of it." Confused, she looked back at him. "Why? It's ugly, and I hate it." A faint smile played around the corners of his lips. "Because a scar means you survived. It means you're tough and hard to kill. It means you lived. A scar is something to admire.

They’ve planned for every possible way out of here.” But not, I thought, the impossible ways.

Many will advise you to dig for the truth, but you must never, never do that. I have dug. I have seen what lies below, and I would not wish that upon the worst of you.

May Mister Stabby always bring you good fortune.

She took the fork. “Thank you,” she said, solemn. “All good weapons deserve a name,” said Tornac. “Especially magical ones. What would you call this one?” Essie thought for a second and then said, “Mister Stabby!

In light of my impending dotage, I decided to put pen to paper and write an account of my life. An autobiography of sorts, if you will." "Your impending dotage, eh?" The curly-haired woman didn't look any older than her early twenties. Eragon hefted the packet. "And what am I supposed to do with this?" "Read it, of course!" said Angela. "Why else would I traipse across the whole of Alagaësia and beyond but to get the informed opinion of a man raised as an illiterate farmer?" Eragon eyed her for a long moment. "Very funny.

rekk

and

bum.

And the elves...the elves were elegant and efficient and polite to a fault, but once they made a decision, they would not or could not change their minds. Dealing with them had proven far more frustrating than Eragon had anticipated, and the more time he spent around them, the more he'd begun to agree with Orik's opinion of elves. They were best admired from a distance.

There are parts missing,” he said. The herbalist fluttered her hand, as if the matter was of no consequence. “That’s because I’m writing them out of order. It’s how my brain works.” “But how do you know that” - he squinted at a page - “this is supposed to be chapter one hundred twenty-five and not, say, one hundred twenty-three?” “Because,” said Angela with a superior expression, “I have faith in the gods, and they reward my devotion.” “No, you don’t,” said Eragon. He leaned forward, feeling as if he’d just gained the advantage in a sparring match. “You don’t have faith in anyone but yourself.” She made an expression of mock outrage. “Here now! You dare question my conviction, Shur’tugal?!” “Not at all. I just question where it’s directed.