Troll 2 Quotes

I don't care where I come from or who you are. I can make you happy, and you make me happy. We could have a happily ever after.

Murder was in fact a fairly uncommon event in Ankh-Morpork, but there were a lot of suicides. Walking in the night-time alleyways of The Shades was suicide. Asking for a short in a dwarf bar was suicide. Saying 'Got rocks in your head?' to a troll was suicide. You could commit suicide very easily, if you weren't careful.

...You're not suited for this Merripen. You can't hold your liquor worth a damn. And unlike people such as me, who become quite amicable when they drink, you turn into a vile-tempered troll." Leo paused considering how best to provoke him. "Liquor brings out one's true inner nature, they say.

Im riding a troll! i was born to do this,and steal stuff, and EAT LOADS!

The Librarian considered matters for a while. So…a dwarf and a troll. He preferred both species to humans. For one thing, neither of them were great readers. The Librarian was, of course, very much in favor of reading in general, but readers in particular got on his nerves. There was something, well, sacrilegious about the way they kept taking books off the shelves and wearing out the words by reading them. He liked people who loved and respected books, and the best way to do that, in the Librarian’s opinion, was to leave them on the shelves where Nature intended them to be.

If I’m going to be ruled by a high-minded pretty-faced troll, it might as well be you.” “I’m glad to hear it,” I said, trying not to smile. “Who knows what would happen to my ego if you decided to abandon me.

It felt like I'd only just fallen asleep when someone shook me awake. I pushed the person off, snuggling deeper in my covers. It wasn't until I had buried my face in my pillow that I realized I should probably be alarmed that someone was in my room. What with evil trolls trying to kidnap me and all that.

I let my face go blank and nodded slowly. "Yes.The trolls.Back. With me. Cannot form.Complete sentences." I shook my head. "Yeah,so not happening." He considered me,annoyed and at a loss for what to do next."I don't kill humans." "Me niether!See,common ground already.

It wasn't until I had buried my face in my pillow that I realized I should probably be alarmed that someone was in my room. What with evil trolls trying to kidnap me and all that.

That werewolf fantasy would be a hard one to pull off. She'd have to troll through the forest in high heels, just praying one of the scruffy campers was actually a raving beast.

Dear Pliny,” Sevro sings over the com. If your heart beats like a drum, and your leg’s a little wet, it’s ’cause the Reaper’s come to collect a little debt. He sings this three times until Ragnar throws a table into the console. Sparks shower out. Sevro looks up slowly at the table hanging over his head. It missed by inches. He wheels around. “What the gorypissandshit is your damage, you overreacting mountain troll!” “Rhyming … nnnngh.” Ragnar makes an uncomfortable groaning sound. “You found him,” Mustang mutters as we share a look. “Which one?” I ask as Sevro curses the Stained out in every compound manner he knows. Adding the crux for good measure. “You squawk like a … like a chicken,” Ragnar says

Most of the trolls except Hulking Teeth Gnasher and Old Man Saliva left.

Great engines crawled across the field; and in the midst was a huge ram, great as a forest-tree a hundred feet in length, swinging on mighty chains. Long had it been forging in the dark smithies of Mordor, and its hideous head, founded of black steel, was shaped in the likeness of a ravening wolf; on it spells of ruin lay. Grond they named it, in memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old. Great beasts drew it, orcs surrounded it, and behind walked mountain-trolls to wield it.

No law says you have to like dwarfs and trolls,' said Goodmountain. 'Yes, but there ought to be a law against disliking them the way he does.' 'Ah. Now you've drawn me a picture.' 'Maybe you've heard the term "lesser races"?' 'And now you've coloured it in.

Claiming to be offended is a great way to elevate yourself at the expense of others: “Look at me! I'm a much better person than you! And I judge you! I condemn you! Shame! Shame! SHAME!” These social media shamings bear an uncanny resemblance to medieval witch hunts.

You played it with great seriousness. And it is not such an uncommon game. Do you know Ibsen's poem -- To live it to do battle with trolls in the vaults of the heart and brain. To write: that is to sit in judgement over one's self."

Claiming to be offended is a great way to elevate yourself at the expense of others: “Look at me! I'm a much better person than you! And I judge you! I condemn you! Shame! Shame! SHAME! I shame you for being a bad person. That means I'm a good person! Look at how really really offended I am! That means I'm a really really good person!” According to the bible, Jesus said "let he who is without sin throw the first rock." But a lot of people seem to think he said: "If you throw rocks at someone else, it proves that you're without sin.

Don’t think about it, Holly told herself. Don’t think about the white-hot magma flow that’s going to engulf this tiny craft. Don’t think about hurtling toward the surface with a MACH 2 force trying to turn you inside out. And certainly don’t think about the blood-crazed troll ready to disembowel you with his tusks. Nope. Don’t think about any of that stuff… Too late.

Claiming to be offended is a great way to elevate yourself at the expense of others: “Look at me! I'm a much better person than you! And I judge you! I condemn you! Shame! Shame! SHAME!

Alone of all the creatures in the world, trolls believe that all living things go through Time backwards. 'If the past is visible and the future is hidden,' they say, 'then it means you must be facing the wrong way. Everything alive is going through life back to front.

And if you are going to be an old hen about it and waste your time clucking over every scrap of clutter, you should know in advance that I won't be assisting." "Old hen!" he exclaimed. "Well, of course you won't help. You'll spend the evening in your preferred manner, hunched over in some dark corner like a troll.

We closed our eyes and woke up to the world of the Troll King. And everyone—everyone—who has lived by the laws of humanity is in some sort of prison. It is a crime to say, ‘To thine own self be true.’ They have made truth a crime. Now we live the law of trolls. Like Hugel, ‘To thine own self be enough! To thine own self be everything!

We probably won’t live long enough to run out of food, or electricity, or anything important.” “Oh, you’ll live,” Murphy said. “I have no doubt.” “Really?” Jerome asked, real curiosity in his voice. “What makes you think I’ll last?” “Because you’re a pussy!

And she finally told me what makes me so special. That I'm the perfect blend of Trylle and Vittra. I'm the ultimate bloodline." "And you didn't believe me when I said you were special." That was Finn's attempt at a joke, and he smiled ever so slightly. "I guess you were right." I pulled down my hair, which had gotten messy from lying on it, and ran my fingers through it. "How are you taking that?" Finn asked, coming closer to the foot of my bed. He stopped by the bedpost and absently touched my satin bedding. "Being the chosen one for both sides in an epic troll battle?" "If anybody can handle it,you can," he reassured me. I looked up at him, and his eyes betrayed some of the warmth he felt for me. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and feel them wrap around me, protecting me like granite. To kiss his temple and cheeks,to feel his stubble rubbing against my skin. Despite how badly I wanted that-I wanted it so much I ached-I knew that I had to become a great Princess, which meant that I had to use some restraint. Even if the restraint killed me.

Max, you cannot stay in the background forever. It is time to stand out in front. You have all that you need.” Analea

Was that my work? I’ve no such talent. I cant answer your questions. The tradition of trolls or demons standing sentinel against inquiry must be as old as language. Still,

the vast majority of the people who trolled us online were acting out, due to crushing disappointment with their own miserable lives.

A bunker, truck, trolls, all the same, a hard target.

If people are hating on you it's often because they are: 1. Threathened by you, 2. Jealous of you or 3. Feeling like you're above them so they put you down to feel better about themselves. The greatest people have haters for a reason, so take it as a compliment. Haters gonna hate.

Oh." Her expression falls a little, but she shrugs it off quickly. "The first and foremost vital rule is to never read the comments. That is exponentially more important for anyone who doesn't fit the traditional views on beauty or anyone is marginalized in any way, but the truth is that even the thinnest, most gorgeous models get people being terrible in their comments. Trolls will be trolls.

Gah! Two months ago I was running from vampires and rescuing trolls, and now I was reduced to obsessing about some guy’s moods. It figured that I had to find out I was immortal only to start behaving like a normal teenage girl. I was sure there was some great irony in this and someday I’d laugh at it, but I was too annoyed with myself to look for it now. God, do not let me turn into one of those girls. I

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).

I could feel the threads from that world, threatening to pull me in, and I'd take whatever anchor I could get. Even if he was a blond nightmare. I lifted my head to look at him "How did you find me?" "Just lucky." The answer was smooth, but it felt like he blurted it out a litle too easily. I narrowd my eyes,but he continued."Why did you lie about the trolls?" "I didn't." We sat there looking at each other, two seasoned liars,until i couldn't take it anymore."Jack?" "Hmm?" "Thanks." My voice cracked a little. "If you hadn't shown up..." "If I hadn't shown up,you would have been fine.No need to get sappy on me when I've decided you mmight be some decent fun after all.Now,you happen to be wearing my nicest coat. I'll like very much to get it back, so let's take you home,shall we?

Your brothers…do they all look like you?” I couldn’t help asking. I really couldn’t.    He shot me the smirk again. “I’m the oldest, and the sexiest. The rest are ugly fucking trolls and orcs and ogres of the worst sort. You’ll hate ’em. Especially Zane, the next oldest. He’s real ugly.” “You

You have been gifted the Blood Diamond and are surrounded by all that is good. You will not fail as long as you believe.” Analea

Kane would know. He’s smart.” I tapped the side of my head with my finger. Magnus wagged his tail. “Smart and sexy. Smexy. Kane is Smexy.” I giggled again. I could see why trolls loved this stuff. It was awesome. Grabbing the box, I slammed the safe shut. Oh, damn. I hadn’t put the Yliaster crystal back in the safe. I began to twiddle the safe’s dial. I had no idea what the code was. “It’s on the tongue of my tip,” I grumbled, glancing at Magnus.

Uh, excuse me, myrna. What did you just say? To me it sounded like 'I'm pregnant with the troll's baby and I'm going to handfast with him, Mama.' I know I couldn't have heard you right."~ Shannon Parker "You hears me right, Mama. Except for the part about Grant being a troll. You know i've asked you a thousand times to quit calling him that." ~Myrna "Lets see... he's short. The top of his head is flat. He has an underbite. And a squeaky little voice. All that says troll to me." ~ Shannon Parker Divine by Blood (Part 2 Chapter 6) Partholon Series

Let me out, witch," growled Alice. She began to hum off key. Griselda stepped away from the door. "I can help the little wee babes," Alice sung sweetly. "Through the woods and into the dark. Where he whispers the words to make his mark. Little boy of green..." Alice chuckled. "...has gone to the wizard who is evil and mean.

What is the inner life of an eidolon? Do his thoughts and his questions originate with him? Do mine with me? Is he my creature? Am I his? I saw how he made do with his paddles and that he was ashamed for me to see. His turn of speech, his endless pacing. Was that my work? I’ve no such talent. I cant answer your questions. The tradition of trolls or demons standing sentinel against inquiry must be as old as language. Still, maybe a friend must be someone you can touch. I dont know. I no longer have an opinion about reality. I used to. Now I dont. The first rule of the world is that everything vanishes forever. To the extent that you refuse to accept that then you are living in a fantasy.

These social media shamings bear an uncanny resemblance to medieval witch hunts.” If you were accused of being a witch back then, you were shit out of luck. Being accused was all it took. Forget “innocent until proven guilty.” Nobody bothered to prove your guilt. Nobody dared to speak up on your behalf, for fear of being called a witch sympathizer. Because if you were seen as the friend of a witch, you were the next one to be accused of being a witch. As soon as a woman was accused of being a witch, she was a pariah without any friends. Nobody wanted to be seen in public with her. The whole village ganged up on her. Everyone was trying to outdo everyone else in their antiwitch fervor: “Look at me! I'm throwing rocks at the witch! Look at how much I hate witches! I am definitely NOT a witch myself!” Whenever I see a social media mob ganging up on a celebrity for supposedly saying something “offensive” it reminds me of the Salem witch hysteria: “That's racist! And me calling you a racist proves that I'm definitely not a racist myself! That's sexist! I shame you! And that means I'm definitely not sexist myself! I shame you for being a bad person. That means I'm a good person! Look at how really really offended I am! That means I'm a really really good person!” According to the bible, Jesus said "let he who is without sin throw the first rock." But a lot of people seem to think he said: "If you throw rocks at someone else, it proves that you're without sin.

1. True trolls are internet users who set out to ruin someone else’s day. Everyone else is merely someone who disagrees with you, which is allowed. It is hard to differentiate between someone who is ‘generally disagreeable to the entire world’ and ‘currently disagreeing with me’. So we move to… 2. They can’t speak proper, innit. Their punctuation, spelling or grammar is so far round the spout it’s actually random. Of course, this could also indicate someone with a learning difficulty, so to be kind we need to check off some more identifying factors such as… 3. They say extremely unreasonable things. Not just ‘Yeah well, so what, copper?’ but posting on the Facebook memorial pages of murdered children that they deserved it, searching out women to call them whores, or sending rape and death threats. This isn’t normal debate. 4. They are not friends with logic. If you question them, ask them why or suggest substantiating this or that, they will scream, kick a table or call you a Nazi. 5. The sheer volume of their posts –either in word count or frequency –indicates a serious personality disorder. 6. If you saw them on the bus, you would sit elsewhere.

Ben made a doubtful noise, not impolite as such but suggesting that Ewan’s theories were as believable as the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny and the snot troll that Clovenhoof left weekly offerings for.

Barlow’s utopian and decidedly libertarian message thus functioned not just as a Declaration of Independence, but also as Manifest Destiny version 2.0.

The legal department said we couldn't kidnap Timberlake and Bieber. I wanted to see those two fight..." "That wouldn't be much of a fight. J.T. would slay J.B.," said Sparklez. The Announcer started laughing, "I know! I want to see that little Canadian troll get beat up by a true pop icon." His voice changed and suddenly he was back to his normal, happy, totally bonkers, self. "Whatever... I'll just take my anger out on you two.

Sorcerers have a tendency to think only in terms of magic and how it can be applied in life; it makes some of us appear cold towards others.” “Especially werewolves.” “Oh, not just werewolves, all weres, vampires, trolls—basically anything that isn’t a sorcerer. We’re not picky; we’re just better than everyone else.” I grinned, ensuring that Ellie knew I was only teasing. Ellie laughed. “Humble, too.” “Yeah, sorcerers are basically perfect.

Most people assumed that the vast majority of destructive trolls harassing people were unemployed losers furiously posting from Mommy’s basement, but more often than not, they were educated, employed, financially comfortable enough.

But good mother Twisk!’ cried Madouc. ‘Have you forgotten? I shall soon return to Thripsey Shee!’ ‘True,’ sighed Twisk, ‘presuming that you avoid the dangers of the forest.’ ‘Are these then so terrible?’ ‘Sometimes the forest is sweet and clear,’ said Twisk. ‘Sometimes evil lurks behind every stump. Do not explore the morass which borders on Wamble Way; the long-necked heceptors will rise from the slime. In the gully nearby lives the troll Mangeon; avoid him as well. Do not fare west along Munkins Road; you would come to Castle Doldil, the seat of three-headed Throop the ogre. He has caged many a brave knight and devoured many more, perhaps including gallant Sir Pellinore.

Sadhguru – WARNING! | Misfortune Will Come Upon You | If You Visit This Temple in South India - Sadhguru Darshan - YouTube channel comment about this video message, Until now, I have many times trolled your videos, but now honestly asking two question about this very video, 1) Tanjore temple will bring misfortune because of incorrect consecration, that is not correct, it was consecrated in right way for the people with bad intention. 2) You can not build a structure without stable foundation - Not agreeing - Because earth itself moving and there is no stable foundation on earth, even Maglev trains are example of structure and dynamics without stable foundation. 3) If you are devotee or if you have sacrificed your soul for the greater good, it is going to benefit much and can be manifested in any manner as we wish, 1000& truth, but for such sacrifice the person needs to completely trust on particular aspect or at least on one particular person with 100% trust - that is the problem, for getting such trust, that persons intention is under question, ok I am sacrificing my soul to someone whether its boy or girl or spiritual people like you or institutions or some other hierarchy , now what is their intentions from me! Until I completely have analyzed their background with their motive and intentions and long term goals, I will not trust even 1%, you are talking about 100% trust

Are you still my friend, Binabik?” he said at last. The troll took the flute from his lips. “To death and beyond, Simon-friend.” He began to play once more.

Dorie is only seven years old, and we’ve had problems with her imagination before. Once she had the entire second-grade class convinced they couldn’t go to the bathroom because little trolls hid inside the toilets to snatch children for lunch. You have no idea how messy it can be when twenty-one seven-year-olds won’t use the rest rooms. I

He’d faced trolls and dwarf and dragons, but now he was having to meet an entirely new species. The rich.

here.” “I’m fine. A bit insulted by his remarks, but I’m fine. Thanks for turning up when you did.” “No problem.” The big troll frowned down at me. “I thought Luca was keeping an eye on you. Where is he?” Good question. I

Maybe you have heard of Trolls? They are mighty strong. But Trolls are only counterfeits, made by the Enemy in the Great Darkness, in mockery of Ents, as Orcs were of Elves. We are stronger than Trolls. We are made of the bones of the earth. We can split stone like the roots of trees, only quicker, far quicker, if our minds are roused!

There are trolls who've spent the last two hundred years sitting alone under a bridge. If you can get past the bluster and the wooden clubs, if you bring them a little bone broth, they're just grateful to have a sympathetic ear.

I know you’re not talking to me right now. You made that perfectly clear. About a thousand times," he smirks, referring to the rant I half-shouted at him after the last “attraction”. I narrow my eyes. “But please, accept my offering. I openly admit that it will take more than one cup of sweetness to make up for the trauma I’ve put you through tonight. I’m the worst. You’re the best. I’m a troll. You’re a goddess. I’m dumb. You’re brilliant. I’m salt. You’re sweet, sweet Sugar.

My dreams took me many places. Sometimes I would be in a pirogue with my father, deep in the Atchafalaya swamp, the fog thick in the black trees, and just as the sun broke on the earth’s rim, I’d troll my Mepps spinner next to the cypress stumps and a largemouth bass would sock into it and burst from the quiet water, rattling with green-gold light. But tonight I dreamed of Hueys flying low over jungle canopy and milky-brown rivers. In the dream they made no sound. They looked like insects against the lavender sky, and as they drew closer I could see the door-gunners firing into the trees. The down-drafts from the helicopter blades churned the treetops into a frenzy, and the machine-gun bullets blew water out of the rivers, raked through empty fishing villages, danced in geometrical lines across dikes and rice paddies. But there was no sound and there were no people down below. I saw a door-gunner’s face, and it was stretched tight with fear, whipped with wind, throbbing with the action of the gun. I could see only one of his eyes—squinted, cordite-bitten, liquid with the reflected images of dead water buffalo in the heat, smoking villages, and glassy countryside, where the people had scurried into the earth like mice. His hands were swollen and red, his finger wrapped in a knot around the trigger, the flying brass cartridge casings kaleidoscopic in the light. There were no people to shoot at anymore, but no matter—his charter was clear. He was forever wedded and addicted to this piece of earth that he’d helped make desolate, this land that was his drug and nemesis. The silence in the dream was like a scream.

I've always thought it was the loss of the little things that hurt the most when a friend dies. Having coffee with them or expecting to hear their voice when you go to work." The troll let out a sigh and crossed his paws over his belly. "When does the sadness go away?" "Son, that is a question without an answer. Grief is something we all want to avoid, but it's really the balm we need. It's there to help us remember what we love about the one we lost and to take it in even deeper. But how long it takes varies and it will probably come for a visit, and then leave for a while, only to return later to help open your heart again, just a little bit more." "I need to get on with things. I can't wait for grief to be done with me." The old man nodded his head. "Too true. Life goes marching forward all the time. That is another one of the blessings. We can put ourselves back into the flow of life and let it carry us for a while, like a river. We go about our day, we get things done and in the background, grief still talks to us, reminding us that we were loved, and therefore, we will be again.

When you were possessed of a deceitful mind, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that everyone else was the same. There was nothing the ragpicker could do about that. Not now. But if the Troll failed to do as he was told …

As Jonathan Haidt and others have demonstrated, people are at their worst when they’re allowed to lob jabs at others behind a shield of anonymity. When their real-world reputations are at risk, they may take more care. I argued in chapter 2 that embracing transparency is a core part of how the Internet can motivate generous behavior. Indeed, I believe it played a key role in Facebook’s early astonishing growth story, gaining its first million users within just a year and then a further six million in the following two. This was not only in spite of being closed off to the general public but likely because of it, too. At that time, every profile was attached to an email address linking to an educational institution, which brought with it a layer of identity authentication. People were accountable to their real-life reputations and suddenly able to build on them in ways unlike ever before. But as this feature slipped by the wayside, and now without a real reputation to uphold, Joe Bloggs switched to User94843 and trolled toward this more toxic future. Bringing back this social dynamic, by requiring users to prove who they are, is perhaps the biggest single step big tech can make toward fostering a genuinely social media environment. There are definitely cases where people living under repressive regimes need ways to use the Internet anonymously. But the mainstream usage of social media should not.

Come to think of it, I think the trolls’ loincloths were probably made of human skin. You know, people leather.

Now his brain was nearing its ideal temperature of operation. Unfortunately, this was pretty close to a troll’s optimum point of death.

THE TROLLS DIDN’T NOTICE HIM AT FIRST, ABSORBED in their efforts to find a way into the complex,

How exactly did one negotiate a one-night stand? Did you lead with it in conversation so all your cards were on the table (“Hi, I’m Alexis; you might be interested to know I’m trolling for a stranger to ravish me”), or did you hold back, let your intention slip out at just the right moment (“I see you’re ordering an Uber home; could I interest you in going splitsies back to my place for a wild night of sex”)?

Don’t apologize, sugar. It will give Nichola something to do in the morning.

I was breaking my number on the goddamn rule. Don’t feed the trolls.

I pressed my fingers to my temples. “This is a nightmare. I’m going to wake up in a few minutes, the lock on my front door won’t be broken, there will have been no knight, and Tink will still be a foot tall playing with troll dolls.” “Oh, I’ll still play with them,” Tink replied.I squeezed my eyes shut. “If it makes you feel better, I can return to your Tink-approved size,

Yeti= 5 stars 2 Unicorns= 4 1/2 stars 1 Unicorn= 4 stars 2 Fairies= 3 1/2 stars 1 Fairy= 3 stars 2 Goblins= 2 1/2 stars 1 Goblin= 2 stars 2 Trolls= 1 1/2 stars 1 Troll= 1 star (super secret rating)=0 stars

well-armed and fierce-faced, threatening despite their small stature. Simon stared at the trolls. The trolls stared at Simon. “They’ve all heard of ye, Simon,” Haestan boomed; the three riders looked up, startled by his loud voice, “—but no one’s hardly seen ye yet.” The trolls looked the tall guardsman up and down in alarm, then clucked at their mounts and rode on hurriedly, disappearing around the mountain face. “Gave them some gossip,” Haestan chuckled. “Binabik told me about his home,” Simon said, “but it was hard to understand what he was saying. Things are never quite what you think they’re going to be, are they?” “Only th’ good Lord Usires knows all answers,” Haestan nodded. “Now, if y’would see y’r small friend, we’d best move on. Walk careful now—and not so close t’edge, there.”  • • •  They made their way slowly down the looping path, which alternately narrowed and widened as it traversed the mountainside. The sun was high overhead, but hidden in a nest of soot-colored clouds, and a biting wind swooped along Mintahoq’s face. The mountaintop above was white-blanketed in ice, like the high peaks across the valley, but at this lower height the snow had fallen more patchily. Some wide drifts lay across the path, and others nestled among

Those… troll-licking ass-munches,” I spat.  Forget the hot blonds.  They’d crossed the line.  Again.

Dear Pliny,” Sevro sings over the com. If your heart beats like a drum, and your leg’s a little wet, it’s ’cause the Reaper’s come to collect a little debt. He sings this three times until Ragnar throws a table into the console. Sparks shower out. Sevro looks up slowly at the table hanging over his head. It missed by inches. He wheels around. “What the gorypissandshit is your damage, you overreacting mountain troll!” “Rhyming … nnnngh.” Ragnar makes an uncomfortable groaning sound.

I put on his movie of choice, which was Frozen. I’d heard a few Dads talk about it during galas and networkers. They hated it, but it was a pretty cool movie. I’d have to ask Tessa what her thoughts on it were. Miles fell asleep before the girl with the brown hair got to the trolls, which was a shame since that song was the best one I’d heard thus far. I picked up his little body and took him to his bed, mimicking everything I’d seen Tessa do the other night. I switched off the television in the living room and went to Tessa’s bedroom, turning the movie back on there instead, not because I liked it but because I couldn’t start watching a movie and not finish it.

While I waited for Eli, I contemplated my eggs and bacon for a couple of minutes, and then got up and threw the contents of my breakfast tray into the garbage. Something inside the trash can growled, and I realized too late that I’d forgotten to sort out my silverware. A moment later the fork came hurtling out of the can like a missile and whacked me in the forehead. “Hey,” I said as I rubbed my stinging skin. Good thing I hadn’t used a knife this morning. A head covered in scraggly brown hair emerged over the top of the can. The trash troll fixed a glare at me with its huge black eyes. It looked like a really ugly, twisted version of a Mr. Potato Head with a head and torso twice as long as its stubby legs and arms. It bared its teeth at me, mumbling incoherent words. It dawned on me that I was being scolded. By a trash troll. Glaring, I shooed at it. “Go on, get back in there. It was just an accident.” The troll muttered something more then stuck its tongue out at me before disappearing. I backed away from the trash can, on the lookout for more projectiles. It seemed even the trash trolls had developed their own spirit of rebellion, same as us students.

This is what you want?” he panted, pressing into her just half an inch. She squeezed her eyes shut. God help her, but the answer was yes. Just a few weeks after the death of her lover, she wanted nothing more than to be taken, hard and fast, by his best friend. Despite the fact that it made her nothing better than a lightskirt trolling the streets. Despite the fact that John had offered her no future, nor had he offered a future to any woman in as long as she’d known him. But those troubling facts mattered little. She wanted him inside of her. She wanted him to make her come over and over again. She wanted to feel their bodies merge just as she had always imagined they would. “Fuck me,” she said, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Now.

I let my face go blank and nodded slowly. "Yes. The trolls. Back. With me. Cannot form. Complete sentences." I shook my head. "Yeah, so not happening.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

We both worked at the Inhemsk Project, which was an effort undertaken to help trolls of mixed blood find their place in our kingdoms.

​“I didn’t attack her, I just had the trolls start nasty rumors about her. I know the girl is strong for a human and would take it better than you,” Grandma Jasmine said, not feeling guilty at all. ​“Grandma, you had no right to drag Ruby into this!” I insisted. ​“I’m a grandma, I can do whatever I think will help to make my granddaughter better!” she insisted.

The troll said, “Quit lying around on the job.

You remember the little poem by Ibsen that I quoted to you during one of our early meetings? MYSELF: Only vaguely. Something about self-judgement. DR. VON HALLER: No, no; self-judgement comes later. Now pay attention, please: To live is to battle with trolls in the vaults of heart and brain. To write: that is to sit in judgement over one’s self.

After breakfast, I parted ways with Colin even though he was all about us going for a run or something—and who in the hell did he think I was, that I was going to voluntarily do that? Ha. I went to the library, trolled around in there for hours with no luck, and then finally moped back to my dorm.

Ho, hm, well, we could, you know! You do not know, perhaps, how strong we are. Maybe you have heard of Trolls? They are mighty strong. But Trolls are only counterfeits, made by the Enemy in the Great Darkness, in mockery of Ents, as Orcs were of Elves.

We're a dying race," said Kwartz sadly, as the party set off under the stars. "Young Jasper's the only pebble in our tribe. We suffer from philosophy, you know.

Troll?” I squeaked. “Yes.” “He’s got jaws like a saber-tithed tooger. Soobertoothed teegar. The goddamned growly things with the fangs.

The Guard seldom drank in Ankh-Morpork's more cheerful taverns when they were off duty. It was too easy to see something that would put them back on duty again. * *Suicide, for example. Murder was in fact a fairly uncommon event in Ankh-Morpork, but there were a lot of suicides. Walking in the night-time alleyways of The Shades was suicide. Asking for a short in a dwarf bar was suicide. Saying 'got rocks in your head?' to a troll was suicide. You could commit suicide very easily, if you weren't careful.

Don’t think about it, Holly told herself. Don’t think about the white-hot magma flow that’s going to engulf this tiny craft. Don’t think about hurtling toward the surface with a MACH 2 force trying to turn you inside out. And certainly don’t think about the blood-crazed troll ready to disembowel you with his tusks. Nope. Don’t think about any of that stuff.…Too late.

Teodor’s wife. They were planning to spend some of the summer in France, were they not?” France. Luca had studied in France. Cass had to stop thinking of Luca or she would go mad. She forced herself to concentrate on Madalena’s face. “Is that right?” she mustered. “I’ve heard France is lovely.” “Yes. She and her husband have been exploring Paris.” Mada smiled. “Her letter goes on and on about the Notre Dame cathedral. Apparently it has the most breathtaking stained-glass windows.” “Notre Dame,” Marco mused. “Have you seen it, Signore?” He turned to Madalena’s father. “I have, indeed,” Signor Rambaldo said. “A stunning piece of architecture. Though to be fair, Venice has her share of beautitful structures as well.” “Is it true,” Marco went on, “that there are catacombs beneath Notre Dame’s courtyard? Ruins of the original settlement built by the Celts?” “I have heard that. Crumbling walls, broken swords, perhaps some ghosts trolling the place looking for their bones.” Signor Rambaldo rubbed his beard thoughtfully. Madalena flung down her fork. “Both of you ought to be ashamed,” she cried out. “I’ve been trying to distract Cass from morbid thoughts, and you two turn a lovely conversation about Paris into a ghost story.

Tell me the truth. Does my hair look like shit? It doesn’t, right? Gen’s just a heinous troll. Right?” I hesitate the tiniest of beats. “Right.

Humanity proper is made up of all the families and tribes with whom our people has intercourse, for companionship means constant mingling of frith, honour and luck; outside the pale the “strangers” crowd, and the strangers are another sort of men, because their minds and ways are unknown. When they are called sorcerers the word only emphasises the fact that their doings are like the doings of demons and trolls, dark and capricious, admitting of no sure calculation. The only means of overcoming the wickedness of strangers is by annexing their luck and honour and mingling mind; by mingling minds the will and feeling in the two parties are adjusted, and henceforth their acts interlock instead of running at cross purposes. Between men there may be fighting, community may be suspended by enmity, but the struggle is human and carried on by the rules of honour; against strangers men have perpetual war, and the warfare must be adjusted to the fiendish ingenuity of the demons. Towards vermin or wild beasts men cannot feel responsibility or generosity.

Turn, turn, Jack willed the boy... Thorgil, thought Jack. He missed her - oh, heavens, how he had missed her! - and yet he hadn't been aware of it till now.

That was Bold Heart?" cried the shield maiden. "That stupid bird told me he was the Bard, but I assumed he was lying. So many birds do." "You can understand birds?" said Pega… "What's that one saying?"... Thorgil listened. "He's saying, 'I'm itchy. I'm itchy. I'm itchy.' And that one's saying, 'So am I. So am I. So am I.' The one on the beech tree is singing, 'Bird lice, bird lice, we've all got bird lice!'" "Knowing does kind of take the fun out of it," decided Pega.

I remember you," the mond said. "And you, spawn of Satan." He glowered at Thorgil. "Do you recognize him?" asked Jack. Thorgil shrugged. "We pillage so many monasteries.

Thorgil held out the hand she's been hiding. It was an odd, silvery color. "I can't move my fingers. I'm paralyzed." She laughed bitterly. "Once, Frith Half-Troll threatened to cut off my right hand so I could be a warrior no more. It seems she got her wish." ... "Remember Tyr? The god who sacrificed his hand to bind the giant wolf? It was a noble deed, to be sung about through all time - and you've done the same!" Thorgil looked up, and now the morning light reached the camp and shone onto her face. "So I have," she murmured. "Yes! You'll be known as - what shall we call you? Thorgil Silver-Hand, who fought the Hound of Hel. I'll make a song about it." "Oh, Jack," whispered the shield maiden. She blinked back tears, then shook her head angrily. "Curse this sunlight. It's making my eyes water... Thorgil Silver-Hand. I like that," she said.

Thy mother honored us. We do not forget. - The yarthkin, to Thorgil

You'd better tell me about that lie, Giles," said the old man, massaging his forehead. "From all the sin you keep going on about, I'm sure it's going to be spectacular.

There remained, of course, the ancient tradition concerning the high king at Fornost, or Norbury as they called it, away north of the Shire. But there had been no king for nearly a thousand years, and even the ruins of Kings’ Norbury were covered with grass. Yet the Hobbits still said of wild folk and wicked things (such as trolls) that they had not heard of the king. For they attributed to the king of old all their essential laws; and usually they kept the laws of free will, because they were The Rules (as they said), both ancient and just.