Quotes from Bernard Cornwell

There is no sense. The past is a ship's wake etched on a gray sea, but the future has no mark.

The cellar was spattered with blood, with bodies that showed death in a dozen horrid ways. Wine-racks stood by the walls, looted empty, but the floor was black with Spanish blood, strewn with mutilations obscene as nightmare. Young, old, men and women, all killed horribly. It struck Sharpe that these people must have died the day before, as he watched from the hilltop, killed as the French pretended the village was empty.

The story hurries now. It quickens like a stream coming to a fall in the hills and, like a cascade foaming down jumbled rocks, it gets angry and violent, confused even. For it was in that year, 876, that the Danes made their greatest effort yet to rid England of its last kingdom, and the onslaught was huge, savage, and sudden.

was foully aware of the symptoms of terror. He could feel his heart thumping, sweat was chill on his skin, and a muscle in his left thigh was twitching. His throat was parched, his belly felt hollow, and he wanted to vomit. He tried to smile, and sought for some casual words that would demonstrate his lack of fear, but he could think of nothing.

Wyrd bið ful ãræd, diz ele. O destino é inexorável. E wyn eal gedreas. Toda alegria morreu.

Nondum amabam, et amare amabam. (No amé, pero anhelaba amar)

We believe there are many gods, so we accept another man's religion as his own affair, while Christians, who perversely insist that there is only one god, think it their duty to kill, maim, enslave, or revile anyone who disagrees. They tell me this is for our own good.

Instead he was summoning his last tension, like a bowman drawing the cord of a hunting bow an extra inch to give the arrow deadly force, then Steapa howled like an animal and charged. Weland charged too and they met like stags in the rutting season. The Danes and Norsemen had crowded around, making a circle that was limited by the spears of Sigefrid's bodyguard, and the watching warriors gave

The people follow him. Because they have no choice. They follow, but do they love him? Some do, Appah Rao answered. But what does it matter? Why should a ruler want his people's love? Their obedience, yes, but love? Love is for children, McCandless, and for gods and for women.

Eu ama Ceinwyn demais. Mesmo agora, anos depois, sorria ao pensar nela, e algumas vezes acordo de noite com lágrimas no rosto e sei que se devem a ela.

A sad, plangent music. In the British camp, Sharpe thought, they would be singing, but no one was singing here.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," Baird said, "and you don't piddle away your damned life because you don't like His dispositions.

But what have either of them ever done except learn Latin? Have they ever planted a field of wheat? Set up a factory? Dug a canal? They were born, Sharpe, that's all that ever happened to them, they were born.

This time, if God wills it, we shall replace him. A man bitten by a snake once does not let the snake live a second time.

He might not be a born officer, but by God he was a born soldier. He was the son of a whore, bereft of God, but a God-damned soldier.

The Tippoo should have killed you when he had the chance. We all make mistakes, sir.

Derfel, Derfel – sospirò Merlino. – Sei proprio uguale ad Artù. Pensi che il mondo sia semplice, che il bene sia bene e il male sia male, che l'alto sia alto e il basso sia basso.

So long as one man wants another man's wife, or another man's land, or another man's cattle, or another man's silver, so long will there be war. And so long as one priest preaches that his god is the only god or the better god there will be war.

What is an oath? A promise to serve a lord, but to Christians there is always a higher allegiance.

You're to grovel." Æthelwold spoke for the first time. He grinned at me. We were not exactly friends, but we had drunk together often enough and he seemed to like me. "You're to dress like a girl," Æthelwold continued, "go on your knees and be humiliated." "And

Have you heard a cuckoo yet?" I asked Steapa. "Not yet." "It's time to go," I said, "unless you want to kill me?" "Maybe later," Steapa said, "but for the moment I'll fight beside you." And

I was screaming still, but screaming my own name now, and Serpent-Breath was singing her hunger-song and I was a lord of war.

different ways. Some to Spain, others to

we fight them where we choose or where we must, not always when we want.