Quotes About Courage

Our powder and arrows are going to run out on us some time. And so are our food and water and joie de vivre and good books and everything. Why not walk out now and get made into somebody's favourite slave?

I have been taught to face reality: an excellent thing.

Unlike Francis Crawford, whose game with life was a strange and rootless affair played with the intellect, Jerott had a passionate instinct to live. It was a happy circumstance also that his nervous and bronchial systems were roughly as frail as a bison's.

For spirits one requires a strong head or else a weak brain, and I fear I possess neither.

Is that your whole measure? To shirk what is difficult? To escape to safety, like a strawberry-preacher, when your friends are in danger? My gentleman: if you run from me now, I will brand you and your sister in France, in Scotland, in Midculter and out of it for what you were: rotten stock.

I could not have done that. I fear nothing and no one. I respect nothing and no one. But I could not have done that.' 'You have done it,' Jerott said. 'It is easy to do it, out of hatred. But you are right. I know of no one else on earth who could have done it out of love.

Sybilla said, 'If there are swords, then I suppose you must wear yours. But it is you we need.' 'We?' he said. 'Five hundred thousand people,' said Sybilla. 'You have a high opinion of my swordsmanship,' Lymond said.

Marthe said, her face streaked and silvered with tears, "I could not have done that. I fear nothing and no one. I respect nothing and no one. But I could not have done that." "You have done it," Jerott said. "It is easy to do it, out of hatred. But you are right. I know of no one else on earth who could have done it out of love.

You see someone before you who is not afraid to say what he thinks, provided he is in a position of ascendancy with a door open behind him and a knife gripped in each hand.

You will stand there and let me refer to Madame la putaine your mother? You will watch while I call my sergeant in to listen while I brand you bastard?' 'No,' said Lymond.

My son ... my son,' said Francis Crawford before the blurred, failing candles, their light searching over his disordered, bent head and closed eyes and the long, scarred lines of his hands, laid flat on the steel. 'So small a spirit, to lodge such sorrows as mankind has brought you. Live ... live ... Wait for me, new, frightened soul. And though the world should reel to a puny death, and the wolves are appointed our godfathers, I will not fail you, ever.

They told me that if I didn't come back, they would force you to marry?' In the plain, sensible face, the brown eyes were derisive. 'Is that why you came back?' said Kate Somerville. 'No. I knew you could handle it.' 'Thank you,' said Kate.

Level-headed and constructive to the end,' Philippa said, 'in confronting all your personal problems. And now? A trifle of hemlock?

I want you to slip it under Mademoiselle d'Albon's chamber door. If she opens it and throws an axe at you, come and tell me. If not, you may go back to bed.

If we surrender we'll get our throats cut anyway. Let's go out in a blaze of glory.

To Lymond, she said, 'I didn't ask. I don't care what you are going to say. I don't care. I don't care. These things have got to be said. Everyone is frightened to speak to you.' 'But I allow no one—no one at all, to speak to me like this,' Lymond said.

He had survived that. He would survive this.

I have nothing to lose,' Marthe said. 'So nothing can harm me.

Mariotta, collecting her wits, produced the only deterrent she could think of. "Your mother is in there." He received this with tranquil pleasure. "Then one person at least should recognize me," Crawford of Lymond said, and pushed the door gently open for her to walk through.

But I am no godly man. I'm only a commander of some experience, who knows how to ask a tired army to throw its heart into a citadel and follow it. Forgive me.

You promise food and horses and nonresistance and when they invade, you do or don't lick their boots according to the thickness of your walls and the kind of conscience you have.

It had been a boy's trick, Jerott remembered. Standing bareback on your father's horses; somersaulting, chariot-riding. Francis, buried in books, had never publicly attempted it. What private practice, Jerott wondered fleetingly, had gone into that?

Afraid?" said the yellow-haired man and laughed. "Forgive me, I should have warned you: I have a tendency to be bloody-minded. Bruslez, noyez, pendez, ompallez, descouppez, fricassez, crucifiez, bouillez, carbonnadez ces méchantes femmes.

It wasn't that she had so much character, thought Mrs. Pollifax, but rather that always in her life she had found it difficult to submit. The list of her small rebellions was endless. Surely there was room for one more?