Quotes About Grendel

But, look, Washington is a town that creates myths for its own existence and its own amusement, and I was a subject of myth, sort of like Grendel in Beowulf - you know, not seen very often but often talked about.

In off the moors, down through the mist beams, god-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.

Time and again, when the goblets passed and seasoned fighters got flushed with beer they would pledge themselves to protect Heorot and wait for Grendel with whetted swords. But when dawn broke and day crept in over each empty, blood-spattered bench, the floor of the mead-hall where they had feasted would be slick with slaughter. And so they died, faithful retainers, and my following dwindled.

It bothers me to have to burden anyone with all the grief Grendel has caused and the havoc he has wreaked upon us in Heorot, our humiliations

In off the moors, down through the mist beams, god-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.

I came to the table, pulled up a chair, and sat. "Everyone brought a pet. I feel left out." An enthusiastic howl broke the silence, and Grendel bounded through the doorway. He galloped through the steak house, skidded on the floor, smashed into my chair, and dropped a dead rat on my lap. Awesome.

I got a dog-training book. It says Grendel needs mental stimulation, so I tried to train him, but I think he must be retarded.

Rene looked at Grendel. "What in the world is that?" "That's our mutant attack poodle," I told her. "Is he chewing on a gun?

The Dude just pounded his way in a straight line, convinced that the lion was a figment of his imagination and that the vampire ahead of him was just Grendel's deformed mutant brother.

Kate sat at her desk. Grendel sprawled by her feet, an enormous black monstrosity that had more in common with the hound of the Baskervilles than with any poodle I had ever seen.

She always did like tales of adventure-stories full of brightness and darkness. She could tell you the names of all King Arthur's knights, and she knew everything about Beowulf and Grendel, the ancient gods and the not-quite-so-ancient heroes. She liked pirate stories, too, but most of all she loved books that had at least a knight or a dragon or a fairy in them. She was always on the dragon's side by the way.

In our adventures, we have only seen our monsters more clearly and described his scales and fangs in new ways - ways that reveal a cancer cell to be. like Grendel, a distorted version of ourselves." -1989 Nobel Prize Speech, Cited in Siddhartha Mukherjee's Emperor of All Maladies

But, in the end, it was none of these things, of course. It was only Hrothgar's claustrophobic mead hall with the monster waiting in the darkness without. We had our Grendel, to be sure. We even had our Hrothgar if one squints a bit at sad King Billy's poor slouched profile.

It occurs to me that the Grendel tale is premature. The players have not been brought upon the stage. Dislinear plotting and noncontiguous prose have their adherents, not the least of which am I, but in the end, my friends, it is character which wins or loses immortality upon the vellum.

No songs, no scops, no searing meat, no blazing fire. And Grendel, incomplete, raided relentlessly. Dude, this was what they call a blood feud, a war 150 that tore a hole through the hearts of the Danes. Grendel was broken, and would not brook peace, desist in dealing deaths, or die himself. He had no use for stealth—he came near-nightly, and never negotiated. The old counselors knew better than to expect a settlement in silver from him.

Grendel was the name of this woe-walker, Unlucky, fucked by Fate. He'd been living rough for years, ruling the wild: the mere, the fen, and the fastness, his kingdom. His creation was cursed under the line of Cain, the kin-killer. The Lord, long ago, had taken Abel's side. Though none of that was Grendel's doing, he'd descended from bloodstains.

For twelve snow-seasons, Grendel reigned over evening...Grendel, incomplete, raided relentlessly. Dude, this was what they call a blood feud, a war that tore a hole through the hearts of the Danes. Grendel was broken, and would not brook peace, desist in dealing deaths, or die himself..So it went for years... While in the dark his people shuddered, salt-scourged by weeping, by nights spent waking instead of sleeping.