Best 47 of Odin quotes - MyQuotes
Humans don't leap buildings. Stuntmen with harnesses do. And won't my crashing eight stories to the ground be detrimental to the mission? The dark elves will swarm me and take me hostage instantly." "That might be true, but you're not going to fall," he said.
Oh Jesus, oh Zeus, oh Odin,” Anya dropped the stick and started shaking. “Oh shit.” The bird spread out its wings, which slowly transformed back into arms and the rest followed until it was a man once more.
It was said in the old days that every year Thor made a circle around Middle-earth, beating back the enemies of order. Thor got older every year, and the circle occupied by gods and men grew smaller. The wisdom god, Woden, went out to the king of the trolls, got him in an armlock, and demanded to know of him how order might triumph over chaos. "Give me your left eye," said the king of the trolls, "and I'll tell you." Without hesitation, Woden gave up his left eye. "Now tell me." The troll said, "The secret is, Watch with both eyes!
And when it was clear that Svipdag was determined to leave, his father gave him a great axe, a handsome and dangerous weapon. Svip then counselled his son: "Do not envy others and avoid arrogance, for such conduct diminishes one's fame. Defend yourself if you are attacked. It is becoming to be humble, yet at the same time you must make a bold showing if put to a test.
I nodded to Sam. "I'll just clean up these boxes and meet you out on the floor." Macy's didn't mess around their shoe department in New York. It spanned two floors, and it was always busy. "Okay," she relented. "If you're not out in ten minutes, I'm coming back to find you." "Got it. I was relieved when she finally walked out of the stock room. I wanted to forget this craziness had ever occurred. Tom bent over to help me as I gathered up the errant shoes. "Dude," he said, "can I touch your arm? I've never touched anyone who's died before.
When the Æsir saw Odin flying, they placed their vats in the courtyard, and when Odin entered Asgard he spat the mead into the vats. It was such a close call, with Suttung almost catching him, that he blew some of the mead out of his rear. No one paid attention to this part, and whoever wanted it took it; we call this the bad poets’ portion.
I mounted the stairs to my pavilion and sank onto Hlidskjalf, the magic throne from which I can peer into the Nine Worlds. The seat cradled my posterior with its ermine-lined softness. I took a few deep breaths to focus my concentration, then turned to the worlds beyond. I usually begin with a cursory look-see of my own realm, Asgard, then circle through the remaining eight: Midgard, realm of the humans; the elf kingdom of Alfheim; Vanaheim, the Vanir gods’ domain; Jotunheim, land of the giants; Niflheim, the world of ice, fog, and mist; Helheim, realm of the dishonorable dead; Nidavellir, the gloomy world of the dwarves; and Muspellheim, home of the fire giants. This time, I didn’t make it past Asgard. Because goats. Specifically, Thor’s goats, Marvin and Otis. They were on the Bifrost, the radioactive Rainbow Bridge that connects Asgard to Midgard, wearing footy pajamas. But there was no sign of Thor, which was odd. He usually kept Marvin and Otis close. He killed and ate them every day, and they came back to life the next morning. More disturbing was Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost. He was hopping around on all fours like a deranged lunatic. “So here’s what I want you guys to do,” he said to Otis and Marvin between hops. “Cavort. Frolic. Frisk about. Okay?” I parted the clouds. “Heimdall! What the Helheim is going on down there?” “Oh, hey, Odin!” Heimdall’s helium-squeaky voice set my teeth on edge. He waved his phablet at me. “I’m making a cute baby goat video as my Snapchat story. Cute baby goat videos are huge in Midgard. Huge!” He spread his hands out wide to demonstrate. “I’m not a baby!” Marvin snapped. “I’m cute?” Otis wondered. “Put that phablet away and return to your duties at once!” According to prophecy, giants will one day storm across the Bifrost, a signal that Ragnarok is upon us. Heimdall’s job is to sound the alarm on his horn, Gjallar—a job he would not be able to perform if he were making Snapchat stories. “Can I finish my cute baby goat video first?” Heimdall pleaded. “No.” “Aw.” He turned to Otis and Marvin. “I guess that’s a wrap, guys.” “Finally,” Marvin said. “I’m going for a graze.” He hopped off the bridge and plummeted to almost certain death and next-day resurrection. Otis sighed something about the grass being greener on the other side, then jumped after him. “Heimdall,” I said tightly, “need I remind you what could happen if even one jotun snuck into Asgard?” Heimdall hung his head. “Apologetic face emoji.” I sighed. “Yes, all right.
Fen looked mildly amused by my antics. In fact, he was just short of full-on laughing. "Don't snicker at me, wolf. Being naked in your arms..." As I said those words out loud, a kernel of heat seared through me, heat that had nothing at all to do with the scalding temperature of the water. "Well... let's just say it surprised me, okay? I wasn't expecting to be ... unclothed or ... alive, for that matter." "Valkyrie, your nakedness does not bother me in the least." Did his eyes just flare a teensy bit? "It would've been counterproductive to heal you with your clothes on. What was left of them, anyway. I figured your life was worth more than your modesty." His lips went up in a cocky grin. "Plus, it kept me quite... focused on my task.
A cowardly man thinks he will ever live, if warfare he avoids; but old age will give him no peace, though spears may spare him.
I had forgotten that, while Thor hurls his Hammer from storm-clouds, Odin prefers his strike to come out of a calm sky.
And when you fall from that parapet,the sound you'll be hearing as you go down will be me,laughing my head off.
And yet, it was still a performance. Odin and I both knew it. It was a kind of play, a dream of how things might have been if he and I had been capable of trusting each other for a change. And so we hunted, and sang, and laughed, and told heavily edited stories of the good old days, while each of us watched the other and wondered when the knife would fall.
Then spoke Third: 'Odin is highest and most ancient of the Æsir. He rules all things, and mighty though the other gods are, yet they all submit to him like children to their father. Frigg is his wife, and she knows men's fates though she does not prophesy, as it says here that Odin himself spoke to the As called Loki: "Mad you are Loki, and out of your wits; why will you not be silent, Loki? All fates I believe Frigg knows, though she herself does not pronounce." 'Odin is called All-father, for he is father of all gods. He is also called Val-father [father of the slain], since all those who fall in battle are his adopted sons. He assigns them places in Val-hall and Vingolf, and they are then known as Einheriar. He is also called Hanga-god [god of the hanged] and Hapta-god [god of pris- oners), Farma-god [god of cargoes], and he called himself by various other names on his visit to King Geirrod.
But Odin had a trick up his sleeve. For his final question to Vafthrudnir, he asked, "And what, wise giant, did Odin whisper in the ear of Balder, before that great son of his was burned on the funeral pyre?" Vafthrudnir became livid with rage. "Now I see who you really he said grimly, "for only Odin himself could know the answer that question." He clenched his teeth and his fists, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, however, his face had an expression of melancholy acceptance, and he said, "Now for the first time in my life I have lost a contest of lore. But my consolation will be that I lost it to Odin, the most knowledgeable being there is.
To Odin many a soul was driven, to Odin many a rich gift given.
Then spoke Gangleri: 'Where is the chief centre or holy place of the gods?' High replied: 'It is at the ash Yggdrasil. There the gods must hold their courts each day.' Then spoke Gangleri: 'What is there to tell about that place?' Then said Just-as-high: 'The ash is of all trees the biggest and best. Its branches spread out over all the world and extend across the sky. Three of the tree's roots support it and extend very, very far. One is among the Æsir, the second among the frost-giants, where Ginnungagap once was. The third extends over Niflheim, and under that root is Hvergelmir, and Nidhogg gnaws the bottom of the root. But under the root that reaches towards the frost-giants, there is where Mimir's well is, which has wisdom and intelligence contained in it, and the master of the well is called Mimir. He is full of learning because he drinks of the well from the horn Giallarhorn. All-father went there and asked for a single drink from the well, but he did not get one until he placed his eye as a pledge. Thus it says in Voluspa: I know it all, Odin, where you deposited your eye, in that renowned well of Mimir. Mimir drinks mead every morning from Val-father's pledge. Know you yet, or what?
For men must never feel a cause is hopeless-- men must never feel an enemy cannot be beaten!
I’d gone from living alone in New York as a lowly shoe clerk to becoming a shieldmaiden with a family to come home to. It didn’t get much better than that.
A movement in Hotel Valhalla’s garden caught my eye. I looked closer. And immediately wished I hadn’t. Legs spraddled and wearing nothing but a pair of leather short-shorts, Thor was bending, twisting, and squat-farting. Strapped to his ankle was a device shaped like a valknut, a design of three interlocking triangles. “What in the name of me is my son doing?” I asked in bewilderment. “Who, Thor?” Heimdall looked over his shoulder. “He’s warming up for a jog through the Nine Worlds.” “A jog. Through the Nine Worlds,” I repeated. “Yep. If he logs ten million steps on his FitnessKnut—that thing around his ankle—he earns a cameo appearance on a Midgard television show. That’s why I had his goats. He said they’d slow him down.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Not really. Those goats aren’t exactly speedy. Unless they’re plummeting, that is.” “Not what I meant. . . . Never mind.” I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Thor! Thor!” Heimdall tapped his ears. “He’s listening to rock.” “Rock ’n’ roll?” “No, just rock. Boulders, gravel, stones.
Alarmed, Odin announced, “This thing says Mazda on it!” The group took a close look at the decal on the back of the car. Thor brought his war hammer over his head, “What is it? Can I smash it?” Odin put his hand up, “No, wait. I don't think that this is a god. Look, there are others named Mazda, too. I think these are used to transport people.
Hunding, stop skulking in the hallway and get in here.” The bellhop poked his head around the doorway. “I wasn’t skulking,” he said defensively. “I was lingering.” “Come in. I need you to do three things. One: Find a way to track Thor’s FitnessKnut. Report his whereabouts at all times.” “Won’t he just circle the worlds in order?” I made a face. “Thor’s sense of direction is terrible. His path will likely be erratic. Moving on. Two: Have squads of einherjar launch surprise attacks on the Bifrost. I want to know that Heimdall is on guard.” “Very good, sir. And the third thing?” “Inform the thanes that as of tomorrow, I will be unavailable for a while.” I transformed my appearance from a rugged one-eyed god of wisdom to a beautiful two-eyed woman clad in chain mail. “I will be living with my Valkyries to decide for myself which of them deserves to be captain.” Hunding raised a hairy eyebrow. “An idea from Utgard-Loki, Lord Odin?” “Wisdom can be gleaned from any source if one only looks hard enough.” I paused, thinking. “Let’s put that on a T-shirt. And, Hunding?” “My lord?” I transformed back into my true form. “Download cute baby goat videos to my phablet. I must learn what all the fuss is about.
Another example of the same attitude, this time on a less cosmic and more humble scale, comes from the life of the warrior-poet Egil Skallagrimsson. According to his saga, toward the end of his life, one of his sons died, after the others had died before him. Such was the depth of Egil's grief that he planned to kill himself, but his surviving daughter convinced him instead to use his poetic talent to compose a memorial poem for his lost children. Egil's poem is called The Wreck Of Sons (Sonatorrek). In it, Egil bemoans his lot in life and curses Odin, his patron god, for having made him suffer so much. But Egil finds that this suffering has also carried a gift within it, for his anguish inspires him to compose better poetry than ever before. He lets loose an eloquent cry of both despair and joy, or at least contented acceptance. The final three stanzas read: I offer nothing With an eager heart To the greatest of gods, The willful Odin. But I must concede That the friend of the wise Has paid me well For all my wounds. The battle-tested Foe of the wolf Has given me A towering art, And wits to discern In those around me Who wishes well, Who wishes ill. Times are dire, Yet glad is my heart, Full of courage, Without complaint. I wait for the goddess Of dirt and of death Who stands on the headland To bear me away.
F. T. Mckinstry
Melisande lay in bed in the loft of her cottage in Graebrok Forest north of Odr. Wide awake and blinking in the dark, she listened to the mice above her head. Nearly a moon past, her swordsman had repaired a crack in the eaves before returning to the towers and yards of Merhafr, the great port on the Njorth Sea, where he served as a King’s Ranger. His name was Othin, taken from a god of wisdom, trickery and war. What such a one knew of carpentry, well, that was open to question. But he knew other things. Nice things.
It is He who makes the lightning flash upon you, inspiring you with fear and hope, and gathers up the heavy clouds. The thunder sounds His praises, and the angels, too, in awe of him. He hurls his thunderbolts at whom He pleases. Yet the unbelievers wrangle about God.
My name is Phoebe Meadows." I covered my nakedness again with my arms. "I know it's a little late for this, since I'm currently lying butt naked in your arms, and you've already saved my life three times, but now is better than never. You can call me Phoebe if you like.
Fen referred to my lack of finesse as my sluggish human carryover, which was an artful way of saying I sucked and hit like a girl. He kept at me to become more Zenlike and less like a human zombie while I was fighting.
I will not be my father's dog.
My body felt alive. I need more. "Valkyrie," Fen growled, eyes locked on my mouth. "Put your lips back on mine, and I will give you what you crave.
By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, Truth is a thing that ever I will keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulchre
If you survive in battle, it is with Odin's grace, and if you fall, it is because he has betrayed you.
A foolish man is all night awake, pondering over everything; he than grows tired; and when morning comes, all is lament as before.
Frankly, I don’t think of us as gods, either. I mean, once you’ve seen Thor passed out on the floor, or Odin in his bathrobe, yelling at Frigg because she used his toothbrush…it’s hard to see much divinity in my family
Odin, not unlike Charlie Brown, sighed, “Good grief,” then added, “Why are we going to let this, this, coward on our trip? What do you see in him that could make you want him to come along?
Are you never afraid of God's judgement in denying him? Most certainly not. I also deny Zeus and Jupiter and Odin and Brahma, but this causes me no qualms. I observe that a very large portion of the human race does not believe in God and suffers no visible punishment in consequence. And if there were a God, I think it very unlikely that He would have such an uneasy vanity as to be offended by those who doubt His existence.
We can see from the experience of Odin that the image of the tree was the template within which all of the sacred world could be apprehended. The tree was the framework within which one "flew" to these Otherworlds. And since the exploration of sacred space was also a quest into the nature of human consciousness, the tree was regarded as an image of the ways in which we, humans, are constructed psychically. It was a natural model for our deepest wisdom, our highest aspirations.
As a demigod - Fen cleared his throat - "I am flush with power. My power can be transformed into the kind of energy you need to feed." As he spoke, his eyes sparked with something feral that sent shivers racing down my spine. "It can happen from touch, kissing, but the greatest source is during the act of..." Ohmygodsinheaven. "Sex? Are you referring to sex?"... "My power becomes concentrated for... a very brief moment. It's all about the transfer of energy from one body to another." He looked wildly uncomfortable. "All who live in Asgard know this already. I've never had to explain it to someone." His semen packs a punch?
Then spoke Gangleri: 'There is a very large number of people in Val-hall. I declare by my salvation that Odin is a very great lord when he commands such a great troop. But what entertainment do the Einheriar have when they are not drinking?' High said: 'Each day after they have got dressed they put on war-gear and go out into the courtyard and fight each other and they fall each upon the other. This is their sport. And when dinner-time approaches they ride back to Val-hall and sit down to drink, as it says here: All Einheriar in Odin's courts fight one another each day. They select their victims and from battle ride, sit the more at peace together.
Those movies... ridiculously inaccurate. The real gods of Asgard — Thor, Loki, Odin, and the rest — are much more powerful, much more terrifying than anything Hollywood could concoct.
I don't understand a word you're saying," snapped Odin. "That's because you're throttlin' me, sir," said Sugar. Odin loosened his grip.
I remember laughing at that moment, and I remember my son frowning at me in puzzlement. What I remember best of all, though, was the sudden certainty that the gods were with me, that they would fight for me, that my sword would be their sword. ‘We’re going to win,’ I told my son. I felt as if Odin or Thor had touched me. I had never felt more alive and never felt more certain. I knew there would be no more mistakes and that this was no dream. I had come to Bebbanburg and Bebbanburg would be mine.
Nine is the mythical number of the Germanic tribes. Documentation for the significance of the number nine is found in both myth and cult. In Odin's self-sacrifice he hung for nine nights on the windy tree (Hávamál), there are nine worlds to Nifhel (Vafprudnismal 43), Heimdallr was born to nine mothers, Freyr had to wait for nine nights for his marriage to Gerd (Skírnismál 41), and eight nights (= nine days?) was the time of betrothal given also in the Þrymskviða. Literary embellishments in the Eddas similarly used the number nine: Skaði and Njörðr lived alternately for nine days in Nóatún and in Þrymheimr; every ninth night eight equally heavy rings drip from the ring Draupnir; Menglöð has nine maidens serve her (Fjölsvinnsmál 35ff), and Ægir had as many daughters. Thor can take nine steps at Ragnarök after his battle with the Midgard serpent before he falls down dead. Sacrificial feasts lasting nine days are mentioned for both Uppsala and Lejre and at these supposedly nine victims were sacrificed each day.
He was here. Nice to have someone to hold my hand in the end. "Valkyrie, I need to lift you. This is going to hurt." His arms slid underneath my body. I screamed. Almost gone. I struggled. Needed to tell him not to worry. It wasn't his fault. Don't bother trying to save me. Hurts too much. "What is it, Valkyrie? You have to stop struggling." His head hovered above my mouth. "There's nothing... left to save.
The story is that Odin travelled from home and came to a place where nine slaves were cutting hay. He asked if they wanted him to sharpen their scythes. They agreed. Then he took a whetstone from his belt and sharpened the scythes. To them it seemed that the scythes now cut much better, and they wanted to buy the whetstone. Odin set this price on the stone: he asked that whoever wanted to buy it should give what he thought was reasonable. They all said they wanted it and each asked to buy it, but instead he threw it into the air. They all scrambled to catch it with the result that they slit each other’s throats with their scythes.
His warm breath hit my neck, and my toes curled. “That may be true,” he murmured, “but I’m pretty sure there’s a wolf inside you, too. Here, let me help you find it.” I turned, falling into his arms, his lips meeting mine, both of us hungry. At least one thing would go right today.
F. T. Mckinstry
Master of magic, god of war, Odin wanders alone.
Thy life runs out, The Gods they are wroth with thee; Draw near if thou must ; Odin thou shalt see.
CA-CAW. CA-CAW. I shrieked and hit the floor. Okay, maybe I needed a little protecting. "Use your spear, Ingrid!" I gestured wildly at the ornate weapon. "That bird is not going back out that window without a fight. Hurry, before it pecks us to death!" Instead of impaling the flying beast with her spear, Ingrid chuckled warmly. "Huggie, it's nice to see you again." --- "If they get to you before I can get you to the Valkyrie stronghold, you'll either be killed or tossed into one of the Nine Worlds quicker than you can say, 'Odin's my dad.