Best 65 quotes in «king arthur quotes» category

Thinking and planning is one side of life; doing is another. A man cannot be doing all the time.

To many-towered Camelot

Waiting for one’s execution is worse than dying. To seek my beheading is glory. Who went to his execution willingly? Jesus did. Jesus even dragged his cross half way to Golgotha. I think he would have nailed himself to the cross if he had to.

We are the archers with the bows that spring our children forward. Life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday. It is not a circle, but an arrow. It flies forward with the great express of Love.

Well then, take this thought with you for the dark hours to come: It is a ludicrous fiction that love conquers all, but it can, in fact, conquer quite a lot. I am Iason of the Blood, Knight of Arthur, King of the Britons, reborn into dark service in the year of Our Lord five hundred and sixty. My power is vast, and for none to arrogate but by my will and decree. My services are engaged, Selina. Tell me what you need to ease your pain in this, and it is yours.

Who so pulleth out this sword from this stone and anvil is trueborn King of all Britain.

You still haven’t told me what King Edward will do when he has all four relics,’ Robert said, fixing Humphrey with his gaze. ‘We aren’t privy to all his plans, Robert, as I’ve told you. Only the men of the Round Table know his full intentions. We have to prove ourselves worthy to be trusted as they are.’ ‘Do you not ever wonder?’ Humphrey paused. ‘I just know my king will do what is best for my kingdom.’ Robert said nothing. He thought of his own kingdom, beleaguered by Edward’s interference, and a ghost of a threat drifted in his mind. But even as it appeared, he pushed it away. Scotland was its own kingdom, with its own king. It wasn’t Wales or Ireland, fractured and isolated. However much Edward had desired the Crown of Arthur he had come here, first and foremost, to put down a rebellion. Yet still, on this bleak shore with Humphrey beside him, Robert felt a sense of standing at a crossroads with many paths leading away before him. In his mind they all led into darkness.

You think about sex a lot.” “Next best thing to doing it.

You were dreaming?” A hell of a dream from the looks of it. He released her arms. The moonlight flickered in her eyes, and even in the dark he saw her flush. “I know,” she said, staring at him. There was a breathy tone to her voice that made him think things he shouldn’t. God, she smelled good. What was it about her skin? He didn’t try to move and she didn’t either. “What was it about?” “You…me.” It was a struggle to keep from pressing closer to her. ‘What were we doing?” “I could show you.” His throat was as tight as his groin. “Show me.

Used every man according to his capacity.

Wake up! You’re a sacred soul and glory is yours for the taking.

We shall have made such a blaze that men will remember us on the other side or the dark.

You’re not much fun on a honeymoon.

You end up with this succession of periods when everything was marvellous - from King Arthur to the medieval times, Ivanhoe, chivalry, Henry VIII, Merry England, the Blitz

It is all true, or it ought to be; and more and better besides.

A great ruler, a great court, a great kingdom, these texts suggest never exist unto themselves, as stable, fully actualized entities, and, therefore, are never experienced in their plenitude in the present. Instead, they are always remembered as something that occured in the past or anticipated as something will reoccur in the future. Insofar as they are experienced in the current time, it is only for a brief and evanescent moment, overshadowed by the knowledge that it will soon vanish. For a realist, the fact that the excellence of a person, a place, or a time is not appreciated in its own time proves that it was never actually as excellent as it seemed. For a Romantic, however, there exist a people, places, and times whose excellence can only be appreciated Arthur always has to be - to quote the Alliterative Morte Arthure (ca.1400) - "the once and future king

A knight will give a lady a ring from his hand and take a kiss from her lips, when he wishes to love her and serve her all his days," she recited, as she had when he was small. She pulled the ring from the chain and held it out to him. "This ring is the knight's who swore to serve me. Take it. One day you may find a lady to wear it.

And just for the record, I think he needed to be a little more assertive with the woman he loved. That's why he lost her to Lancelot, you know. Lack of assertiveness. A man needs to be ready to lay down his life for the woman he loves. But first he's got to let her know that she's adored.

Anyone can become dangerous if given the right motivation,

Ah Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have betrayed me; for never shall my court be amended by you, but ye will never be sorry for me as I am for you

Arthur might be a king, but he can’t make you come.

. . . and it came out that this King Arthur and his knights had done nothing of real note but to kill innocent dragons all around Britain: almost certainly a pack of lies, as Forthing admitted they had not possessed even any guns at the time, and unpleasant lies at that.

Arthur without Excalibur was still Arthur.

But a voice said within her, Now it is too late. They found her at high noon, just as the sun came out after the storm, floating among the reeds of the Lake. Her long hair was spread out on the surface like water reeds, and Morgaine, stunned with grief, could not find it in her heart to regret that Kevin had not gone alone into the shadowed land beyond death.

Blanchefleur felt a quick rush of affection for her. When the world frowned, Branwen went on smiling. There was a heart of steel under all that froth and bubble.

At least I’m the one leaving. It’s so much easier to leave than to be left.

Do not deceive yourself, Gawain. There are black places in the heart of every man.

Gawain laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Sir Perceval, when the priest reads the lesson, he says that he who would save his life must lose it. Good words for any man, for there are moments when cowardice will bring death more surely than boldness. But the ordinary man knows, when he goes out to meet the wolf in his road, that he may yet come home in peace. Not so the knights of the Round Table. We win through one deadly peril only to face another. If we banish one evil, we must go on to the next and after that, to the next—until death meets us in the path. We yield up our bodies every day, not for glory and fortune but so that those weaker than ourselves may live. Do you understand?” “I do,” said Sir Perceval. “And I say that there is no nobler calling. I am content.” But then he thought of the Lady Blanchefleur kissing his brow on a night of fire and blood, and with a sudden ache of grief told himself that even a hundred years of peace would not be enough time to spend with her.

Each male dragon has one female, the other half of his soul, the light to his dark. She has been fashioned by the Universe especially for him. Dragons mate for life. Once we find our one perfect mate, there will be no other.

How are we to account for the vast interest to be found in Arthurian literature today, an interest embracing both the academic and the common person? The answer may lie in the possibility that there is more of interest to the human being than his own circumscribed range of personal experience and the limited collective experience of the society in which he finds himself. Man has a sense of wonder and he seeks to look beyond the confines of the everyday. Marvel-filled literature enables him to do this and provides him with the stimulus which his imagination craves.

But even the longest day wears to sunset.

Even sporting a frown, his upper lip was full with a pronounced 'Cupid's bow' that inspired the image of her nibbling his tender flesh to manifest in her mind. At the thought, her cheeks heated with a blush she knew he saw by the smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth. "What are ya thinkin' about?" He winked, adding insult to injury where her pride was concerned. Taking a step back and turning on her heel, Abigail growled, "I was thinking you have the manners of a stable boy but are dressed like knight.

He grinned. “Do not fear. I am here to serve you, as I promised.” Despite the fit of schoolgirl giggles that had seized her in Carbonek when he first proposed to be her knight, his assurance annoyed her now. “You inspire me with confidence,” she said, honey-sweet. “With a few more years and experience, you would make a capable guardian, I’m sure.” “And you an amiable ward,” he said, bowing again.

Honor is a balancing act and only the heart can strike that balance.

How you must hate Logres,” she said in a dry mouth. “Hate Logres?” He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “There is an anger that is deserved, Blanche. Tell me. Look me in the eye, if you can, and tell me—to my face—that Logres is without sin.

Dennis the Peasant: Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. Arthur: Be quiet! Dennis: You can't expect to wield supreme power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!

I did not do it for you, sire." Gawain was deadly serious now. "Death comes to us and all mortals. I shall still lose you one day. But Logres! The only perfection under heaven would fall if I could not save you.

I mean,” he said, “that by your own showing, the greatest threat to heaven comes from within the ranks of the angels themselves. Before you can prove to me that heroes can defeat villains with nothing but the purest chivalric ideals, you must convince me that heroes do exist, and that villains are not a fanciful tale for children. You must tell me, sir, if you dare, that you are incorruptible, and that your colleagues and commanders are as pure as you.

In the dim sunset Perceval looked the glade over and said, “Does your lady wife think so little of sending you out on deadly errands?” Sir Gareth unstrapped the blanket from behind his saddle. “It’s our fourth child. I’ve grown accustomed to it.” “Of course,” Perceval said with a grin, “even dragonfire might burn less hot than my lady aunt’s temper.” Sir Gareth cuffed Perceval across the ear. “For that piece of insolence, youngster, you take the first watch. And be glad you are so tender in years that I dare not risk my honour upon you in single combat to prove my Lynet as sweet-tempered as she should be.

It is dangerous to become attached to a du Lac. He will break your heart, and you will not recover.

It is the kind of stoicism which had been seen as characteristic of Anglo-Saxon poetry, perhaps nowhere better expressed than in 'The Battle of Maldon' where the most famous Saxon or English cry has been rendered - 'Courage must be the firmer, heart the bolder, spirit must be the greater, as our strength grows less'. That combination of bravery and fatalism, endurance and understatement, is the defining mood of Arhurian legend.

It was like listening to the universe in motion. Planets spinning on their appointed courses, the lives of men intersecting and parting, the unimaginable harmony of the human body itself in hierarchy and order, were all implied in the song, but something greater as well: the genius of the composer, which must surely approach the miraculous. Perceval closed his eyes and was lost in the weaving music.

I want you too, so much,” she whispered. He murmured in her ear, “Then take me.

Just when I was coping with the idea that I’d necked with a werewolf,” she muttered. “Just when I was beginning to flirt with the idea of possibly… possibly inviting sex with a werewolf. I’m trying to imagine how I would tell this story to my best friend. I think it would go something like this: See, I’ve never seen him in daylight. He’s just this werewolf guy.” Beside her, he had stiffened. Very quietly, he said, “Sex?

How was she supposed to be in the same room with the man that made her want to simultaneously kiss him and kill him?

I have fled from the wilderness fasting, with woe and unflagging travail, I have sought for the light on the mountain, and skirted the devilish dale. I have laid my mouth in the dust, and begged the Might to be kind, I have come to the feast, and I famish. Now grant me the Holy Grail.

I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round, And all his legions crying Christ and him, And break them; and I saw him, after, stand High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume Red as the rising sun with heathen blood, And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, "They are broken, they are broken!" for the King, However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts— For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs Saying, his knights are better men than he— Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives No greater leader.

In our day, we thought that the bards would sing of us for generations to come, but we did not believe it. But in fact Arthur now occupies a higher throne than he ever did when he was alive. The fragments of all our lives have been put together to form legend. Camelot has become the nursery of Britain: the glorious past that never was and always will be.

Look out your window on a morning in spring, ten or twenty years hence, and perhaps you'll see me coming.

Oh, Perceval, a falcon is born to hunt, and so are you. One day you will hunt indeed--but not yet." "Why? Am I not ready?" She looked at him sadly and said, "Give me a little longer.