Best 134 quotes in «pirates quotes» category

This book is a work of fiction. Actually, it is a work of fiction within a fiction, as the main characters, though real persons in a fictional world, are being depicted in a book which other fictional characters in the same world are reading. Any reference to historical events-- rather, historical events non-Marridonian, and also non-Sesternese-- real people—rather, people in our realm, not the persons I was referring to in the previous line-- or real places—places that are not Marridon, Sesterna, and any place on the Two Continents-- are used fictitiously, because this is a work of fiction, and is a fiction within a fiction, as was previously stated. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination—referring to the ultimate author, not the fictitious author who has written the book within the book-- and any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, living, dead, or otherwise, is entirely coincidental, but any resemblance to actual persons or places in the Two Continents is intentional. Absolutely no parts of this book, text or art, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, whether electronically or mechanically, including photocopying— “By Myrellenos, are we here in the disclaimer again? This is the third time, I believe. And there are still no cups out. Where is the teapot?” “Here, boss.” “Oh, there is tea in this story? I might be more inclined to stay and hear this one. The others were dreadful slow. I must have some tea, if I am going to be made to sit and listen to a whole book. I am not Bartleby, who can sit at his desk and flump over his tomes until he moulders.” “He’s gonna hear you, boss.” “I should say not, Rannig. He is too busy with doing the edits. He found a mistake in one of the other books about us and demanded he perform the editing this time around. The author was very good to let him do as he likes. He is missing tea, however.” --audio recording, data retrieval, cloud storage, torrent, or streaming service. If you do decide to ignore this disclaimer and print or share this book illegally, I will have Bartleby come to your house with a sample from the Marridonian legal extracts, and he will read them to you until you promise never to do anything illegal again.

Totally isolated from our own culture for long periods, we became vulnerable to forgotten times and tribes re-awakening within us. Our journeys, we found, were to take us simultaneously to some of the least-charted regions of the planet and to the least-charted regions of our own minds. What began for us as the effort to capture a purely objective record of what we saw gradually dissolved into a quest, an odyssey of self-discovery which actually took place amongst the last of the lands of real living kings and queens, dragons and pirates, cannibals and headhunters, mystics and magicians.

To live is to walk beside Death but never join hands. ~ Captain Buck "Slackeye" Roberts

Three,' reckoned the captain, 'ourselves make seven, counting Hawkins, here. Now, about honest hands?' Most likely Trelawney's own men," said the doctor; 'those he had picked up for himself, before he lit on Silver.' Nay,' replied the squire. 'Hands was one of mine.' I did think I could have trusted Hands,' added the captain.

Three coins into the sea, Captain. One for the stars, one for the sky and one for the ocean" he says. "what need have they for money?" "It's not about need, it's about showing reverence

(Topper) I’ll story ’em, Fin. I’ll story ’em clean.

Walking the plank is a Victorian fiction, and I will not have it on my ship!

Try telling the truth for a whole week. And just see how much trouble you get in.

We are all simply reacting, played by events that occurred centuries before.

Well, if pirates are bad, And vampires are worse, Then I pray that as long as I be That though I sing of Vampirates I never one shall see. Yea, if pirates are danger And vampires are death, I'll extend my prayer for thee- That thine eyes never see a Vampirate ...and they never lay a hand on thee

What I wouldn’t give for a little old smuggling job.

Well, yeah, you listen to a talking snake and there's gonna be trouble.

What, everyone you know has been kidnapped by pirates and forced to chop octopus in a kitchen that smells like a whale's stomach?" "Quite a lot of them, yes," said Trudi, who appeared to be one of those people who'd heard of sarcasm but thought it was some sort of exotic fruit like a pineapple.

What kind of pirate would I be if I can’t handle a little danger?

What made you offer up your services as a pirate, Lord Kitson? This life's not like it is in songs, you know. There's a little more shit and scurvy.

Well what would you expect?" she sputtered. "They can call themselves privateers, but we all know they're just pirates with papers.

Why spend your whole life on the high seas looking for treasure,' Peter asked, talking to the clouds as he scaled a rope up what remained of the half-crumbled mast, 'when you could have a promised pay check in exchange for all the life you'd live between nine-and-five.

Where's the fun in that?

Why Are Terrorists into Piracy? Well, they are movie buffs too!

Why Fight When You Can Negotiate?

When he bowed his head to hide his grin, she stiffened. “This is most certainly not amusing.” He looked up, the humor still glittering in his eyes, and spoke one word. “James.” “Pardon me?” “James Lamont. It’s my name. You’ll need it if you’re to curse me properly.

When I see you, Jolie, I see a woman who is far more than she realizes but who will someday grow into her powers. One who is much stronger than those who would trap her inside their cages or try to put her to harness. One with a bold intelligence, with whom I can laugh. One who surprises me." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was so soft I had to strain to hear. "I see a woman who makes me feel alive again, like a man, and not like a wraith who has lived beyond his usefulness in a world that no longer needs him.

Within the history of lesbianism from the archaic Greek poet Sappho from the Isle of Lesbos, who is the symbol of lust, passion and sensuality between women, to Sister Benedetta Carlini’s deeply erotic love affair with another nun, to the 10th century Arab erotic work, Encyclopedia of Pleasure, which gives the account of a love affair between a Christian and an Arab woman, to modern day same-sex marriages and Pride parades, there is certainly place for Anne Bonny and Mary Read.

You'd be as rich as kings if you could find it, and you know it's here, and you stand there skulking. There wasn't one of you dared face Bill, and I did it--a blind man! And I'm to lose my chance for you! I'm to be a poor, crawling beggar, sponging for rum, when I might be rolling in a coach! If you had the pluck of a weevil in a biscuit you would catch them still.

Women in London must have learned not to breathe,

You’re as lovely as a flower in the stark of winter… Your hair is the color of wheat under the midday sun, and your eyes—” “Yes, yes. My eyes are like the sea or the sky or some such nonsense,” she quipped with a laugh, the lilting sound like the finest music, better than anything he could ever play.

You—“ Mr Bellstrode began, and then leaning forward and sinking his voice, “You would kill for money?” “Is there any other reason to? Well, I suppose there is revenge, but that, you know, never makes one feel as well as it should when it is all said and done. Money is a much better reward than retribution. Something substantial by way of compensation for emotional wrongs is much the best cure for an injured spirit. I do provide fatal retaliation for nothing when it is deserved, but as you are neither a poor helpless wretch nor the victim of national injustice, full payment is expected.

You must live a very free life." "Me?" she laughed. "I am not who swoops out of the sky to rain fire on pirates!" "Yeah, but before this I never did much. I mean I did a lot, but...I lived in a room at a university, and my whole world was in that little room. There was this world inside my head." De la Fitte studied his head as if she could see through his skull to a little globe inside it somewhere.

You’re a pirate?” Obviously. Still, hard to believe. He pressed forward, forcing on her a series of blows meant to test her strength and will. She parried and blocked his every move with an aptitude that amazed. “Aye. A pirate, and captain of the Sea Sprite,” she boasted, a wry smile upon her full lips. Indeed, she appeared very much a pirate in her men’s garb—a threadbare, brown suit with overly long sleeves she’d had to roll up. Her ebony hair had been pulled back in a queue and was half hidden beneath a rumpled tricorn. Also, like her men, was her look of desperation and the grim cast to her countenance that bespoke of a hard existence. “We offered you quarter,” she said as she evaded his thrust with ease. “Why didn’t you surrender? You had to know we outnumbered you.” He didn’t answer. In all honesty, he’d thought they could defeat the pirates, if not with cannon fire, then with skill. After hearing of all the pirate attacks of late, they’d hired on additional hands, men who could fight. If it hadn’t been for the damn illness… “It’s not too late. You can save what’s left of your crew. Surrender now, Captain Glanville, and we’ll see that your men are ransomed back.” A wicked gleam brightened her eyes as if victory would soon be hers. He should do as she asked. It would be the sensible thing, but pride kept him from saying the words. Not yet. He still had another opponent to defeat, and so far she hadn’t been an easy one to overcome. Despite his steady attack, she kept her muscles relaxed, her balance sure. Her attention followed his movements no matter how small, adjusting her stance, looking for weaknesses. “How do you know I’m Captain Glanville?” When work was at hand, he didn’t dress any differently than his men. “I know much about you.” Stepping clear of two men battling to their left, she blocked his sword with her own and lunged with her dagger. He jumped from the blade, avoiding injury by the barest inch. This one relied on speed and accuracy rather than power. Smart woman. “What do you want from us?” he asked, launching an attack of his own, this time with so much force and speed, she had no choice but to retreat until her back came up against the railing. “We only just left London four days ago. Our cargo is mainly iron and ale.” Her gaze sharpened even as her expression became strained. His assault was wearing her down. “I want the Ruby Cross.” How the hell did she know he had the cross? And did she believe he’d simply hand it over? Hand over a priceless antiquity of the Knights Templar? Absurd. He swung his sword all the harder. The clang of steel rang through the air. Her reactions slowed, and her arms trembled. He made a final cut, putting all his strength behind the blow, and knocked her sword from her hand. Triumph surged through his veins. She attempted to slash out with her dagger. He grabbed her arm before her blade could reach him and hauled her close, their faces nose to nose. “You’ll never take the cross from me,” he vowed as he towered over her, his grip strong. The point of a sword touched his back. Thomas tensed, he swore beneath his breath, self-disgust heavy in his chest. The distraction of this one woman had sealed his fate. Bloody hell.

A good pirate fights back," said Jasper, "and a good pirate finds treasure.

You sure you can do this?" he asked. "Does the Tin Man have a sheet-metal dick?

A heart? Peppone knows where one is to be met with. There is always someone in the black market in need of dying early.

An iron? Was he kidding? God

All right boys, let’s sail away! Show those bastards how airship pirates fly a ship!

And it sucks, because I want to kiss her. It's infuriating how perfect it would be to kiss her right now, perched on a cannon on a pirate ship under the stars. That sounds like something off the pages of an adventure novel. But my life isn't one of those stories. My story is a hurricane, and here with Swift is just the eye.

Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship's doctor; Abraham Gray, carpenter's mate; John Trelawney, owner; John Hunter and Richard Joyce, owner's servants, landsmen--being all that is left faithful of the ship's company--with stores for ten days at short rations, came ashore this day and flew British colours on the log-house in Treasure Island. Thomas Redruth, owner's servant, landsman, shot by the mutineers; James Hawkins, cabin boy--' And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins' fate.

Among Violet's many useful skills was a vast knowledge of different types of knots. The particular knot she was using was called the Devil's Tongue. A group of female Finnish pirates invented it back in the fifteenth century, and named it the Devil's Tongue because it twisted this way and that, in the most complicated and eerie way.

A moving object will continue in a straight line unless something happens to knock it off its course. Some say this is also true of stories. (From Aldebran Boswell's Book of Scientific Knowledge)

Char chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you wanted my judgment to be impaired. I told you rum was my weakness in confidence.” “In my defense”—he leaned in closer, his voice for her alone—“I am a pirate.

A short life and a merry one at that!

Avevamo, poi, due formidabili alleati: il rum e il clima. Per quanto riguarda il primo, pur essendo lontani quasi un miglio, potevamo sentirli urlare a squarciagola e cantare fino a notte fonda; per quanto riguarda il secondo, il dottore si giocava la parrucca che, accampati nella palude, e privi com'erano di medicine, nel giro di una settimana la metà di essi si sarebbero ritrovati stesi.

Because...” he used to cradle his daughter in his arms every morning and often they would exchange soft nuances “...if you can dream it, if you can see it in your visions at night, if you can feel it in your soul, it’s yours! And it never really belonged to anyone else, in the first place! It was always yours!” Viera returned her scroll to the drawer and closed it, she kissed the compass around her neck and climbed into her bed under the warm quilts, the candle flame crackled and the memories of her father’s arms around her embraced her there in bed and his deep, hoarse voice resounded in her ears; “... and if you chance upon a treasure that is yours and it happens to be in the possession of someone else, it’s not very wrong to take what is yours, to take what you dreamed, what you saw in your visions at night, what you felt visit you in your spirit! Sure, it’s not lawful, but aye aye my little one, listen to me when I tell you that the best things in life are not under the laws of any sort! For which law created love? Which law created courage? The best things, the real things, are the things that are not measured by any man’s laws! Fear is the only thing that any law has ever created! And what kind of pirates would we all be if we were afraid of any of our fears, even a little!

Can you imagine those poor bastards grappling their prey, leaping over the rails, swords in hand, screaming 'Your cats! Give us all your god-damned cats!

A wounded animal yet bears teeth

Because my division watches immortals like your crew. It’s in the government’s best interest to keep tabs on people who could potentially be assets someday. Which is why I’m here.” He turned to Colton again. “I can use my contacts to locate the group holding the Holy Grail, but the American government can’t be tied to the recovery effort in any way.” “So what are you sayin’?” Colton held his breath. “I’m saying who better to steal it back than a band of pirates?

Charity followed the pirate. To salvation or to hell, she would soon find out.

Copyright Promotes Creativity by Proscribing the Right to Copy

Create a Piracy Free World fora Creative Tomorrow

Fate was a damn bitch, waiting until he had something worth living for before making death an option again.

Everybody clapped enthusiastically and Dr. Marx popped up from behind the podium, where he had been hiding all along. He was the hairiest man the pirates had ever seen. Several of the crew were actually worried for a moment that the Seaweed That Walked Like a Man had returned from one of their previous adventures to ambush them. His nose was hairy. His forehead was hairy. Even his hands were hairy. And his beard was a great bushy black number, which looked like he had sellotaped a bunch of cats to the bottom of his face and then frightened them with a loud noise.