Gandalf never had this kind of problem.
He had exactly this problem, actually, standing in front of the hidden Dwarf door to Moria. Remember when...
I sighed. Sometimes my inner monologue annoys even me.
"Edro, edro," I muttered. "Open." I rubbed at the bridge of my nose and ventured, "Mellon."
Nothing happened. The wards stayed. I guessed the Corpstaker had never read Tolkien. Tasteless bitch.

"One time, one of them wanted the Sun, the Moon and Lady Freya. The time before that, they wanted my hammer, Mjollnir, and the hand of Lady Freya. There was one time they wanted all the treasures of Asgard and Lady Freya..."
"They must like Lady Freya a lot," said Odd.

"Av alle organene," sa Nehemiah Trot, "er tungen den mest bemerkelsesverdige. For vi bruker den både til å smake den søte vin og bitre gift, og slik ytrer vi også ord som er både søte og bitre med samme tunge."

It's rather like the other saying they've never been able to understand, which is that you can't cross the same river twice. Experiments with a long-legged wizard and a small river say you can cross the same river thirty, thirty-five times a minute

The truth isn't easily pinned to a page. In the bathtub of history the truth is harder to hold than the soap, and much more difficult to find...

"So, who are you?" I asked. "And how can you help me?"
"You want to call me something, call me Captain. Or Jack."
"Or Sparrow?" I asked.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies," said Jojen. "The man who never reads lives only one."

I ettertid har han (Ibsen) blitt bedømt som Norges største forfatter noensinne, men den høyeste anerkjennelse fikk han aldri. Derimot måtte han oppleve at hans venn og uvenn gjennom mange år, Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson, fikk Nobelprisen i litteratur i 1903. Bjørnson har imidlertid selv fortalt at da han skulle hente prisen på slottet i Stockholm, ble han stoppet av en vaktpost. Bjørnson sa da: "Jeg er Norges største dikter, min gode mann". Og vakten slapp ham inn med svaret: "For all del, herr Ibsen."

I likhet med totempælen krever flagget at man er villige til å ofre, og for flaggets vedkommende er offeret stort: Vi gir vårt liv. Staten har monopol på å utøve vold. Ikke bare er det legitimt, det er en forpliktelse å forsvare nasjonens ære. Å drepe eller å skade medlemmer av egen nasjonalitet er derimot tabu.

Fotografene, skriver Barthes, er "dødens agenter." Det blir vi smertelig klar over når vi selv blir fotografert. Det skal bare et lite klikk til, så stivner vi og fryser fast i en bestemt form. Kameraet forvandler oss til "døde" objekter, som er prisgitt et hvilket som helst lune hos betrakteren

Lucy heard noises.The noises were coming from inside the walls. They were hustling noises and bustling noises. They were crinkling noises and crackling noises. They were sneaking, creeping, crumpling noises.

Lucy knew what kinds of things make noises like that in the walls of big old houses, ans she went and told her mother.

"There are wolves in the walls," Lucy said to her mother. "I can hear them."

On the War: We didn't ask for it. I sure as fuck didn't. These people I don't even fucking know decided my home was worth taking for themselves and started dropping bombs through my roof. If I meet any of them, I'll kill them. Same for anyone else who thinks what's mine is theirs.

Is that Justified?

Frontier justice. Both sides wanna talk tough about who is more American - nothing is more American than protecting what's yours with a gun. Look it up..

DMZ book review: Snoozer #4

Snoozer is determined to sleep through the war or die trying. She documents her efforts, mostly through sheer force of will, to sleep as much as humanly possible, and it's fascinating to read. The inner workings of a very clearly mentally ill woman, but she's charming and funny and bitter and extremely likable. I want to meet Snoozer.

The cat yawned slowly, carefully, revealing a mouth and tongue of astounding pinkness. "Cats don't have names," it said.

"No?" said Coraline.

"No," said the cat. "Now, you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names."

Snape turned to Harry with a friendly smile. "I've missed you Harry. "

Titania: I share your grief, Tamlin... But he was born to die. As they all are. It seems as though they scarcely live, the mortal folk. Here one moment, gone the next... They skim the surface of time and vanish without a ripple, like mayflies...

Let a man get away with fuckin' you once, you stay bent over so's he can fuck you again whenever he damn well PLEASES. An' if ONE can do it? ANOTHER will too, an' another, an' another STILL. So's being fucked, that's yer LIFE. 'til who you were, you AIN'T. 'cause all you are is an ASSHOLE.

Svake mennesker blir ofte trukket til kirken, og mennesker som vil ha makt over svake mennesker trekkes også dit.

Min blomst er efemerisk, sa den lille prinsen til seg selv. – Den har bare fire torner å forsvare seg mot hele verden med! Og så har jeg latt den bli igjen hjemme helt alene!

The wizard raised an eyebrow, yellow fire sprang up around the shellfish salesman, there was a noise like tearing silk, and Koble had vanished. All that was left was his boots, standing forlornly on the cobbles with little wisps of smoke coming out of them.

No-one knows why smoking boots always remain, no matter how big the explosion. It seems to be just one of those things.