Character: Geralt. Page 2

- Damn! Look, Milva, what is it?
Just get your ear torn off. Nothing to worry about.
Easy for you to say. You see, I loved that ear.

Now he is a little settled down, because it remains in a decent society, but in his youth for him, nothing was sacred. I would say that at the sight of him to feel safe could do that Jerzy Yes, those women who have managed to climb to the very top of a tall tree.

- Buttercup! Don't sleep in the saddle!
I'm not sleeping. I think in a creative manner.

Forgot to say that you need to change your empty head on the other, brains.

Is Roach? But Roach was brown, and this brown.
All my horses are called Potami. You know and stop talking.

It is not enough to be each other's intended. You need something more...

Leave the storytellers alone. If they do not have enough material, they'll think of something. And having true material, they will distort.

This is not a fairy tale, but life. Lousy and bad. And therefore, damn it, let's live it possible decently and well. Limit the number of other injustices perpetrated by the inevitable minimum.

"No," he agreed. I do not know. But...
- If you do not know, ' she interrupted, then no, "but" will not help. You don't know. Just don't know.

Now I know that a little sacrifice is... a lot.

- The goal is at the end of any journey. It is for everyone. Even you, though you feel like you're not like everyone else.
Now I ask you.
- Ask.
And at the end of your journey has a purpose?
- Is.
- The lucky one.
- It's not about happiness, Geralt. The thing is, what you believe and what you give yourself. What is your vocation.

Oh, and pour you, Buttercup!
- Do not pour, and decorate, and different things.

- Tell me, Buttercup, impatiently threw a witch. - Can't stay here until evening.
Bard grasped with the fingers of the fingerboard of the lute, has sharply hit the strings.
- How do you prefer, poetry or normal speech?
- Normal.
- All right. Buttercup however does not put down the lute. - Listen, gentlemen, what happened a week ago nepodal city free, Gollapalem betrothed. So, early in the morning, barely rising sun would redden hurting hanging over the fields and meadows fog veils...
- It decided normal! reminded Geralt.
- Isn't there? Okay, okay. Understand. Briefly, without metaphors.

Only legends can survive that in nature can not survive. Only the legend and myth of not knowing the limits of the possible.