The Last Wish

People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.

Lesser, greater, middling, it's all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I'm not a pious hermit, I haven't done only good in my life. But if I'm to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.

I manage because I have to. Because I've no other way out. Because I've overcome the vanity and pride of being different, I've understood that they are a pitiful defense against being different. Because I've understood that the sun shines differently when something changes. The sun shines differently, but it will continue to shine, and jumping at it with a hoe isn't going to do anything.

People”—Geralt turned his head—“like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves.

A mother, you son-of-a-bitch, is sacred!

Only Evil and Greater Evil exist and beyond them, in the shadows, lurks True Evil. True Evil, Geralt, is something you can barely imagine, even if you believe nothing can still surprise you. And sometimes True Evil seizes you by the throat and demands that you choose between it and another, slightly lesser, Evil.

Evil is evil, Stregobor,” said the witcher seriously as he got up. “Lesser, greater, middling, it's all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I’m not a pious hermit. I haven't done only good in my life. But if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.

They weren't lying. They firmly believed it all. Which doesn't change the facts.

I need this conversation. They say silence is golden. Maybe it is, although I'm not sure it's worth that much. It has its price certainly; you have to pay for it.

Nonsense," said the witcher. "And what's more, it doesn't rhyme. All decent predictions rhyme.

There's a grain of truth in every fairy tale,

I don't believe in Melitele, don't believe in the existence of other gods either, but I respect your choice, your sacrifice. Your belief. Because your faith and sacrifice, the price you're paying for your silence, will make you better, a greater being. Or, at least, it could. But my faithlessness can do nothing. It's powerless.

No. I’ve no time to waste. Winter’s coming.

As usual, cats and children noticed him first.

All around, everywhere you look, is dullness and uncertainty. Even something born of beauty soon leads to boredom and banality, commonplace, the human ritual, the tedious rhythm of life.

(...) Ale, między nami, nie rób przy niej tego, co ostatnim razem, podczas kolacji. - Idzie ci o to, że rzuciłem widelcem w szczura? - Nie. Idzie mi o to, że trafiłeś, chociaż było ciemno. - Myślałem, że to będzie zabawne.

Destiny has many faces. Mine is beautiful on the outside and hideous on the inside. She has stretched her bloody talons toward me—

They say silence is golden. Maybe it is, although I’m not sure it's worth that much. It has its price certainly; you have to pay for it.

Make use of the opportunity to have a bath yourself. I can not only guess the age and breed of your horse, but also its color, by the smell.

The Witcher had a knife to his throat. He was wallowing in a wooden tub, brimfull with soapsuds, his head thrown agains the slippery rim. The bitter taste of soap lingered in his mouth as the knife, blunt as a doorknob, scraped his Adam's apple painfully and moved towards his chin with a grating sound.

Aridea quite often turned to the Mirror—’ ‘With the usual question, I take it,’ interrupted Geralt. ‘“Who is the fairest of them all?” I know; all Nehalenia’s Mirrors are either polite or broken.

Evil is Evil. Lesser, greater, middling… Makes no difference. The degree is arbitary. The definition’s blurred. If I’m to choose between one evil and another… I’d rather not choose at all.

Listen, Geralt—" "No. You won't win me over with your reasons nor convince me that Eltibad wasn't a murdering madman, so let's get back to the monster threatening you. You'd better understand that, after the introduction you've given me, I don't like the story. But I'll hear you out." "Without interrupting with spiteful comments?" "That I can't promise.

Then, four years later I received news from Aridea. She’d tracked down the little one, who was living in Mahakam with seven gnomes whom she’d managed to convince it was more profitable to rob merchants on the roads than to pollute their lungs with dust from the mines.

I thought I was choosing the lesser evil. I chose the lesser evil. Lesser evil! I’m Geralt! Witcher…I’m the Butcher of Blaviken—

During his life, the witcher had met thieves who looked like town councilors, councilors who looked like beggars, harlots who looked like princesses, princesses who looked like calving cows and kings who looked like thieves. But Stregobor always looked as, according to every rule and notion, a wizard should look. He was tall, thin and stooping, with enormous bushy gray eyebrows and a long, crooked nose. To top it off, he wore a black, trailing robe with improbably wide sleeves, and wielded a long staff capped with a crystal knob.

Don’t be embarrassed,’ she said, throwing an armful of clothing on the hook. ‘I don’t faint at the sight of a naked man. Triss Merigold, a friend, says if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.

Jeśli dobrze rozumiem - powiedział - mam stanąć do pojedynku, bo jeżeli odmówię, to mnie powieszą. Jeśli będę walczył, to mam pozwolić, by przeciwnik mnie okaleczył, bo jeśli ja go zranię, to mnie połamią kołem. Same radosne alternatywy. A może zaoszczędzić wam kłopotów? Huknę głową o pień sosny i sam się obezwładnię.