A Fine Tale Quickly Told
“Bjorn gave Ari a choice: either he fight him on the island of Stokkaholm in Surnadal or hand over his wife, Ingibjorg.” […]
“Bjorn gave Ari a choice: either he fight him on the island of Stokkaholm in Surnadal or hand over his wife, Ingibjorg.” […]
“Numberless springs also well up, and burst forth from the hills and the sloping ridges of the mountains, and, trickling down with sweetest sound, in crystal rivulets between flowery banks, flow together through the level vales, and give birth to many streams; and these again to large rivers, in which Scotia marvelously abounds, beyond any other country.” […]
“One thousand and five hundred years, and seventy, less one,
Before the birth, as I have found, of God’s incarnate Son,
Was Pharaoh, following the Jews, in the Red Sea Undone” […]
“One device, however, that our men had prepared proved very useful – pointed hooks fixed to the end of long poles, not unlike the grappling-hooks used in sieges. With these the halyards were grasped and pulled taut, and then snapped by rowing hard away.” […]
“The Roman soldiers could tell that they were afraid by their cries and hurried movements, and, spurred on by the recollection of the previous day’s treachery, burst into the camp. Those of the Germans who were quick enough in seizing their weapons resisted for a time, fighting under cover of their wagons and baggage.” […]
” There was a time when the Finns, among other pagan delusions, would offer wind for sale to traders who were detained on their coasts by offshore gales, and when payment had been brought would given them in return three magic knots tied in a strap not likely to break.” […]
“The Word of God the Father was made flesh, and began to dwell amongst us, 5199 years after the beginning of the world, 2452 after the crossing of the Red Sea, 1206 after the taking of Troy. Seven hundred and fifty-two years had passed from the building of Rome, when Christ sanctified the world.” […]
“Such deeds were wrought, as truly ‘twere a crime,
Them to describe in our unlearned rhyme.
How arms met arms, and swords went clishy clash.
For rural lays to sing would be too rash.” […]
“It appears that whatever Geoffrey has written either of Arthur, or his successors, or predecessors, is a fiction, invented either by himself or by others, and promulgated either through an unchecked propensity to falsehood, or a desire to please the Britons, of whom vast numbers are said to be so stupid as to assert that Arthur is yet to come.” […]
“Indeed, he makes the little finger of his Arthur more powerful than the loins of Alexander the Great.” […]
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