“You run a grave risk, my boy," said the magician, "of being turned into a piece of bread, and toasted.”

“My boy, you shall be everything in the world, animal, vegetable, mineral, protista, or virus, for all I care-before I have done with you-but you will have to trust my superior backsight. The time is not yet ripe for you to be a hawk... so you may as well sit down for the moment and learn to be a human being.”

“If I were to be made a knight," said the Wart, staring dreamily into the fire, "I should insist on doing my vigil by myself, as Hob does with his hawks, and I should pray to God to let me encounter all the evil in the world in my own person, so that if I conquered there would be none left, and, if I were defeated, I would be the one to suffer for it.""That would be extremely presumptuous of you," said Merlyn, "and you would be conquered, and you would suffer for it.""I shouldn't mind.""Wouldn't you? Wait till it happens and see.""Why do people not think, when they are grown up, as I do when I am young?""Oh dear," said Merlyn. '"You are making me feel confused. Suppose you wait till you are grown up and know the reason?""I don't think that is an answer at all," replied the Wart, justly.Merlyn wrung his hands."Well, anyway," he said, "suppose they did not let you stand against all the evil in the world?""I could ask," said the Wart."You could ask," repeated Merlyn.He thrust the end of his beard into his mouth, stared tragically into the fire, and began to munch it fiercely.”

“It was well for him, with his chivalry and mysticism, to make the grand renunciation. But it takes two to make love, or to make a quarrel. She was not an insensate piece of property to be taken up or laid down at his convenience. You could not give up a human heart as you could give up drinking. The drink was yours, and you could give it up: but your lover's soul was not you own: it was not at your disposal; you had a duty towards it.”

“I know hardly anything about Galahad except that everybody dislikes him.""Dislikes him?""They complain about him being inhuman."Lancelot considered his cup."He is inhuman," he said at last. "But why should he be human? Are angels supposed to be human?”

“In the castle of Benwick, the French boy was looking at his face in the polished surface of a kettle-hat. It flashed in the sunlight with the stubborn gleam of metal. It was practically the same as the steel helmet which soldiers still wear, and it did not make a good mirror, but it was the best he could get. He turned the hat in various directions, hoping to get an average idea of his face from the different distoritons which the bulges made. He was trying to find out what he was, and he was afraid of what he would find.The boy thought that there was something wrong with him. All through his life--even when he was a great man with the world at his feet--he was to feel this gap: something at the bototm of his heart of which he was aware, and ashamed, but which he did not understand. There is no need for us to try to understand it. We do not have to dabble in a place which he preferred to keep secret.”

“My father always used to tell one of his dreams, because it somehow seemed of a piece with what was to follow. He believed that it was a consequence of the thing's presence in the next room. My father dreamed of blood.It was the vividness of the dreams that was impressive, their minute detail and horrible reality. The blood came through the keyhole of a locked door which communicated with the next room. I suppose the two rooms had originally been designed en suite. It ran down the door panel with a viscous ripple, like the artificial one created in the conduit of Trumpingdon Street. But it was heavy, and smelled. The slow welling of it sopped the carpet and reached the bed. It was warm and sticky. My father woke up with the impression that it was all over his hands. He was rubbing his first two fingers together, trying to rid them of the greasy adhesion where the fingers joined." ("The Troll")”