Quotessence
Home / Topics / Norse Mythology Quotes

Norse Mythology Quotes

Browse 48 quotes about Norse Mythology.

Norse Mythology Quotes

“You know why I really hated you? With all that you had you were just so oblivious to it all. You didn't use your beauty. You didn't ever try to get what you wanted. You didn't deserve what you had. I did because I would have used it. And you just...loved me. Loved me no matter what I did. You have no idea how I despised you for that. I wanted you gone." 'The Yielding”

“In any case, the expression ‘real life’ in this context seems to fall short of academic standards. The notion that motor-cars are more ‘alive’ than, say, centaurs or dragons is curious; that they are more ‘real’ than, say, horses is pathetically absurd. How real, how startingly alive is a factory chimney compared with an elm tree: poor obsolete thing, insubstantial dream of an escapist! For my part, I cannot convince myself that the roof of Bletchley station is more ‘real’ than the clouds. And as an artefact I find it less inspiring than the legendary dome of heaven. The bridge to platform 4 is to me less interesting than Bifröst guarded by Heimdall with the Gjallarhorn. From the wildness of my heart I cannot exclude the question whether railway-engineers, if they had been brought up on more fantasy, might not have done better with all their abundant means than they commonly do.”

“... he slipped in and out of himself, testing which disguise to use. He knew it had to be his most clever. The Sisters were too astute for his usual chicanery. He flapped his wings, then soared. The shape of an eagle, useful for fast travel across worlds, but only temporary. Not convincing enough to hide his true identity. ... He pushed out of the eagle skin and leaped away from the horde of birds, springing into the sky. Into nothingness. Instead of transforming into another creature, he hovered in between. Dangling on the mouth of wind. He rumbled with pleasure, at his own cleverness, born out of accident and indecision: he had become pure air. Without effort, he whooshed past the threshold into the cave, into the bark of the Great Tree, winding cleverly under and over and through a maze of roots and rough stone, past every trick and trap the Sisters had set. He delighted at the speed at which he travelled, catching himself just in time, before his enthusiasm revealed the disguise. Slowing impulse to a mere draft, sucking into himself, he reached the very heart of the Norns’ lair. The Great Hall of Time.”

“This first act of the new gods took place in three colours, the first that humans see and name, black, white and red. The Gap was black, many shades of black, thick and fine, glossy and tenebrous. The great snowman was white, except where his own parts cast white-violet shadows, in the pits of his arms, in his monstrous nostrils, under his knees. The new gods hacked and laughed. Blood spurted from the wounds they made, poured from his neck over his shoulders, slid like a hot garment over his chest and flanks, flowed, flowed, filled the glass ball with running crimson, and drowned the world. It was unquenchable, it was the life that had been in him, under the clay and ice, it drained away into death.”

“Norse mythology hints at Odinic cults, with Odin being worshipped through a combination of ecstatic and seemingly shamanistic rituals. From the eddic poem The Sayings of the High One ( Hávamál ), he is said to have hanged himself in a sacrificial ritual on a tree. Barely surviving this ordeal, Odin gains arcane knowledge, including the use of runes, the ancient Scandinavian alphabet sometimes used for magical purposes. In the poem, Odin chants : I know that I hung on the wind-swept tree all nine nights with spear was I wounded and given to Odin, myself to me, on that tree which no one knows from which roots it grows. Bread I was not given, no drink from the horn, downwards I glared; up I pulled the runes, screaming I took them, from there I fell back again. - excerpt from Jesse L. Byock's Introduction and Notes, of Sturluson's Prose Edda.”

“Under the root *( of the Ash Yggdrasil ) that goes to the frost giants is the Well of Mimir. Wisdom and Intelligence are hidden there, and Mimir is the name of the well's owner. He is full of wisdom because he drinks of the well from the Gjallarhorn. All-father went there and asked for one drink from the well, but he did not get this until he gave one of his eyes as a pledge. As it says in The Sibyl's Prophesy : Odin, I know all, where you hid the eye in that famous Well of Mimir. Each morning Mimir drinks mead from Val-Father's pledge. Do you know now or what ? ( The Sibyl's Prophesy. 28 )”

“Può non essere sempre evidente ed esplicito nella forma del nome il nesso necessario con la sua ragione prima, ma ciò è dovuto soltanto all'ignoranza degli uomini, alla fuga del tempo, ed i sapienti, i saggi, i maghi e gli dèi sono tali in ragione delle loro maggiore o assoluta conoscenza di questi nessi. In origine ogni nome è una kenning. Ora essa, qual è praticata dagli scaldi, ci appare nel suo aspetto intellettualistico e concettoso di indovinello, nel riferimento ad una sapienza esclusiva ed esoterica, ma nostro è l'abbaglio nel percepirla così: nella struttura e nel senso suo più genuino essa è il modello originario del nome nel mito, un modello che può riflettersi in sé, nei suoi elementi costitutivi, all'infinito; primo e ultimo frutto dello sforzo di appropriazione del passato e del presente, di fare il mito.”

“Una parola specifica in norreno che dica 'mito' propriamente non esiste, potrebbe essere 'accadimento' oppure 'storia' o 'saga': per Snorri, ci sembra, quella che più si avvicina all'essenza del mito è la parola per 'ricordo', 'ricordare'. È sorprendente come riappaia più volte nella narrazione il 'ricordo' degli dèi: gli dèi si adunano e parlano e rammemorano quanto è avvenuto o quanto essi hanno compiuto, e questo par costituire agli occhi del narratore l'atto più proprio del loro sacro consesso. Il memorare, quasi che il ricordo costituisca un atto di vera e propria creazione, o forse, più pianamente, l'unico mezzo di conferma della realtà o verità cui riferirsi nella sconcertante poliedricità delle apparenze. Il ricordo è così l'unica vera esperienza del mito, il tempo del mito e la prospettiva della memoria secolare dell'uomo fino alla sua origine divina.”

“The Midgard Serpent opened its mouth and swallowed the ox head. The hook dug into the gums of its mouth, and when the serpent felt this, he snapped back so hard that both of Thor’s fists slammed against the gunwale. Thor now became angry and, taking on his divine strength, he strained so hard that both his feet pushed through the bottom of the boat. Using the sea floor to brace himself, he began pulling the serpent up on board. It can be said that no one has seen a more terrifying sight than this: Thor, narrowing his eyes at the serpent, while the serpent spits out poison and stares straight back from below. It is told that the giant Hymir changed colour. He grew pale and feared for his life when he saw the serpent and also the sea rushing in and out of the boat.”

“The story is that Odin travelled from home and came to a place where nine slaves were cutting hay. He asked if they wanted him to sharpen their scythes. They agreed. Then he took a whetstone from his belt and sharpened the scythes. To them it seemed that the scythes now cut much better, and they wanted to buy the whetstone. Odin set this price on the stone: he asked that whoever wanted to buy it should give what he thought was reasonable. They all said they wanted it and each asked to buy it, but instead he threw it into the air. They all scrambled to catch it with the result that they slit each other’s throats with their scythes.”

“Loki was now captured, and with no thought of mercy he was taken to a cave. They [the Æsir] took three flat stones and, setting them on their edges, broke a hole through each of them. Then they caught Loki’s sons, Vali and Nari or Narfi. The Æsir changed Vali into a wolf, and he ripped apart his brother Narfi. Next the Æsir took his guts, and with them they bound Loki on to the top of the three stones – one under his shoulders, a second under his loins and the third under his knees. The fetters became iron. ‘Then Skadi took a poisonous snake and fastened it above Loki so that its poison drips on to his face. But Sigyn, his wife, placed herself beside him from where she holds a bowl to catch the drops of venom. When the bowl becomes full, she leaves to pour out the poison, and at that moment the poison drips on to Loki’s face. He convulses so violently that the whole earth shakes – it is what is known as an earthquake. He will lie bound there until Ragnarok.”

“When the builder saw that the work would not be finished, he flew into a giant’s rage. Once the Æsir realized for certain that they were facing a mountain giant, they no longer respected their oaths. They called upon Thor, who came immediately, and the next thing to happen was that the hammer Mjollnir was in the air. In this way Thor paid the builder his wages, but not the sun and the moon. Rather, Thor put an end to the giant’s life in Jotunheim. He struck the first blow in such a way that the giant’s skull broke into small pieces, and so Thor sent him down to Niflhel.”

“Everybody can imagine how frightened the farmer became as he watched Thor’s eyebrows sink down low over his eyes. The small part of Thor’s eyes that was visible was a sight that alone could have killed. Thor’s hands clenched the shaft of the hammer until his knuckles whitened. As might be expected, the farmer and all his household began to wail. Begging for mercy, they offered in return everything they owned. When Thor saw their fear, his anger passed. Calming down, he took from them their children, Thjalfi and Roskva, as compensation. They became Thor’s bond servants and follow him ever since.”

“When the Æsir saw Odin flying, they placed their vats in the courtyard, and when Odin entered Asgard he spat the mead into the vats. It was such a close call, with Suttung almost catching him, that he blew some of the mead out of his rear. No one paid attention to this part, and whoever wanted it took it; we call this the bad poets’ portion.”

“But if you write a version of Ragnarok in the twenty-first century, it is haunted by the imagining of a different end of things. We are a species of animal which is bringing about the end of the world we were born into. Not out of evil or malice, or not mainly, but because of a lopsided mixture of extraordinary cleverness, extraordinary greed, extraordinary proliferation of our own kind, and a biologically built-in short-sightedness.”

“I suppose he never gets blisters, then,” Scot murmured, then looked up and said, “And in truth, one of the reasons that I’d rather retain my code and my religion is that my gods are flawed and hypocritical. They get blisters—metaphorically. Thor wrangles with rage and Loki with jealousy. The only perfect god, Baldr, was killed for his perfection, which of course proves that pure perfection is an imperfection, or . . .” Scot hesitated, “something like that.” Even he felt that he could have summed that up better. “There’s pagan wisdom for you,” Gawain scoffed in derision. “Perfection is imperfect and imperfection is preferable. It’s circular logic.” Scot rolled his eyes, rubbing his ankle. “Paganism (as you condescendingly call my faith) is circular. Your Christianity tries to make everything into a straight line… in order for your world to make sense, everything must have a start and an end. In any case, your king is cut from the same cloth as your Christ—both are like Baldr, too good to last for long—either you are blind or he is a liar. Real people and gods struggle to be their best and fail.”

“I recalled my encounter with the sea goddess Ran, who had described her husband as a hipster who liked microbrewing. At the time, the description had been too weird to comprehend. Afterward, it had seemed funny. Now it seemed a little too real, because I was pretty sure the hipster god in question was standing right in front of me.”

“Now he understood what it was to be a man: that it was to be weak as well as strong, to be foolish sometimes and wise sometimes, to know love as well as to kill. And he had learned that there were other paths for him, other gods who called in the deep places of the earth, in the lap of wavelets on the shore, in the breath of the wind. He had learned that there were other kinds of courage. He knew, with deep certainty, that the islands held a new path for him. He need only move forward and find it.”

“I know that Sif said things to Loki that we’d have strung anyone else from the rafters for saying. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have your hammer, or your spear, or your godsforsaken shiny boar. You talk about his morality, but the only person in this room with a clean conscience is Idunn. I know the lies of more than half of you, and each of you either smells like your secret lover or has blood under your nails.”

“HB: Given all the theologies you were dealing with, did you receive any outraged letters? NG: I did; but most of them were from comics fans who felt I was creating cruel parodies of the Marvel Comics characters Thor, Loki, and Odin. [Laughter.] At the same time, I received quite a few letters from readers in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden who thanked me for portraying Norse gods accurately. All I really did was follow the actual legends. In Norse mythology, Thor is enormously strong, bearded, and overmuscled; and he’s also quite stupid, and is easily made drunk. And if you rub his hammer, it really does get bigger. [Laughter.] The legends also strongly imply that Thor’s wife is bonking Loki on the side.”

“Mrs. Pott's beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am! I've taken a chance on you..”

“Mrs. Potts beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am!”

“She swung her legs around his waist and crossed her ankles behind his back. “I like the way your mind works,” she panted before losing herself in the sensation of his hardness rubbing against her core. Lief took the few steps across the room to the bed in record time and flung her down on the covers. He leaned back to tear his clothes off. “My mind hardly works at all when you are near.” She chuckled leaning back on her elbows, enjoying the view of naked flesh being revealed. She rose up on her knees and traced the ridges on his chest and abdomen. As her fingers trailed down toward his proud shaft, he captured her wrists. “Be careful.” He smiled down at her. “I’m loaded and might go off any minute.” She laughed. “You’ve been watching too many old Western movies with Harold.”

“Today is Jesus's birthday. Just pointing that out, brother, on account that some folks get a bit confused this time of year." He put a light hand on Santa's arm and grinned. "They think it's Santa Claus Day." Santa met his eye and held it. "Reverend," the lady said. "Don't you even start." She looked at Santa apologetically. "Just ignore him. He's a bit impractical when it comes to Christmas." "Darn straight I am. Santa Claus and all his little presents get in the way of God's message." "As can religion," Santa replied.”