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“I would travel far and wide...seeing, listening, creating. I would weave tales for an enthralled audience. A song would be heard throughout the kingdom, and I would be a part of that. You would normally think that a bard would pick up his tales from stories heard in his travels or, perhaps, from personal observation of these events. Perhaps some bards would create the stories themselves or, at least, adapt the original versions heard... But what if the bard were really more than a bard? What if he were once a gallant knight or an old sea captain...perhaps even a forgotten prince? What if the stories he told, what if the characters brought to life in his stories, were really of his comrades and himself? Stories from long ago that he finally wished to be heard? What if those who listened to his tales, all the while assuming that they were far disconnected from their communicator, were really listening to the narrative of a wanderer intimately connected to it all? And where would such an individual go when his final days as an “official” bard were spent? Perhaps he would decide to retire in a lighthouse. For, surely, no place would be more fitting for the hero emeritus. He would gaze upon the glorious sea in recollection...guiding others with the beacon of light atop his home as he had once been shepherded. The adventurer became the storyteller...and then the Sentinel of the Sea.”
Gina Marinello-Sweeney“No, no," said Taran slowly, "It would be folly to think of attacking them." He smiled quickly at Fflewddur. "The bards would sing of us," he admitted, "but we'd be in no position to appreciate it.”
Lloyd Alexander, The Book of Three“I always hated...all sad songs. I thought they made happy people miserable. Now I think I understand them better. Bards write them because they can't hold them back. Sadness has got to flow out or it gets stuck and turns bitter.”
Jonathan Renshaw, Dawn of Wonder“The Song of the Winged Ones is a song of celebration, written as though the singer were standing on the Dragon Isle watching the dragons flying in the sun. The words are full of wonder at the beauty of the creatures; and there is a curious pause in the middle of one of the stanzas near the end, where the singer waits a full four measures in silence for those who listen to hear the music of distant dragon wings. It seldom fails to bring echoes of something beyond the silence, and is almost never performed because many bards fear it.I love it.”
Elizabeth Kerner“We are what ballads are written of, what bards sing of. We are epic, you and I.”
Samantha Garman, Dandelion Dreams“No matter what the bards may say, there’s no romance in dying for a man.”
Susanna Kearsley, The Winter Sea“The words of the bards come down the centuries to us, warm with living breath.”
Pádraic Pearse“Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland”
Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel's Chosen“The bards sing of love, they celebrate slaughter, they extol kings and flatter queens, but were I a poet I would write in praise of friendship.”
Bernard Cornwell, The Winter King“If the bards of old the true has toldThe sirens have raven hair.But over the earth since art had birth,They paint the angels fair.”
L.M. Montgomery, Emily's Quest