UltraMeital

“And the girl?” Yarpen indicated Ciri with his head as she wriggled under the sheepskin. “Yours?”
“Mine,” he replied without thinking. “Mine, Zigrin.”
― Andrzej Sapkowski, Blood of Elves

“If you have any choice at all,” the enchantress twisted her lips in a smile, “but don’t have much experience, you first appraise the bed.” Ciri’s emerald eyes turned the shape and size of saucers. “How’s that… The bed?” “Precisely that. Those who don’t have a bed at all, you eliminate on the spot. From those who remain, you eliminate the owners of any dirty or slovenly beds. And when only those who have clean and tidy beds remain, you choose the one you find most attractive. Unfortunately, the method is not a hundred per cent foolproof. You can make a terrible mistake.”
― Andrzej Sapkowski, Blood of Elves

“Shut up, Dandelion,' the Witcher said.
'I have no intention of so doing. In fact I plan to compose the Ballad of the Two Tits. Please don't interfere.'
'Dandelion,' Dorregaray sniffed through his bloody nose. 'Be serious.'
'I am being bloody serious.”
― Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

“Geralt!’ the little girl repeated, clinging to the Witcher’s chest. ‘You found me! I knew you would! I always knew! I knew you’d find me!’ ‘Ciri,’ said the Witcher. Yurga could not see his face hidden among the mousy hair. He saw hands in black gloves squeezing the girl’s back and shoulders. ‘You found me! Oh, Geralt! I was waiting all the time! For so very long… We’ll be together now, won’t we? Now we’ll be together, won’t we? Say it, Geralt! Forever! Say it!’ ‘Forever, Ciri.’ ‘It’s like they said! Geralt! It’s like they said! Am I your destiny? Say it! Am I your destiny?’ Yurga saw the Witcher’s eyes. And was very astonished. He heard his wife’s soft weeping, felt the trembling of her shoulders. He looked at the Witcher and waited, tensed, for his answer. He knew he would not understand it, but he waited for it. And heard it. ‘You’re more than that, Ciri. Much more.”
― Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny