A Quote by Gilbert K. Chesterton

I have little doubt that when St. George had killed the dragon he was heartily afraid of the princess. — © Gilbert K. Chesterton
I have little doubt that when St. George had killed the dragon he was heartily afraid of the princess.
Focus on the princess, not on the problem. You can't marry the princess without killing the dragon. So when you see the dragon, just remember: There's a princess on the other side.
Saint George killed the last dragon, and he was called a hero for it. I've never seen a dragon, and I wish he would have left at least one. Saint Patrick made a name for himself by running the snakes out of Ireland, leaving the place vulnerable to rodent infestation. This business of making saints out of men who exterminate their fellow creatures has got to stop. All I'm saying is, it's starting to get a little lonely up here at the top of the food chain.
Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.
From the early days of the telegraph, to be a telegrapher was a job, and there weren't many of those folks. They could recognize each other's style by their dots and dashes. They called that the "fist." St. George, they have a fist. You taste something from St. George, even across categories - the gin, the whisky - it tastes like something from St. George. It's the same as going to a great bar: You get the soul of the person making it.
For a while I thought I was the dragon. I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was the princess, cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle, young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with confidence but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess, while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire, and getting stabbed to death. Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero. You get magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights!
Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon . . . is not the dragon the hero of his own story?
Ergo, it is not St. George who is the patron saint of England, but Set of the Hyksos. In general terms whenever the code term "red" is used in the Old Testament, it denotes the Hyksos dynasty. Connected to the Order of the Garter, is the Most Distinguished Order of St. Michael and St. George, formed in 1818. Aditionally, legend has it that the senior members of the Merovingian dynasty of France (founders of the Knights Templar) had birthmarks in the shape of a red cross.
Saint George he was for England, And before he killed the dragon he drank a pint of English ale out of an English flagon.
I wept heartily over this poor little deceased soul. It was the first sentient being I had ever killed. I was now a killer. I was now as guilty as Cain. I was sixteen years old, a harmless boy, bookish and religious, and now I had blood on my hands. It's a terrible burden to carry. All sentient life is sacred.
Nearly all monster stories depend for their success on Jack killing the Giant, Beowulf or St. George slaying the Dragon, Harry Potter triumphing over the basilisk. That is their inner grammar, and the whole shape of the story leads towards it.
Oh, and I’m also happy to watch our darling little love child dragon while you’re in St. Louis.
Why wouldn't you be afraid of a Komodo dragon? It's a dragon. It's a dinosaur.
We should not be just a fan of dragons; we should always be the dragon himself. Then we will not be afraid of any dragon.
All Scouts should know about St. George. St. George is the Patron Saint of England; he is also the Patron Saint of cavalry in all countries, and therefore Patron Saint of Scouts.
She remembered that once, when she was a little girl, she had seen a pretty young woman with golden hair down to her knees in a long flowered dress, and had said to her, without thinking, "Are you a princess?" The girl had laughed very kindly at her and asked her what her name was. Blanche remembered going away from her, led by her mother's hand, thinking to herself that the girl really was a princess, but in disguise. And she had resolved that someday, she would dress as though she were a princess in disguise.
St. Cyril of Jerusalem, in instructing catechumens, wrote: “The dragon sits by the side of the road, watching those who pass. Beware lest he devour you. We go to the Father of Souls, but it is necessary to pass by the dragon.” No matter what form the dragon may take, it is of this mysterious passage past him, or into his jaws, that stories of any depth will always be concerned to tell, and this being the case, it requires considerable courage at any time, in any country, not to turn away from the storyteller.
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