You’re not a killer, Seirin.” Sweat coated his face, speckled his clothes. “You couldn’t kill Vissyus, and you can’t kill me.”Seirin grinned maliciously. “A woman’s prerogative. I’ve had a very long time to think things over.”Botua’s charred body floated out of some locked section of her mind. Her will hardened. She’d learned the cost of hesitation. Things were different now. Lon-Shan would face justice.
Roads go ever ever on,Over rock and under tree,By caves where never sun has shone,By streams that never find the sea;Over snow by winter sown,And through the merry flowers of June,Over grass and over stone,And under mountains of the moon.Roads go ever ever onUnder cloud and under star,Yet feet that wandering have goneTurn at last to home afar.Eyes that fire and sword have seenAnd horror in the halls of stoneLook at last on meadows greenAnd trees and hills they long have known
Machtgier, Geltungsdrang und Habsucht”, sagte Maurice Micklewhite, “sind die Götter der neuen Zeit. Die Menschen huldigen den Dingen. Sie verehren die Götter der Zivilisation. Sie verkaufen ihre Seelen an die dunklen Träume von Reichtum und Macht. Die alten Götter nannten Tugenden ihr Eigen. Mitgefühl. Warmherzigkeit. Toleranz. Doch glaubt niemand mehr an die alten Götter, die den Menschen einst gezeigt haben, was Menschsein bedeutet.
I saw sadness when I looked at what was left of them. The demigods who had once controlled the heavens had been brought low, humbled to the point of death. I always imagined I heart their crumbled masterpieces singing an endless mourning dirge. I turned, looking at the wild grass shivering across the plateau. "I see only reminders that nothing lasts forever, not even greatness.""Some things last."I faced him. "Really? And just what would that be?""The things that matter.
Those intricate curves and patterns your people create are beyond human eyes and hands to make. Perhaps we wished to avoid a poor imitation that would only have been an ever-present reminder to us of what we had lost. There is a different beauty in simplicity, in a single line placed just so, a single flower among the rocks. The harshness of the stone makes the flower more precious. We try not to dwell too much on what is gone. The strongest heart will break under that strain.
I think I found your vampire,” Andrew said, except this time he wasn’t so amused.However, Gabriella was, her smile huge as she laughed, the sound a trill in the densely packed cold air.“You think this is funny?” The words came out surly, but Andrew couldn’t stop his lips from twitching over her amusement.“I thought they’d be bigger,” she said, stifling another round of giggles. “Are you okay?”“Just a flesh wound.
It will begin with the six who now tread the streets of a city where the stone pinnacle erects like a reed amongst long grass. Where a bridge expands across a gorge, drifts a cloud buzzing with a million stings. There, these six shall bleed. There, these six shall die, and like a plague shall spread the wings that carry the cloud till they consume the city, and with it, the strength that fuels all of your lives. Farewell, children of the new world, and may your deaths be swift.
To gain your heart's desire you have to lose some part of your old life, your old self. To do that you have to have courage; without it, you can't make the leap. And if you don't make the leap you have only three choices: You can hate yourself for not taking the chance, you can hate the person from whom you've sacrificed your happiness, or you can hate the one who offered you happiness, and blame them for your lack of courage, convince yourself it wasn't real.
El beso daba camino a otro beso, y en los ojos cerrados, todo el mundo consumido de su abrazo, Karou tuvo la sensación de que cada beso abarcaba el último. Era alucinante: beso dentro de un beso dentro de un beso, yendo más y más profundo y más dulce y más cálido y más embriagador, y esperaba que el equilibrio de Akiva los es tuviera guiando porque ella estaba perdida en sus sentidos.(Sueños de dioses y monstruos, #3).
I had this guy’s file pulled this morning, along with the rest of your neighbors. His name is Desperado.”Pause. A few seconds passed. He was waiting for my reaction.“Did you say Desperado?” I couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that bubbled to the surface. “Yeah,” the Director confirmed. “He changed his name when he turned eighteen. It was Melvin.”I was still laughing. “’Cause Desperado is so much better than Melvin.
PDR: Persons of Dubious Reality; refugees from the collective consciousness. Uninvited visitors who have fallen through the grating that divides the real, from the written. They arrive with their actions hardwired due to their repetitious existence and the older and more basic they are, the more rigidly they stick to them. Characters from cautionary tales are particularly mindless; they do what they do because it's what they've always done.And it's our job to stop them.
Jacob wrote that the true poet ‘is like a man who is happy anywhere, in endless measure, if he is allowed to look at leaves and grass, to see the sun rise and set. The false poet travels abroad in strange countries and hopes to be uplifted by the mountains of Switzerland, the sky and sea of Italy. He comes to them and is dissatisfied. He is not as happy as the man who stays at home and sees the apple trees flower in spring, and hears the small birds singing among the branches
Hector wished suddenly that leaving the circus was as easy as joining. He didn't fancy the ghost of Harvey Burfoot hunting him down and passing judgement on him. Troupe mythology varied on the details – some said he had the ability to stop your heart with just a stare, others that he strangled you with corporeal hands that grew stronger as he drained your life-force. Either way, the Law was that nobody left; to leave was death; and Hectordidn't hate himself that much yet.
No doubt you've experienced something similar in books, movies, novels–whatever you use as an excuse to get away, to suspend reality. Literary characters, like these projections, draw you in and cultivate feelings of friendship on your part. Although, no matter how much you learn about them, how much time you spend with them–how far you can see into their thoughts and words, how they interact with others, their looks, what they wear–they will never, ever know you.
The story of Terisa and Geraden began very much like a fable. She was a princess in a high tower. He was a hero come to rescue her. She was the only daughter of wealth and power. He was the seventh son of the lord of the seventh Care. She was beautiful from the auburn hair that crowned her head to the tips of her white toes. He was handsome and courageous. She was held prisoner by enchantment. He was a fearless breaker of enchantments.As in all the fables, they were made for each other.
