For now, he wanted to help Ena escape the dragon fae king's wrath. As soon as Prince Grotto learned what she was about to do in the worst way. The reason she was in this mess was because Brett had helped take Princess Alicia prisoner. As Alicia's reward for saving the Princess, Alicia's grandfather had declared that Ena would wed Alicia's cousin. He was a dangerous dragon fae. Sure Ena would become a Princess if she were to wed Prince Grotto. Brett also knew that the fae intended to use her for her special skills and terminate her when she proved useless. Brett wasn't sure how to help Ena move her gold and staff to somewhere safe. Hopefully, in the Hawk Fae kingdom. They didn't have U-Haul trucks in the fae world. She was a dragon and that meant she wasn't leaving without her horde of treasure.
Some of the fae have an odd idea of bride send-offs, " he explained "including, according to Zee, kidnapping." "I forgot about that." And I was appalled because I knew better. "Bran and Samuel are probably more of a danger than any of the fae, " I told him. "Someday, I'll tell you about some of the more spectaculare wedding antics Samuel's told me about." Some of them made kidnapping look mild.
You are sitting in my chair, my lord." She said the words very civilly, she thought. Although he quirked a brow and lowered his chin as if giving her one of those looks. Like really? In a way that wasn't a question. She was telling a fae king, a hawk fae king, and a guest of the dark fae, that he should be sitting in her seat? But she didn't stop there. "You may sit there if it pleases you." She pointed to Micala's seat since he was not at the meal. Her mother's mouth gaped and for once she didn't have an immediate rebuke ready for Ritasia. The king gave Ritasia such a sinister smile, she was afraid she might have gone a little too far with her first encounter with him. She quickly remembered her manners, curtseyed, though, because she wasn't wearing a gown, she thought she looked a little ridiculous, then looked back up at him.
Durante o primeiro ano voceª e seu time ne£o fae§am absolutamente nada que tenha a ver com o negocio. Fae§am coisas que exijam apenas bom senso enquanto aprendem como funciona a empresa. Se voceªs fizerem coisas muito ligadas ao negocio propriamente dito, he¡ grandes chances de sair bobagem.
You expect me to believe you're a witch? A broom riding, cauldron stirring, poison apple witch? Witches are Fae, Angelina, " Dasan mocked. "No, you creeper, witches are not Fae. Maybe some are, but there are mortals who practice witchcraft, and I'm one of them!" Angelina almost spit the words at him. "And we don't ride brooms, get real! How Hans Christian Anderson are you, anyway? As for poison apples, you'll be lucky to not get served one in your lifetime! I mean, you and your buddy here turn into giant... what are you... dogs... but you can't believe in a little earth magic? Grow up!" "See, this is the kind of conversation that would crop up on like a third or fourth date, " I chimed in, unable to help myself. -told by Finley in The Sacred Oath
Why I Love Meghan from the Iron fey serise! I love Meghan Chase because, she is funny, witty, loving, adventures and of course we have the same name! She has a loving for her friends and family she will do anything for them, she saved her brother!and she still visites her family even though there aging and shes not. she cares for puck her bestest friend and still loves him though he loves her more than a friend, he will still do anything for her, even if he knows that she will never love him as anything more than a friend and that says she can be faithful. And ash, she loves him more than anything in the world and she would die for him as he would for her !LOYALTY! AND she saved the fae world because she knew that she was the only one who could because the full blooded fey would die if they went on to the iron land and she helped stop the iron war and from everything in the fae world from vanishing/ dieing and that says that, if you needed help and you could choose ANYONE to help you, you would want to pick her.. Because she is a FIGHTER!thats why i love meghan becuase she is a amazing herione! :)
Whatever shred of hope he'd had for a future with her was gone. She still felt something for him, she'd admitted, but she would never trust him. She would always hate him for what he'd done. But he could do this for her. Even if he never saw her again, even if she abandoned her duties as King's Champion and stayed with the Fae in Wendlyn forever-as long as he knew that she was safe, that no one could hurt her... He'd sell his soul again and again for that.
Sarah J. Maas
The Light Fae had sacrificed so much for the Kings. She had been a true friend and ally to them in the past, but she was changing rapidly. Balladyn was chasing her, and it now appeared that Ulrik was as well. If her King didn't step up and set things right, Rhi would be lost to them forever.
Tuatha De do not walk the human realm alone. Actually, they don't walk alone much anywhere. Only the occasional rogue Fae will do so." "Like yourself?" "Yes Most of my kind have no fondness for solitude. Those who walk alone are not to be trusted." "Really," she said dryly. "Except for me," he amended, with a faint, insouciant grin.
Karen Marie Moning
Tuatha De do not walk the human realm alone. Actually, they don't walk alone much anywhere. Only the occasional rogue Fae will do so." "Like yourself?" "Yes Most of my kind have no fondness for solitude. Those who walk alone are not to be trusted." "Really, " she said dryly. "Except for me, " he amended, with a faint, insouciant grin.
Karen Marie Moning
I heard there are no male sidhe-seers." Where did you hear that?" Around." And which one of those are you in doubt about Ms. Lane?" Which one of what?" Whether I see the Fae, or whether I'm a man. I believe I've laid your mind to rest on the former; shall I relieve it on the latter?" He reached for his belt. Oh, please." I rolled my eyes. "You're a leftie, Barrons." Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmered.
Karen Marie Moning
It is so rare to find someone of true understanding; for the most part they judge purely by their own standards and ignore everyone else. So all they see of me is a fae§ade. There are times when I am forced to sit with them and on such occasions I simply ignore their petty criticisms, not because I am particularly shy but because I consider it pointless. As a result, they now look down upon me as a dullard.
And now she was just Gabby, currently staying in a dreamy, magnificent castle in Scotland with a Fae prince who did all kinds of non-nasty, non-inhuman things like tearing up lists of names, and returning tadpoles to lakes, and saving people's lives. Not to mention kissing with all the otherwordly splendor of a horny angel.
Karen Marie Moning
Oh my God, not only is he older than the Grand Canyon, but he's like the pope and the Fae King and the president of the United States all rolled up into one. To some ancient cultures he had been a god. He was going to hurt her so bad before he killed her so dead, and all she could think of was how hot his kiss had been in the dream and how delicate the touch of his finger was as it traced down her body.
Dragons, for instance, have the right of safe conduct anywhere in Fae«rie. A reader may not like to read stories about dragons, she may be morally offended or aesthetically uninterested or simply sick of the subject; but at any rate she will not complain that the author has cheated by bringing in a dragon, because dragons belong in fantasy.
Are the fae ever sane? We live in a world that isn't there half the time. We claim that windmills are giants, and because we say it, it's true. Our lives become myth and legend, until even we can't tell what we truly are from what we're told we ought to be. How can we live that way and be considered sane? My lord was never sane, but he was my love once. He always will be, somewhere. Wherever it is that the once upon a times go when they die.
Part of me just wants to force-feed these women some spoonfuls of fatty pe¢te. But another part of me is dying to know their secrets. Having kids who sleep well, wait and don't whine surely helps them stay so calm. But there's got to be more to it. Are they secretly struggling with anything? Where's their belly fat? If this is all a fae§ade, what's behind it? Are French mothers really perfect? And if so, are they happy?
Tu n'as rien appris, sinon que la solitude n'apprend rien, que l'indifference n'apprend rien: c'etait un leurre, une illusion fascinante et piegee. Tu etais seul et voile tout et tu voulais te proteger: qu'entre le monde et toi les ponts soient e jamais coupes. Mais tu es si peu de chose et le monde est un si grand mot: tu n'as jamais fait qu'errer dans une grande ville, que longer sur quelques kilome¨tres des fae§ades, des devantures, des parcs et des quais. L'indifference est inutile. Tu peux vouloir ou ne pas vouloir, qu'importe! Faire ou ne pas faire une partie de billard electrique, quelqu'un, de toute fae§on, glissera une pie¨ce de vingt centimes dans la fente de l'appareil. Tu peux croire qu'e manger chaque jour le meªme repas tu accomplis un geste decisif. Mais ton refus est inutile. Ta neutralite ne veut rien dire. Ton inertie est aussi vaine que ta cole¨re.
In imagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant shining shores of "fae«ry lands forlorn, " where lost Atlantis and Elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart's Desire. And she was richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
The weakest link in any chain of security is not the technology itself, but the person operating it; iron gates have no compassion to appeal to, nor fears to exploit, nor insecurities to use to one's advantage. They are, however, operated by us - by beings of unlimited vulnerability and limited energy. Why waste time brute-forcing what can be easily circumvented by a clever fae§ade and a crimson tongue?
Teach him something useful, will you?" Elorian shook his head. "It is like housebreaking a puppy. There are bound to be lots of accidents and lots of cleanups." Frustrated beyond measure with the whole situation, her missing staff, an out-of control mage, a frozen mage, and a cursed phantom fae turned raven, Ena couldn't believe the mess they were in.
Arian paced the cavern in his mountain in agitation and a wee bit of anxiety. He was shaking off the dragon sleep from the past six hundred years. Not only had it been six centuries since he had been in human form, but there was a war the Dragon Kings were involved in. Con and the others were waiting for him to join in the war. Every King had been woken to take part. After all the wars they had been involved in, Arian wasn't happy to be woken to join another. Because of Ulrik. The banished and disgraced Dragon King hadn't just made a nuisance of himself, but he somehow managed to get his magic returned. Which meant the Kings needed to put extra magic into keeping the four silver dragons sleeping undisturbed deep within the mountain. They were Ulrik's dragons, and he would want to wake them soon. But it wasn't just Ulrik that was causing mischief. The Dark Fae were as well. It infuriated Arian that they were once more fighting the Dark. Hadn't the Fae Wars killed enough Fae and dragons? Then again, as a Dragon King as old as time itself, they were targets for others who wanted to defeat them. For Ulrik, he just wanted revenge. Arian hated him for it, but he could understand. Mostly because Arian had briefly joined Ulrik in his quest to rid the realm of humans. Thoughts of Ulrik were pushed aside as Arian found himself thinking about why he had taken to his mountain. When he came here six hundred years earlier, it was to remain there for many thousands of years. The Dragon Kings sought their mountains for many reasons. Some were just tired of dealing with mortals, but others had something they wished to forget for a while. Arian was one of the latter. There were many things he did in his past when the King of Kings, Constantine, asked. Not all of them Arian was proud of. The one that sent him to his mountain still preyed upon him. He didn't remember her name, but he remembered her tears. Because of the spell to prevent any of the Dragon Kings from falling in love with mortals, Arian had easily walked away from the female. Six centuries later, he could still hear her begging him to stay with her, still see the tears coursing down her face. Though he hadn't felt anything, it bothered him that he had so easily walked away. Because Con had demanded it. Loyalty-above all else. The Dragon Kings were his family, and Dreagan his home. There was never any question if he were needed that Arian would do whatever it took to help his brethren in any capacity asked of him.
People often believed they were safer in the light, thinking monsters only came out at night. But safety - like light - is a fae§ade. Underneath, the whole world is drenched in darkness. The only way to truly be safer, was to accept the dark, to walk in it with eyes wide open, to be a part of it. To keep your enemies close, so that you could no longer discern where they ended and you began.
Oh, and Aramis? There is something else about the girl that you should know.' 'Yes?' 'She is of Yanka's blood line. That won't be an issue for you will it?' 'No sir.' Aramis hung up the phone quickly and tried not to drop it as he put it in his coat. His hands trembled as he tried to maintain a cool, professional fae§ade. Yanka's blood. He had to find her and fast.
In Venice, things not always as they first appear. I contemplate this observation from my post on the aft deck of one of Master Fumagalli's gondolas, taking in the panorama of bridges, domes, bell towers, and quaysides of my native city. I row into the neck of the Grand Canal, and, one by one, the reflection of each colorful fae§ade appears, only to dissipate into wavering, shimmering shards under my oar.
I would have seen flaws in this, later in my life. I would have felt the impatience, even suspicion, a woman can feel towards a man who lacks a motive. Who has only friendship to offer and offers that so easily and bountifully that even if it is rejected he can move along as buoyantly as ever. Here was no solitary fellow hoping to hook up with a girl. Even I could see that, inexperienced as I was. Just a person who took comfort in the moment and in a sort of reasonable fae§ade of life.
My words to Anna, as we stood contemplating the Scuola Grande di San Marco, moments before entering Venice Hospital, came true: 'With a fae§ade like that, I could even accept having a deformed child.' I accepted Tito's cerebral palsy. I accepted it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I accepted it with delight. I accepted it with enthusiasm. I accepted it with love.
O maior remedio utilizado contra os desegnios do inimigo e fazeres voluntariamente aquilo que ele planeja que tu fae§as e fore§a, porque fazendo-o de forma volunte¡ria, tu o fazes com ordem e para vantagem tua e desvantagem dele; se o fizesses e fore§a, seria ente£o a tua ruena.
Fae§ade. One, simple word. But, very complex portents. It's like living a life of half-dead. You are neither fully inside a grave, nor completely out of it, beyond the oppressive calmness of the slabs, tombstones and plaques. There is one solace though, you soon discover that you are not alone in the vast graveyard of the half-dead. This is what Kamini soon realized when she plunged herself back into the world that the destiny had conspired her to inherit.
A leader is generally not more virtuous than most ordinary people. The opposite is usually true. Because people are reluctant to be led by those perceived as evil, a leader expertly creates a fae§ade, behind which he hides all that may appear dirty. This is a difficult art where the leader has to wear two masks, one in public and the other in private-and no one should see the true face of a leader.
I can't help comparing [Courage], over and over, to his brother. Fear has a bright fae§ade and dark insides; his horror and windy recklessness that carries millions over the plains with no hopes of ever stopping. And Courage... he's dark on the outside but carries a light within; he's calm and encouraging and his very breath is a soothing dash of water on a hot, hot day.
[L'art sacre est le Ciel descendu sur terre, plute´t que la terre tendue vers le Ciel.] Dans le cadre de l'art chretien, la seconde image peut neanmoins s'appliquer d'une manie¨re relative, et sans abolir la premie¨re, e l'art gothique flamboyant. Faisons remarquer e cette occasion que le crite¨re spirituel que constitue la beaute, ne saurait concerner l'art neopaien qui empoisonna l'Europe au XVIe¨ sie¨cle et qui exprime le fatal mariage entre religion et civilisationnisme humaniste. Sans doute, ni le gigantisme froid et anthropole¢trique de la Renaissance ni la morbide boursouflure du baroque ne prouvent rien contre le Catholicisme lui-meªme, mais ce qu'ils prouvent certainement, c'est d'une part qu'une religion qui supporte ce langage et s'exprime par lui ne saurait avoir le monopole de la Verite absolue et exclusive, et d'autre part que le Catholicisme, par cet amalgame, s'est expose e en eªtre finalement la victime ; non d'une fae§on totale, ce qui est exclu d'avance, mais neanmoins d'une fae§on gravissime. L'humanisation de l'art - a priori divin - a prefigure celle de la religion, du moins de la religion officielle.
For over a century, an evolving microcosm of Anthropology's turbulent history has hidden behind the staid fae§ade of the American Museum of Natural History. From an insider's perspective, the well-known ethnologist Stan Freed engagingly introduces us to an amazing cast of explorers, eccentrics, idealists, pranksters and forbidding intellectual - an unlikely mix that played a key role in establishing the science of Anthropology as we know it today.
Burns from dropped matches, Ms. Lane? Matches one might have dropped while flirting with a pernicious Fae, Ms. Lane? Have you any idea the value of this rug?" I didn't think his nostrils could flare any wider. His eyes were black flame. "Pernicious? Good grief, is English your second language? Third?" Only someone who'd learned English from a dictionary would use such a word. "Fifth," he snarled. "Answer me.
Karen Marie Moning
Alicia's sweet friend, Cassie, who never thought of anyone as being a stranger, rushed up to Halloran and kneed him in the groin. The big bad dragon shifter cried out, clutched his crotch, and fell to his knees. Cassie grabbed Alicia's arm and ran with her toward the back of the keep. Alicia glanced over her shoulder and couldn't believe her human friend had dropped the dragon fae.
Dans 1984, les livres sont plus ou moins interdits. Aujourd'hui le proble¨me est regle, pas la peine de les interdire: les gens n'ont plus vraiment envie de lire, de toute fae§on, ils savent de moins en moins lire, meªme le journal. ("La violence des casseroles", http:www.lapresse.ca/debats/chroniq...)
She would be taking the company jet to fly to Los Angeles to visit with the Light Fae Queen, Tatiana, for a week. The diplomatic deal stated that each of the seven U.S. demesne leaders was supposed to send a family member to another demesne to visit for a week to foster good will and peace among the desmesnes'. The whole concept came from a Medieval practice of nobles sending their children to live in other nobles' households as hostages.
The mistake we make in thinking of character as something unified and all-encompassing is very similar to a kind of blind spot in the way we process information. Psychologists call this tendency the Fundamental Attribution Error (FAE), which is a fancy way of saying that when it comes to interpreting other people's behavior, human beings invariably make the mistake of overestimating the importance of fundamental character traits and underestimating the importance of situation and context.
King Tiernan scowled at the mess his father had gotten him into... all because the heartless man had to die. Hawk fae kings were to immediately marry as soon as they were seated on the throne and a suitable bride could be found... Legend had it that the queen always met an early death - ordered by the king himself, although it was said that a secret order of assassins was given the task. Why? Because two sons or a son and a daughter could fight over ruling the kingdom. Civil war could ensue. So best to ensure the queen only had one offspring. And then, she no longer was needed.
Sempre invejei os tibetanos pela simplicidade da sua fe pois toda a minha vida tenho procurado respostas. Embora tenha aprendido a forma de meditar enquanto vivi na esia, a resposta final para o enigma da vida nunca me foi revelada. Mas aprendi pelo menos a contemplar os eventos da vida com tranquilidade e a ne£o permitir que as circunste¢ncias me fae§am derivar de um lado para o outro num mar de deºvidas.
Silence!' Korbolo snapped. He eyed Duiker. 'You are the historian who rode with Coltaine.' The historian faced him. 'I am.' 'You are a soldier.' 'As you say.' 'I do, and so you shall die with these soldiers, in a manner no different-' 'You mean to slaughter ten thousand unarmed men and women, Korbolo Dom?' 'I mean to cripple Tavore before she even sets foot on this continent. I mean to make her too furious to think. I mean to crack that fae§ade so she dreams of vengeance day and night, poisoning her every decision.' 'You always fashioned yourself as the Empire's harshest Fist, didn't you, Korbolo Dom? As if cruelty's a virtue...
Elle est retrouvee! -Quoi? -l'e‰ternite. C'est la mer meªlee Au soleil. Je devins un opera fabuleux : je vis que tous les eªtres ont une fatalite de bonheur : l'action n'est pas la vie, mais une fae§on de ge¢cher quelque force, un enervement. La morale est la faiblesse du cerveau. e€ chaque eªtre, plusieurs autres vies me semblaient dues. Ce monsieur ne sait pas ce qu'il fait : il est un ange.
Conversion can also occur among those who already have the faith. Christians will become real Christians, with less fae§ade and more foundation. Catastrophe will divide them from the world, force them to declare their basic loyalties; it will revive shepherds who shepherd rather than administrate, reverse the proportion of saints and scholars in favor of saints, create more reapers for the harvest, more pillars of fire for the lukewarm; it will make the rich see that real wealth is in the service of the needy; and, above all else, it will make the glory of Christ's Cross shine out in a love of the brethren for one another as true and loyal sons of God.
Fulton J. Sheen
Many a person over the years has tried- both successfully and unsuccessfully, to get rid of their inner demons. Those who are successful are deemed artists, those who are not are call dreamers at best and lunatics at worse. But where exactly resides that line on which two worlds collide? Does somebody know? Is somebody fit to tell? Who's to say that those deemed lunatics are not just successes on the making? Who says that those who claim to be just a tad bit crazy are not just as crazy as those that had completely lost it? Maybe, and bear with me here... everyone is as crazy as the one before them and the next one could ever possibly be. Maybe at the end- it's just that some have mastered creating a fae§ade of calmness and collection while others don't bother going through all that trouble anymore, if they ever did. Perhaps we all have demons... it's just that some people have demons far more toxic and difficult to ignore than others.
Pasmo sempre quando acabo qualquer coisa. Pasmo e desolo-me. O meu instinto de perfeie§e£o deveria inibir-me de acabar; deveria inibir-me ate de dar comee§o. Mas distraio-me e fae§o. O que consigo e um produto, em mim, ne£o de uma aplicae§e£o de vontade, mas de uma cedeªncia dela. Comee§o porque ne£o tenho fore§a para pensar; acabo porque ne£o tenho alma para suspender. Este livro e a minha cobardia.
Esse dia foi memore¡vel para mim, pois causou grandes mudane§as no meu destino. Mas e assim com todo mundo. Subtraia um determinado dia de sua vida e veja que, sem ele, sua vida teria tomado um rumo diferente. Fae§a uma pausa por um instante, leitor, e pense na comprida corrente de ferro ou de ouro, de espinhos ou flores, que jamais se lhe estaria ligada, se um certo dia memore¡vel ne£o tivesse formado o primeiro elo dessa corrente.
Kammy could see the palace built into the cliff face. It was a majestic construction. Its white walls stretched up into a cluster of turrets and towers. Its fae§ade was broken by gigantic windows that reflected a rainbow of colours. The palace was flanked by two waterfalls that filled the chasm running far below them; a chasm that was bridged by a staircase of monstrous size. But Kammy hardly noticed how far she would fall should her grip fail. The giant structure that speared out of the palace and up into the sky commanded all of her attention. It burned her eyes so she could hardly look at it, but at the same time she could not look away. It looked like a white diamond. Each of its countless edges sent off shards of brilliant light. It dwarfed anything that Kammy had ever known and she had never felt as alive as she did in that moment.
Il s'avane§a un fauteuil, s'installa entre sa femme et sa me¨re et, tandis que Dawn parlait, il lui prit la main. Il y a cent fae§ons de prendre la main de quelqu'un. Selon que c'est la main d'un enfant, la main d'un ami, la main d'un parent age, la main de celui qui part, la main du mourant, la main du mort. Il tenait la main de Dawn comme on tient la main d'une femme adoree, toute sa ferveur passant dans son etreinte, comme si, par cette pression de sa paume, il arrivait e echanger leurs e¢mes, comme si ces doigts enlaces symbolisaient toute leur intimite. Il tenait la main de Dawn comme s'il ne savait rien de leur situation presente.
The last time I saw you, you were wearing a white cotton shirt. You were standing upright with your wife on the lawn, in the sunlight, in front of the chateau, at my brother's wedding. You shared in the enthusiasm of the ceremony. For my part, I felt distanced from it. I didn't recognize my family in this mundane get-together. You didn't seem put off by the bourgeois ceremony, or by my brother's choice to have his love approved by third parties, even when these were distant third parties. You didn't have the sad and absent look you normally took on at public gatherings. You smiled, watching the people, a little tipsy from the wine and the sun, chatting on the large lawn between the white stone fae§ade and the two-hundred-year-old cedar tree. I often wondered, after your death, if that smile, the last one I saw from you, was mocking, or if instead it was the kindly smile of someone who knew that soon he would no longer partake in earthly pleasures. You didn't regret leaving these behind, but neither were you averse to enjoying them a little longer.
A Cathedral Fae§ade at Midnight Along the sculptures of the western wall I watched the moonlight creeping: It moved as if it hardly moved at all Inch by inch thinly peeping Round on the pious figures of freestone, brought And poised there when the Universe was wrought To serve its centre, Earth, in mankind's thought. The lunar look skimmed scantly toe, breast, arm, Then edged on slowly, slightly, To shoulder, hand, face; till each austere form Was blanched its whole length brightly Of prophet, king, queen, cardinal in state, That dead men's tools had striven to simulate; And the stiff images stood irradiate. A frail moan from the martyred saints there set Mid others of the erection Against the breeze, seemed sighings of regret At the ancient faith's rejection Under the sure, unhasting, steady stress Of Reason's movement, making meaningless.
The fundamental basis by which the court's decision might be made is, in itself, imperfect and subject to contradictions. There is very little consideration given to a priori knowledge regarding the circumstances being presented and as a result, arguments must be made empirically, under the assumption that assumptions themselves are, in fact, likely to give way to specious reasoning... Decisions must be made meticulously and according to specific, yet immeasurable criteria that can only be further manipulated by any cunning lawyer with the ability to make emotional pleas based on a requisite amount of inconsequential evidence to affect a decision beneficial to his clients. And so, in this respect, the law is capable of proving nothing except that its absurd attention to detail is really a kind of a fae§ade meant to cover up the fact that a truly logical and just way to deal with such matters has not yet been devised. And the absence of adequate definition to its principles has given way to a kind of apathy among the men employed by the courts, who want nothing more now than to make a living for themselves and their families and not work themselves into too much of a frenzy about how little can be changed through their own initiative. Thus things aren't likely to.
The return of the voices would end in a migraine that made my whole body throb. I could do nothing except lie in a blacked-out room waiting for the voices to get infected by the pains in my head and clear off. Knowing I was different with my OCD, anorexia and the voices that no one else seemed to hear made me feel isolated, disconnected. I took everything too seriously. I analysed things to death. I turned every word, and the intonation of every word over in my mind trying to decide exactly what it meant, whether there was a subtext or an implied criticism. I tried to recall the expressions on people's faces, how those expressions changed, what they meant, whether what they said and the look on their faces matched and were therefore genuine or whether it was a sham, the kind word touched by irony or sarcasm, the smile that means pity. When people looked at me closely could they see the little girl in my head, being abused in those pornographic clips projected behind my eyes? That is what I would often be thinking and such thoughts ate away at the fae§ade of self-confidence I was constantly raising and repairing. (describing dissociative identity disorder/mpd symptoms)
I have blogged previously about the dangerous and deadly effects of science denialism, from the innocent babies unnecessarily exposed to deadly diseases by other kids whose parents are anti-vaxxers, to the frequent examples of how acceptance of evolution helps us stop diseases and pests (and in the case of Baby Fae, rejection of evolution was fatal), to the long-term effects of climate denial to the future of the planet we all depend upon. But one of the strangest forms of denialism is the weird coalition of people who refuse to accept the medical fact that the HIV virus causes AIDS. What the heck? Didn't we resolve this issue in the 1980s when the AIDS condition first became epidemic and the HIV virus was discovered and linked to AIDS? Yes, we did-but for people who want to deny scientific reality, it doesn't matter how many studies have been done, or how strong the scientific consensus is. There are a significant number of people out there (especially among countries and communities with high rates of AIDS infections) that refuse to accept medical reality. I described all of these at greater length in my new book Reality Check: How Science Deniers Threaten our Future.
Donald R. Prothero
e‰ bom quando nossa conscieªncia sofre grandes ferimentos, pois isso a torna mais sensevel a cada estemulo. Penso que devemos ler apenas livros que nos ferem, que nos afligem. Se o livro que estamos lendo ne£o nos desperta como um soco no cre¢nio, por que perder tempo lendo-o? Para que ele nos torne felizes, como voceª diz? Oh Deus, nos sereamos felizes do mesmo modo se esses livros ne£o existissem. Livros que nos fazem felizes podereamos escrever nos mesmos num piscar de olhos. Precisamos de livros que nos atinjam como a mais dolorosa desventura, que nos assolem profundamente - como a morte de alguem que ame¡vamos mais do que a nos mesmos -, que nos fae§am sentir que fomos banidos para o ermo, para longe de qualquer presene§a humana - como um suicedio. Um livro deve ser um machado para o mar congelado que he¡ dentro de nos
She kept her stare locked on his as she let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step of the way, tilted her head back until her throat was arched and bared before him. "Aelin, " he breathed. Not in reprimand or warning, but... a plea. It sounded like a plea. He lowered his head to her exposed neck and hovered a hair's breath away. She arched her neck farther, a silent invitation. Rowan let out a soft groan and grazed his teeth against her skin. One bite, one movement, was all it would take for him to rip out her throat. His elongated canines slid along her flesh-gently, precisely. She clenched the sheets to keep from running her fingers down on his bare back and drawing him closer. He braced one hand beside her head, his fingers twining in her hair. "No one else, " she whispered. "I would never allow anyone else at my throat." Showing him was the only way he'd understand that trust, in a manner that only the predatory, Fae side of him would comprehend. "No one else, " she said again. He let out another low groan, answer and confirmation and request, and the rumble echoed inside her. Carefully, he closed his teeth over the spot where her lifeblood thrummed and pounded, his breath hot on her skin. She shut her eyes, every sense narrowing on that sensation, on the teeth and mouth at her throat, on the powerful body trembling with restraint above hers. His tongue flicked against her skin. She made a small noise that might have been a moan, or a word, or his name. He shuddered and pulled back, the cool air kissing her neck. Wildness-pure wildness sparked in those eyes.
Sarah J. Maas
Chronicler shook his head and Bast gave a frustrated sigh. "How about plays? Have you seen The Ghost and the Goosegirl or The Ha'penny King?" Chronicler frowned. "Is that the one where the king sells his crown to an orphan boy?" Bast nodded. "And the boy becomes a better king than the original. The goosegirl dresses like a countess and everyone is stunned by her grace and charm." He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. "You see, there's a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see. We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be." Chronicler relaxed a bit, sensing familiar ground. "That's basic psychology. You dress a beggar in fine clothes, people treat him like a noble, and he lives up to their expectations." "That's only the smallest piece of it, " Bast said. "The truth is deeper than that. It's... " Bast floundered for a moment. "It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story." Frowning, Chronicler opened his mouth, but Bast held up a hand to stop him. "No, listen. I've got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she's beautiful, she'll think you're sweet, but she won't believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding." Bast gave a grudging shrug. "And sometimes that's enough." His eyes brightened. "But there's a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you... " Bast gestured excitedly. "Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn't seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chronicler snapped. "You're just spouting nonsense now." "I'm spouting too much sense for you to understand, " Bast said testily. "But you're close enough to see my point.
Uma pessoa envelhece lentamente: primeiro envelhece o seu gosto pela vida e pelas pessoas, sabes, pouco a pouco torna-se tudo te£o real, conhece o significado das coisas, tudo se repete te£o terrevel e fastidiosamente. Isso tambem e velhice. Quando je¡ sabe que um corpo ne£o e mais que um corpo. E um homem, coitado, ne£o e mais que um homem, um ser mortal, fae§a o que fizer... Depois envelhece o seu corpo; nem tudo ao mesmo tempo, ne£o, primeiro envelhecem os olhos, ou as pernas, o este´mago, ou o corae§e£o. Uma pessoa envelhece assim, por partes. A seguir, de repente, comee§a a envelhecer a alma: porque por mais enfraquecido e decrepito que seja o corpo, a alma ainda este¡ repleta de desejos e de recordae§eµes, busca e deleita-se, deseja o prazer. E quando acaba esse desejo de prazer, nada mais resta que as recordae§eµes, ou a vaidade; e ente£o e que se envelhece de verdade, fatal e definitivamente. Um dia acordas e esfregas os olhos: je¡ ne£o sabes porque acordaste. O que o dia te traz, conheces tu com exactide£o: a Primavera ou o Inverno, os cene¡rios habituais, o tempo, a ordem da vida. Ne£o pode acontecer nada de inesperado: ne£o te surpreende nem o imprevisto, nem o invulgar ou o horrevel, porque conheces todas as probabilidades, tens tudo calculado, je¡ ne£o esperas nada, nem o bem, nem o mal... e isso e precisamente a velhice.
Kiril glanced around the darkened room. He walked to a leather chair and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. 'Did you know that during the Fae Wars the Dark took two Dragon Kings? At different times, of course.' 'I suppose they escaped as well? Are you telling me we don't know how to hold a Dragon King?' 'The Dark did... things to my brethren. One completely lost his mind and attacked us, which is what the Dark wanted. He had to be killed. The other King knew what was happening to him, but he couldna stop it. He came to us and begged to be killed before he could harm one of us.' Shara sipped her whisky before she said, 'You lost two Kings and I lost seven siblings.' 'And the Light the Dark took?' 'The Dark take the Light and the Light take the Dark.' Kiril let his gaze drift down her body. How he itched to have her long legs wrapped around him. Things would be so much easier if he didn't desire her as he did, but there wasn't a switch he could flip and turn off his body's reaction. The more he tried to ignore the growing desire, the more it raged uncontrollably within him. He gave himself a mental shake and returned to their conversation. 'What's the plan, then? Will the Dark storm in here and try to capture me?' Shara walked around the room, her hand skimming along the backs of the chairs. 'No.' 'No?' Kiril set aside his glass on the table next to him and silently rose to his feet. He followed her as if a string tied them together. 'What then?' 'You don't really want to know.' Kiril spun her around so hard that her glass flew from her hand and landed upon a rug, spilling the whisky but not breaking the crystal. 'Tell me, ' he demanded in a soft, deadly voice. 'My job is to seduce you.' She held her stance for a heartbeat before she retreated, taking two steps back. He tracked her until she was once more in the entryway. The shadows darkened everything, and yet the smallest sliver of moonlight found her, illuminating her in a pale blue glow. No longer could he deny what he wanted. Perhaps it was her confession. Maybe it was because he hadn't taken to the skies in weeks. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he had to have her or go up in flames. 'Then seduce me.
As me£os de Zahara apertaram fortemente a saia. - Vais infligir-me a humilhae§e£o de ser eu a dizeª-lo? Lochan levantou-se. - Jamais desejaria que te humilhasses. Eu sei, sei-o he¡ je¡ demasiado tempo. Zahara sentiu o corae§e£o pular. - Se o sabes, porque nunca... - Esquece-me, Zahara, pois ne£o sinto o mesmo - interrompeu ele. Ela recuou. - Mentes... Porqueª? Eu sei... O modo como me tratas, como me olhas. Eu sei que gostas de mim, vejo-o no teu olhar, vejo-o neste instante! Lochan sentiu os olhos dela mergulharem nos seus. - Durante anos foram-me apresentados pretendentes das mais nobres famelias - ouviu - Todos me dariam o conforto a que estava habituada, todos me cobririam de joias, de vestidos luxuosos... no entanto, eu recusava-os. Recusava-os porque ne£o via nada no seu olhar. Para eles, eu seria como um trofeu, serviria apenas para provocar inveja. Uma nuvem cobriu o sol, deixando-os na sombra. - Inconscientemente tornei-me arrogante, altiva, somente para os afastar de mim, para que ne£o desejassem casar-se com alguem como eu... Mas tu, tu viste para alem da me¡scara que construe. Naquele dia, na capital, tu viste o que ninguem foi capaz de ver: o meu corae§e£o. - Zahara... - Ne£o acredito que ne£o sintas qualquer amor por mim. Lochan voltou-lhe as costas. - Ne£o quero saber se es pobre, ne£o me importo com o teu passado. O que sinto por ti e o que sempre desejei sentir - ouviu. O sileªncio envolveu-os por momentos. - Lamento... Zahara correu para a frente dele. No seu olhar era visevel desespero. - Ne£o te agrado, e isso? Ele limitou-se a desviar o rosto. - Responde-me! - Como poderia ficar indiferente a alguem como tu - disse voltando a olhar nos olhos dela. - Ente£o porqueª, porqueª? Lochan agarrou-lhe nos ombros, assustando-a. - Esquece-me por favor. Odeia-me. Odeia-me por isto com todas as tuas fore§as, mas ne£o me ames, nunca me ames, Zahara. Lochan largou-lhe os ombros. Ela ficou sem reace§e£o, e as le¡grimas voltaram a molhar o seu rosto. - Ne£o me fae§as isto... - implorou. O olhar dele tornou-se gelido. O seu rosto mostrava-se agora te£o indecifre¡vel, como o de uma este¡tua. - Odeia-me pelo sofrimento que te acabo de causar e depois esquece-me - disse deixando-a so. Zahara viu-o desaparecer por entre as colunas do pale¡cio.