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On Being Ill
“It is only the recumbent who know what, after all, nature is at no pains to conceal—that she in the end will conquer; the heat will leave the world; stiff with frost we shall cease to drag our feet about the fields; ice will lie thick upon factory and engine; the sun will go out. Even so, when the whole earth is sheeted and slippery some undulation, some irregularity of surface will mark the boundary of an ancient garden, and there, thrusting its head up undaunted in the starlight, the rose will flower, the crocus will burn.”
Beauty
Nature
The End
Crooked Kingdom
“What did she say?” asked Matthias.
Nina coughed and took his arm, leading him away. “She said you’re a very nice fellow, and a credit to the Fjerdan race. Ooh, look, blini! I haven’t had proper blini in forever.”
“That word she used:
babink
,” he said. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”
Nina directed her attention to a stack of paper-thin buttered pancakes. “It means sweetie pie.”
“Nina—”
“Barbarian.”
“I was just asking, there’s no need to name-call.”
“No,
babink
means barbarian.” Matthias’ gaze snapped back to the old woman, his glower returning to full force. Nina grabbed his arm. It was like trying to hold on to a boulder. “She wasn’t insulting you! I swear!”
“Barbarian isn’t an insult?” he asked, voice rising.
“No. Well, yes. But not in this context. She wanted to know if you’d like to play Princess and Barbarian.”
“It’s a game?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what is it?”
Nina couldn’t believe she was actually going to attempt to explain this. As they continued up the street, she said, “In Ravka, there’s a popular series of stories about, um, a brave Fjerdan warrior—”
“Really?” Matthias asked. “He’s the hero?”
“In a manner of speaking. He kidnaps a Ravkan princess—”
“That would never happen.”
“In the story it does, and”—she cleared her throat—“they spend a long time getting to know each other. In his cave.”
“He lives in a cave?”
“It’s a very nice cave. Furs. Jeweled cups. Mead.”
“Ah,” he said approvingly. “A treasure hoard like Ansgar the Mighty. They become allies, then?”
Nina picked up a pair of embroidered gloves from another stand. “Do you like these? Maybe we could get Kaz to wear something with flowers. Liven up his look.”
“How does the story end? Do they fight battles?”
Nina tossed the gloves back on the pile in defeat. “They get to know each other
intimately
.”
Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?”
“You see, he’s very brooding, very manly,” Nina hurried on. “But he falls in love with the Ravkan princess and that allows her to civilize him—”
“To civilize him?”
“Yes, but that’s not until the third book.”
“There are three?”
“Matthias, do you need to sit down?”
“This culture is disgusting. The idea that a Ravkan could civilize a Fjerdan—”
“Calm down, Matthias.”
“Perhaps I’ll write a story about insatiable Ravkans who like to get drunk and take their clothes off and make unseemly advances toward hapless Fjerdans.”
“Now
that
sounds like a party.” Matthias shook his head, but she could see a smile tugging at his lips. She decided to push the advantage. “
We
could play,” she murmured, quietly enough so that no one around them could hear.
“We most certainly could not.”
“At one point he bathes her.”
Matthias’ steps faltered. “Why would he—”
“She’s tied up, so he has to.”
“Be silent.”
“Already giving orders. That’s very barbarian of you. Or we could mix it up. I’ll be the barbarian and you can be the princess. But you’ll have to do a lot more sighing and trembling and biting your lip.”
“How about I bite
your
lip?”
“Now you’re getting the hang of it, Helvar.”
Matthias Helvar
Nina Zenik
Crooked Kingdom
“Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls?
We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary.
That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.”
Crooked Kingdom
Inej Ghafa
Grisha
Six Of Crows
Your Native Land, Your Life
“Look: this is January the worst onslaught
is ahead of us Don't be lured
by these soft grey afternoons these sunsets cut
from pink and violet tissue-paper by the thought
the days are lengthening
Don't let the solstice fool you:
our lives will always be
a stew of contradictions
the worst moment of winter can come in April
when the peepers are stubbornly still
and our bodies
plod on without conviction
and our thoughts cramp down before the sheer
arsenal of everything that tries us:
this battering, blunt-edged life”
Life
Poetry
Poem
Challenges
Winter
Difficulties
Solstice
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
“He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.
"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.
"Er- yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."
"So you must know loads of magic already."
The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.
"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"
"Horrible- well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."
"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left- Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."
Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.
"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff- I mean, I got Scabbers instead."
Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.”
Ron Weasley
Brothers
Scabbers
Weasleys
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Activities to Teach Reading, Thinking, and Writing
“Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.
"Er- yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."
"So you must know loads of magic already."
The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.
"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"
"Horrible- well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."
"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left- Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."
Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.
"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff- I mean, I got Scabbers instead."
Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.”
Ron Weasley
Brothers
Scabbers
Weasleys
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
“I wonder, now- yes, why not- unusual combination- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."
"Sorry," said Harry, "but
what's
curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother- why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things- terrible, yes, but great.”
Harry Potter
Voldemort
Destined
Wand
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
“The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons- All Sizes- Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver- Self-Stirring- Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.
"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...."
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand- fastest ever-" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....”
Owls
Cauldron
Shops
Diagon Alley
Magic Shops
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
“I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where-?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever.”
Harry Potter
Scar
The Beginning
Baby Boy
“I had graduated from high school the week before and was now a crewmember on a Dutch ship. This was my first job aboard ship and now I found myself heading down the Hudson River, past the Statue of Liberty. There wasn’t much time for sightseeing since the dinner chimes had been rung and the few passengers we had, were coming into the dining room. No one had explained my duties but I watched the other stewards and followed suit. I must have been a fast learner since amazingly enough all went well, and before I knew it the dining room was empty and it was cleanup time. I’m certain that having worked in my uncle’s restaurants helped but I’m glad I survived without any mishaps. I knew that tomorrow would go even smoother now that I understood the routine.
When I told my parents that I was going to sea, they didn’t ask any questions and seemed to take it all for granted. Everything happened extremely fast. On the very same day that I was hired, I was on this foreign flagship bound for Le Havre and Rotterdam, without having as much as a passport. Most of the crewmembers that went on strike were left behind for U.S. Immigration to sort out, provided that they could even be rounded up. For me, it was my first seagoing adventure! Being the youngest and newest crewmember on the ship earned me a bunk four tiers up and against the bulkhead, next to the chain locker. You couldn’t get any farther forward, which made me feel that I would be the first to get to where the ship was going. I didn’t take into account that it would also be the first part of the ship that would slam into the sea or anything else that got in the way, but such was the life of a seaman.”
Coming Of Age
Biographical
Mma Captain Hank Bracker
Sea Stories
At Sea
Sugar
“Seven extra grams of grated nutmeg makes all the difference. Best cinnamon-streusel pumpkin muffin ever. Or at least so far." I opened my eyes, making a slow assessment of my kitchen. Four other batches of pumpkin muffins littered the countertop, many of them on their sides after I took one bite and impatiently tossed them aside. This batch, the fifth, was the queen of the bunch.
"I do have some reservations about the pecans." My fluffy panda-head slippers slapped on the wood floors as I walked back to the oven. Holding my butter-smudged working recipe up to the light, I considered the next round of alterations. "I wonder about almonds. Or no! Pistachios!”
Pumpkin
Experimenting
Nuts
Muffins
Seasonings
Sugar
“The Oak Forest mushrooms for the langoustine didn't arrive in time, so we've substituted with enoki mushrooms from Champagne Farms. Also, we are adding an entrée to the menu tonight. It's lemon pine-nut-encrusted sea scallops with a celery mousse and my signature vinaigrette. It took three months to get it right, and the end result is phenomenal. So sell it." Alain paused while the servers took notes. "In wines, we're out of the Napa Valley El Molino, the Talenti, and the Chateau Margeaux '86."
Alain paused and, while the servers wrote furiously in their pads, my thoughts wandered. I tried picturing the customers who might have opinions about Oak Forest mushrooms compared to those from Champagne Farms. Did they wear tweed and bifocals? Or were they übermodern with sculpured haircuts and electronic cigarettes? I shook my head, annoyed with myself and my train of thought.
Let the mushroom people be mushroom people
, I chastised myself.
You signed up for this gig, Charlie, remember? You're living your dream, remember?
Alain changed gears for a second and threw out a quiz question, one of his more sadistic rituals during family meal. "What are the six ingredients in the jalapeño emulsion we serve with the salmon?"
Silence. A blonde in the back ventured, "Jalapeño, olive oil, shallots...?"
More silence.
"Fleur de sel, ground pepper, lemon juice," Alain finished for her, giving her an icy glance over his bearish nose. "Wake up, people. All right, here's an easy one. What's the difference between
jamón ibérico
and prosciutto?"
Four hands went up, and Wade got it right.
"
Jamón ibérico
is dry-cured from black Iberian pigs in Spain, not to be confused with
jamón serrano
, which comes from a less expensive white pig. Prosciutto is also dry-cured, but it is from Italy. It is the common man's gourmet ham, which is why we don't serve it." Wade finished with a cock of the head and a high-five with another server.
Alain snorted. "Thank you for the editorial comment. Please keep it to yourself, however, when recommending the melon and
jamón ibérico
appetizer."
He spent the next five minutes grilling the staff on the origin of our rice vinegar, what dessert wine paired best with Felix's raspberry brûlée, and the correct serving temperature of the parsnip purée.”
Questions
Foodie
Ingredients
Mushrooms
Wines
Ham
Restaurant Life
Crazy Rich Cajuns
“You're not actually wise?" Bennett asked, with a shake of his head. He grinned at them. "Damn, I've been bamboozled."
"Let's put it this way," Ellie said. "We pay attention and we love everyone who hangs out around here. You put those together and you notice a lot. When you notice a lot, you can come off as pretty insightful.”
Family
Contemporary Romance
Louisiana Bayou
Pearls Before Swine
“If you stick your head in the sand like an ostrich, pretending you don't exist – why get upset when the world agrees with you?”
You
Exist
Pretending
If
Ostrich
Upset When
“Excellence is its own master, owes no allegiance, bows its head to no regimen. It exists pure and whole like the silver face of the moon. Untouchable, unreachable, exquisite. But frustrating because it reminds us of how much mediocrity we put up with, just to get through the week.”
Excellence
Mediocrity
Harlan Ellison
Love's Executioner and Other Tales of Psychotherapy
“But he gave no greater gift than the one he offered me shortly before he died, and it was a gift that answers for all time the question of whether it is rational or appropriate to strive for “ambitious” therapy in those who are terminally ill. When I visited him in the hospital he was so weak he could barely move, but he raised his head, squeezed my hand, and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for saving my life.”
Life
Death
Terminally Ill
The Tyrant’s Tomb
“Meg slashed through the last of Tarquin’s minions. That was a good thing, I thought distantly. I didn’t want her to die, too. Hazel stabbed Tarquin in the chest. The Roman king fell, howling in pain, ripping the sword hilt from Hazel’s grip. He collapsed against the information desk, clutching the blade with his skeletal hands.
Hazel stepped back, waiting for the zombie king to dissolve. Instead, Tarquin struggled to his feet, purple gas flickering weakly in his eye sockets.
“I have lived for millennia,” he snarled. “You could not kill me with a thousand tons of stone, Hazel Levesque. You will not kill me with a sword.”
I thought Hazel might fly at him and rip his skull off with her bare hands. Her rage was so palpable I could smell it like an approaching storm. Wait…I did smell an approaching storm, along with other forest scents: pine needles, morning dew on wildflowers, the breath of hunting dogs.
A large silver wolf licked my face. Lupa? A hallucination? No…a whole pack of the beasts had trotted into the store and were now sniffing the bookshelves and the piles of zombie dust.
Behind them, in the doorway, stood a girl who looked about twelve, her eyes silver-yellow, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed for the hunt in a shimmering gray frock and leggings, a white bow in her hand. Her face was beautiful, serene, and as cold as the winter moon.
She nocked a silver arrow and met Hazel’s eyes, asking permission to finish her kill. Hazel nodded and stepped aside. The young girl aimed at Tarquin.
“Foul undead thing,” she said, her voice hard and bright with power. “When a good woman puts you down, you had best stay down.”
Her arrow lodged in the center of Tarquin’s forehead, splitting his frontal bone. The king stiffened. The tendrils of purple gas sputtered and dissipated. From the arrow’s point of entry, a ripple of fire the color of Christmas tinsel spread across Tarquin’s skull and down his body, disintegrating him utterly. His gold crown, the silver arrow, and Hazel’s sword all dropped to the floor.
I grinned at the newcomer. “Hey, Sis.”
Apollo
Hazel Levesque
Diana
Meg Mccaffrey
Tarquin
Lester Papadopoulos
Reading the Gospels Wisely: A Narrative and Theological Introduction
“There is a reason why the fourfold Gospel witness has always stood at the head of the New Testament canon and why the Gospels have always been so beloved. It is because in them we encounter the risen Christ in person. We learn not just about him and what he theologically accomplished for us and what we are supposed to do as a result, but we get to see the sweet Lion and the roaring Lamb in action—loving people, showing compassion, teaching and discipling, rebuking and correcting, suffering and ultimately dying for us. We encounter him in a way unique to the Gospels.”
Theology
Gospels
Biblical Study
The Arrangement
“From a long board, he watched her rake a pile into the stockpot: tomatoes and garlic, orange peel and bay, the heads and spines and tails of a dozen sardines. She plunged a knife into a spider crab and split it in two, tossing it after. She hadn't noticed Al standing behind her.
He cleared his throat, and she swung around.
"Oh, goodness," she said.
"You've been busy."
She held to his face a mortar of green pounded herbs and garlic, a rouille so sharp it made his eyes water. And then a hard loaf of bread, white fish steaks translucent as china; she put a salted almond in his mouth, a crust dipped into the stockpot, her finger. She was giddy, beautiful, his wife.
She poured the stock through a strainer, pressing on the bones and shells with the back of a wooden spoon. She poached the fish steaks, some tiny rings and tangles of squid, picking out the mussels as they opened; she toasted bread; she warmed a Delft tureen with boiling water. She set the table, handing a cold bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and a corkscrew to him.
"There's so much in this kitchen," she whispered.
"Is Gigi here?"
"No, not ever, I don't think. But she's got every kind of gadget. Look at this. Do you know what this is?" She held up a Bakelite-handled comb with a dozen tines.
Al waited.
"It's for slicing cake," she said.”
Cooking
Seafood
Utensil
Mfk Fisher
The Arrangement
“The market smelled of hay and roasted nuts; she bought a newspaper cone of almonds from a woman stirring them over an open fire. She bought thick sandy leeks, a rope of garlic and a pound of tomatoes; she bought a long
batard
of sourdough bread, a dozen bluish speckled eggs, a jar of cream, because now she had a refrigerator and could keep such things for more than an hour or two. She lifted the paper lid of the cream and tasted it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand; she remembered the pillowy clouds of Gruyère grated onto her piece of waxed paper at Les Halles, the cheese maker young and handsome and milk-fed himself; he tried to teach her the French for being in love with him:
mon cocotte, mon chouchou, ma petit lapin, Madame, s'il vous plaît
.
She walked the stalls, and on the edge of the market, a fishmonger laid out his catch on two blocks of ice: strange curled squids and spider crabs, silvery piles of sardines, their eyes still sparkling, thick slabs of some white-meated fish, its head as big as a dinner plate.”
French
Seafood
French Food
Farmers Market
Mfk Fisher
The Crimson King
“The headsman's axe knows not where it is to fall. It is simply a weapon directed by the hand of another."
- Ahzek Ahriman”
The Black Library
The Horus Heresy
Newsies: Music from the Broadway Musical
“Poor guy's head is spinning!”
Funny
Musicals
Newsies
The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
“He headed to the outer Eastern rim of the Galaxy, where it was said, wisdom and truth were to be found, most particularly on planet Hawalius, which was a planet of oracles and seers and soothsayers and also take-out pizza parlors, because most mystics were completely incapable of cooking for themselves.”
Douglas Adams
Mystic
Mostly Harmless
Cold Mountain
“The main thing, Ruby said, was not to get ahead of yourself. Go at a rhythm that could be sustained on and on. Do just as much as you could do and still be able to get up and do again tomorrow. No more, and no less.”
Slowly
Sustainability
Steady
Regularity
At Your Own Pace
Foolish Hearts
“His eyes light up upon seeing the cookies. “Did you make them?”
“My sister did. They’re just the break-and-bake kind.”
“Those are my favorite.”
“No they’re not,” Victoria says.
“Hey, how about you head upstairs and start getting ready for bed?”
“It’s seven o’clock.”
“How about you head upstairs and just … stay there?”
They look at each other for a long moment and seem to be having some kind of nonverbal sibling communication. Finally Victoria sighs and steps away from the door.
“I get half of those cookies.”
Siblings
Cookies
Foolish Hearts
Biscuits
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