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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
“Be true to God in everything that you say and do, don't be fake; don't shed crocodile tears, do not decieve anybody, do not conceal the truth because God sees everything, God knows all things, God is everywhere. You cannot hide from God. God will always reveal the truth against all odds. The world will see right through you.....
Yeah...
God Our Protector Keep My Faith:Biblical Verses 6, a book by Stellah Mupanduki.”
Justice
The Truth
Presence Of God
God Our Protector
In Truth
“Bazı zengin insanlar paralarını kullanarak iklim değişikliğinin üstesinden gelebileceklerini düşünüyorlar: İyi ama eğer dünya batarsa, gemiyi bir filika ile terk etme şansın olmaz! Nereye gideceksin? Uzaya mı, aptal zengin? İnsanların henüz kozmosta bir kolonisi olmadığını hatırlayalım!”
Mehmet Murat Ildan Özlü Sözleri
Çevre Sorunları
Iklim Değişikliği
Çevre Günü
Çevre Kirliliği
Iklim
Küresel Isınma
Sokrates'in Savunması
“Ölümün insanoğlunun başına gelen iyiliklerin en iyisi olup olmadığını kimse bilmiyor, ama güya başa gelebilecek en büyük kötülük olduğunu sandıklarından ondan korkuyorlar. . . . Bu yüzden, kötü olduklarını bildiğim kötülükler arasından, ne olduklarını tam bilemediğim için iyi olma potansiyeli taşıyanlarından hiçbir zaman korkmayacak ve onlardan kaçmayacağım.”
Classics
Turkish Translation
“Empathy is sickening. It reminds me of funeral salesmen who like ashy-faced owls appear deeply moved by your great loss, while giving Lord God Almighty thanks for throwing their way yet another stiff.”
Empathy
Funeral
Owls
Stiff
Sickening
“Eninde sonunda kış gelir; eninde sonunda bahar gelir; eninde sonunda yaz gelir ve eninde sonunda sonbahar gelir! Bunlar kendilerini göstermezlerse işte o zaman bir sorun var demektir!”
Mehmet Murat Ildan Özlü Sözleri
Mevsimler
Kış
Mevsim
Falstaff: Give Me Life
“Shakespeare will not allow Falstaff to die upon stage. We see and hear the deaths of Hamlet, Cleopatra, Antony, Othello, and Lear. Iago is led away to die silently under torture. Macbeth dies offstage but he goes down fighting. Falstaff dies singing the Twenty-third Psalm, smiling upon his fingertips, playing with flowers, and crying aloud to God three or four times. That sounds more like pain than prayer.
We do not want Sir John Falstaff to die. And of course he does not. He is life itself.”
Life
Shakespeare
Falstaff
Falstaff: Give Me Life
“But Hamlet is death's ambassador while Falstaff is the embassy of life.”
Life
Shakespeare
Falstaff
The Arrangement
“
Soufflé! Omelets with burnt sugar, like we used to get at Aux Trois Faisons, with our initials burned into the crust. The Tuileries! the wind biting at our coats. We walk and walk and walk
(so as to wear out Mrs. Parrish so that when they did return, she was exhausted. She begged off dinner. She began to lose weight, they all did, even though they ate the lunches of duck, creamed Brussels sprouts with lardons, terrine, confit,
fromage blanc
, steak tartare with shimmering soft-set eggs, brioche).”
Letters
French Food
Mfk Fisher
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
American Wilderness: A New History
“We show our love for our national parks by driving hundreds of miles to see them in RVs and SUVs that, at their best, travel fifteen miles per gallon gas.”
Suvs
National Parks
Rvs
“As I always mingle with you poesy,with a half lip of smile,my heart is so in frail and mind in ponder,without knowing how to Love you deeper,for what you gave me as another sun shine.”
Writers
Authors
Poetry Quotes
Romantic Quotes
Nithin Purple
Literary Quotes
Nithin Purple Literature
Nithin Purple Poet
Nithin Purple Poems
Romantic Songs
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Personal storytelling is akin to taking a detailed accounting of our actions, deeds, thoughts, and impulses, a comprehensive listing of our acts of depravity and kindness, an exhaustive statement of being. Scrolling backward through our muddling, taking an incisive look inside our hard case craniums, we gather a vision of the desired future course of action for ourselves and simultaneously send out a glimmer of morning light for people who witness our life force stammering its series of dashed, interlinear lines across the infinite galaxies of time and space. Analogous to the impulsive death dance of a shooting star, our final spasmodic rattle illumines the unrelenting darkness of unbounded space for other stargazing voyagers to witnesses. By being a dash of light in a wash of darkness, we inspire other intrepid explorers.”
Stories
Memoir
Storytelling
Autobiography
Memoir Writing
Autobiographical
Story Of Your Life
Essayist
Writing Memoir
Narrative Writing
The Goldfinch
“E per quanto mi piacerebbe credere che ci sia un verità dietro l'illusione, mi sono convinto che non c'è alcuna verità dietro l'illusione. Perché, tra la "relatà" da un lato, e il punto in cui la mente va a sbattere contro la realtà, esiste uno spazio sottile, uno spicchio d'arcobaleno da cui origina la bellezza, il punto in cui due superfici molto diverse tra loro si mescolano e si confondono per procurare ciò che la vita non ci dà: e questo è lo spazio in cui tutta l'arte prende forma, e tutta la magia.”
Donna Tartt
Modern Classic
The Goldfinch
The Matiushin Case
“While you were content with just one square foot of land in the world, you stood on just that one square foot. But the moment you looked up at the sky, you scraped your dirty face against its vastness. And you felt so vile: the most you could ever do on your own little patch of land was choke on it or defile it. You were a low, creeping creature in these expanses, and you’d been given a square foot of ground as an act of mercy. But how can you live if you hate life itself? You’ll live with a struggle, in a fury … Croak? No damn way! Shove over? You go and croak!”
Dissatisfaction
Soldier Life
Poor George
“Behind their cardboard menus their glances raced from entree to price. The waitress stood next to their table; her red arms bulged at the sleeve endings of her uniform, as though she were slowly growing out of it. The plastic mats, the hurricane lamp, the soiled pretentious menu, the waitress with her expression of patience in a hurry, and the humble clotted ketchup dispenser were the elements of a set piece to which they returned again and again. How could he have told her of their thousand evenings of the same entertainments without reference to these tangible manifestations of tedium and habit?”
Boredom
Married
Middle Class Angst
Dersim... Dersim...
“Dr. Nuri Dersimi, ‘Dersimliler, Kürtçenin en eski lehçesi olan Zazakiyi konuşurlar. Bazı aşiretler Kurmanciyi konuşur ve Zazaki lehçesini de bilirler’ dedikten sonra ‘Dersim Kürtçesinin Horasan Kürt lehçesine yakınlığı vardır’ der. Dersimi’nin bahsettiği ‘Horasan Kürtçesi’ belli ki Goran-Hewraman Kürtçesidir.”
Kurd
Kürtçe
Dersim
Dersim... Dersim...
“Oysa Horasan konusu yıllarca Dersimlilerin Türk, hem de ‘öz Türk’ oldukları yönünde şoven bir asimilasyon politikasının argümanı olarak kullanıldı. Dersimliler Horasan’dan gelmişlerdi ve Horasan ‘Türk yurdu’ idi… Bu ‘resmi’ görüşü Kürt Alevileri açısından ‘güncelleyerek’ halen savunan kalemler olduğu biliniyor. Bu kişilerin savundukları görüşe göre ‘İslam’ın özü’ olan Alevilik bir ‘Türk inancı’dır… Bu durumda hem ‘Türk yurdu’ Horasan’dan geldikleri hem de Alevi oldukları için Dersimliler ‘öz be öz Türk’ oluyorlar(!)
(…)
Faik Bulut Horasan meselesine değinirken ‘Bize kalırsa Kürt Kızılbaşlığın özyurdu Horasan elidir’ diyor. ‘Çünkü orası eski Med ülkesi ve yoğun Kürt coğrafyasıdır. Daha doğrusu; Kürt, Afgan, Beluci, Fars, Hint kültürünün bir arada yoğuran Zerdüşlük, Budizm, Manilik, Brahmanizm inancının beşiğidir.’
(…)
Aynı konuda Mehmet Bayrak şunu söylemektedir: ‘Safevi Şahları tarafından Kuzey Horasan’a yerleştirilen ve kuzeydeki Sünni Özbeklere ve Türkmenlere karşı kullanılan Dersin kökenli bu Alevi Kürt aşiret topluluklarından bir bölümü savaş sonrasında barış aşamasında eski topraklarına geri dönüyorlar. İşte ‘Horasan’dan gelme olayı’ budur.”
Kurd
Dersim
Horasan
Kızılbaş
“Gülizar Ana: Utuz sekiz zulum vi, adır vi, be bex ti ye viye ekser ama ma qırkerdime vesnayme est me. Awaqe ma diya kes mevino. (38 zulümdü, ateşti, namertlikti, bizi kırdılar, yaktılar, astılar, sürdüler gittiler. Bizim gördüğümüzü hiç kimse görmesin.)”
Dersim
“The hole in my chest is cavernous. It should be impossible for the human body to contain this much emptiness. The echoes created within ripple out between past and present, creating confusion between the then and the now. I survive with one foot nailed in the past.”
Cptsd
Vss
Notre-Dame de Paris
“Je ne crois pas qu’il y ait rien au monde de plus riant que les idées qui s’éveillent dans le cœur d’une mère à la vue du petit soulier de son enfant. Surtout si c’est le soulier de fête, des dimanches, du baptême, le soulier brodé jusque sous la semelle, un soulier avec lequel l’enfant n’a pas encore fait un pas. Ce soulier-là a tant de grâce et de petitesse, il lui est si impossible de marcher, que c’est pour la mère comme si elle voyait son enfant. Elle lui sourit, elle le baise, elle lui parle. Elle se demande s’il se peut en effet qu’un pied soit si petit ; et, l’enfant fût-il absent, il suffit du joli soulier pour lui remettre sous les yeux la douce et fragile créature. Elle croit le voir, elle le voit, tout entier, vivant, joyeux, avec ses mains délicates, sa tête ronde, ses lèvres pures, ses yeux sereins dont le blanc est bleu. Si c’est l’hiver, il est là, il rampe sur le tapis, il escalade laborieusement un tabouret, et la mère tremble qu’il n’approche du feu. Si c’est l’été, il se traîne dans la cour, dans le jardin, arrache l’herbe d’entre les pavés, regarde naïvement les grands chiens, les grands chevaux, sans peur, joue avec les coquillages, avec les fleurs, et fait gronder le jardinier qui trouve le sable dans les plates-bandes et la terre dans les allées. Tout rit, tout brille, tout joue autour de lui comme lui, jusqu’au souffle d’air et au rayon de soleil qui s’ébattent à l’envi dans les boucles follettes de ses cheveux. Le soulier montre tout cela à la mère et lui fait fondre le cœur comme le feu une cire.”
Childhood
Motherhood
Enfance
Maternité
Notre-Dame de Paris
“Oh ! aimer une femme ! être prêtre ! être haï ! l’aimer de toutes les fureurs de son âme, sentir qu’on donnerait pour le moindre de ses sourires son sang, ses entrailles, sa renommée, son salut, l’immortalité et l’éternité, cette vie et l’autre ; regretter de ne pas être roi, génie, empereur, archange, dieu, pour lui mettre un plus grand esclave sous les pieds ; l’étreindre nuit et jour de ses rêves et de ses pensées ; et la voir amoureuse d’une livrée de soldat ! et n’avoir à lui offrir qu’une sale soutane de prêtre dont elle aura peur et dégoût ! Être présent, avec sa jalousie et sa rage, tandis qu’elle prodigue à un misérable fanfaron imbécile des trésors d’amour et de beauté ! Voir ce corps dont la forme vous brûle, ce sein qui a tant de douceur, cette chair palpiter et rougir sous les baisers d’un autre ! Ô ciel ! aimer son pied, son bras, son épaule, songer à ses veines bleues, à sa peau brune, jusqu’à s’en tordre des nuits entières sur le pavé de sa cellule, et voir toutes les caresses qu’on a rêvées pour elle aboutir à la torture ! N’avoir réussi qu’à la coucher sur le lit de cuir ! Oh ! ce sont là les véritables tenailles rougies au feu de l’enfer ! Oh ! bienheureux celui qu’on scie entre deux planches, et qu’on écartèle à quatre chevaux ! — Sais-tu ce que c’est que ce supplice que vous font subir, durant les longues nuits, vos artères qui bouillonnent, votre cœur qui crève, votre tête qui rompt, vos dents qui mordent vos mains ; tourmenteurs acharnés qui vous retournent sans relâche, comme sur un gril ardent, sur une pensée d’amour, de jalousie et de désespoir ! Jeune fille, grâce ! trêve un moment ! un peu de cendre sur cette braise ! Essuie, je t’en conjure, la sueur qui ruisselle à grosses gouttes de mon front ! Enfant ! torture-moi d’une main, mais caresse-moi de l’autre ! Aie pitié, jeune fille ! aie pitié de moi !”
Passion
Jealousy
Priest
Frollo
Esmeralda
Notre-Dame de París
“Vous avez été enfant, lecteur, et vous êtes peut-être assez heureux pour l'être encore. Il n'est pas que vous n'ayez plus d'une fois (et pour mon compte j'y ai passé des journées entières, les mieux employées de ma vie) suivi de broussaille en broussaille, au bord d'une eau vive, par un jour de soleil, quelque belle demoiselle verte ou bleue, brisant son vol à angles brusques et baisant le bout de toutes les branches. Vous vous rappelez avec quelle curiosité amoureuse votre pensée et votre regard s'attachaient à ce petit tourbillon sifflant et bourdonnant, d'ailes de pourpre et d'azur, au milieu duquel flottait une forme insaisissable voilée par la rapidité même de son mouvement. L'être aérien qui se dessinait confusément à travers ce frémissement d'ailes vous paraissait chimérique, imaginaire, impossible à toucher, impossible à voir. Mais lorsque enfin la demoiselle se reposait à la pointe d'un roseau et que vous pouviez examiner, en retenant votre souffle, les longues ailes de gaze, la longue robe d'émail, les deux globes de cristal, quel étonnement n'éprouviez-vous pas et quelle peur de voir de nouveau la forme s'en aller en ombre et l'être en chimère ! Rappelez-vous ces impressions, et vous vous rendrez aisément compte de ce que ressentait Gringoire en contemplant sous sa forme visible et palpable cette Esmeralda qu'il n'avait entrevue jusque-là qu'à travers un tourbillon de danse, de chant et de tumulte.”
Childhood
Dragonfly
Esmeralda
Enfance
Notre Dame De Paris
Libellule
“Doufám, že nejen moji čtenáři ocení drobný bonus. Čerstvá kapitola, která krásně zapadá do Plukovníka a rebelovy dcery, je zdarma ke stažení. Snad se bude líbit. Doporučil bych číst po knize, ale obsahuje jen mizivé množství spoilerů a měla by snad dávat jistý smysl i samostatně, takže kdo chce ochutnávku z mého dílka, nic mu nebrání.
Záhada v Ashcroft Manor je zdarma ke stažení na Kosmasu.”
Bonus
Zdarma
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