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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
“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”
Fear
“Simon looks over at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“What?!” he shouts. He can’t hear a thing I’m saying over the wind and the engine and the classic rock.
“I hate this fucking car!” I shout back.
“The sun is burning me! I might actually catch fire, at any moment!” The wind is blowing Simon’s hair straight, and he’s squinting—from the sun and from all the smiling.
“What!” he shouts at me again.
“You’re so beautiful!” I shout back.
He turns the radio down, so now there’s just the wind and the engine noise to shout over.
“What’d you say?!”
“Nothing!”
Rainbow Rowell
Simon Snow
Snowbaz
Wayward Son
Baz Pitch
“If you say a fire, it will not burn you but if you touch a fire it will burn you”
Fire
Touch
Burn
Life And Sayings
Winterwood
“It's like a fairytale suspended in time-the princess forgotten, the hero eaten whole by a noble Fir goblin. The story ended, but no one remembered to burn the haunted forest to the ground.”
Fantasy
Fairytale
Haunted Forest
There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN: A Dark Lord's Diary:
“Burn the witch!” will always be a simpler option than, “Raise a very, very large army, cross the abysmal hells cape, battle an op- posing very, very large army, and try to figure out some way to kill the Dark Lord!” And it’s significantly more efficient to chant, as well.”
Humor
Dark Humor
Witch Hunt
Dark Lord
Humorous Fantasy
Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe
“Men wore business suits and carried briefcases, while their wives, who were attractive but not sexy, stayed home, raised the kids, cleaned the house and had a meal on the table for the whole family when they arrived home. Both husband and wife knew their roles. The wife would only apply face cream after ‘congress’ was completed and the husband was asleep as it was considered that it could be shocking for a man to view his wife this way last thing at night. She would be compliant and forgiving if he suggested some of the more ‘unusual’ sexual practices, although she might register hesitancy by remaining silent.
The Hippies rebelled against this, growing their hair long, burning their draft cards, taking hallucinogenic drugs and indulging in ‘free love,’ which in reality was just another term to describe the notion that all the girls were up for it.”
1960s
Free Love
1960s Nostalgia
Sex In The 60s
The Tyrant’s Tomb
“I keeled over sideways.
The world turned fluffy, bleached of all color. Nothing hurt anymore.
I was dimly aware of Diana’s face hovering over me, Meg and Hazel peering over the goddess’s shoulders.
“He’s almost gone,” Diana said.
Then I was gone. My mind slipped into a pool of cold, slimy darkness.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” My sister’s voice woke me rudely.
I’d been so comfortable, so nonexistent.
Life surged back into me—cold, sharp, and unfairly painful. Diana’s face came into focus. She looked annoyed, which seemed on-brand for her.
As for me, I felt surprisingly good. The pain in my gut was gone. My muscles didn’t burn. I could breathe without difficulty. I must have slept for decades.
“H-how long was I out?” I croaked.
“Roughly three seconds,” she said. “Now, get up, drama queen.”
She helped me to my feet. I felt a bit unsteady, but I was delighted to find that my legs had any strength at all. My skin was no longer gray. The lines of infection were gone. The Arrow of Dodona was still in my hand, though he had gone silent, perhaps in awe of the goddess’s presence. Or perhaps he was still trying to get the taste of “Sweet Caroline” out of his imaginary mouth.
I beamed at my sister. It was so good to see her disapproving I-can’t-believe-you’re-my-brother frown again. “I love you,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.
She blinked, clearly unsure what to do with this information. “You really have changed.”
“I missed you!”
“Y-yes, well. I’m here now. Even Dad couldn’t argue with a Sibylline invocation from Temple Hill.”
“It worked, then!” I grinned at Hazel and Meg. “It worked!”
“Yeah,” Meg said wearily. “Hi, Artemis.”
“Diana,” my sister corrected. “But hello, Meg.” For her, my sister had a smile. “You’ve done well, young warrior.”
Meg blushed. She kicked at the scattered zombie dust on the floor and shrugged. “Eh.”
I checked my stomach, which was easy, since my shirt was in tatters. The bandages had vanished, along with the festering wound. Only a thin white scar remained. “So…I’m healed?” My flab told me she hadn’t restored me to my godly self. Nah, that would have been too much to expect.
Diana raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not the goddess of healing, but I’m still a goddess. I think I can take care of my little brother’s boo-boos.”
“Little brother?”
She smirked.”
Siblings
Apollo
Hazel Levesque
Diana
Meg Mccaffrey
Lester Papadopoulos
Boo Boo
The Arrow Of Dodona
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
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
“Chapter Six: Mistress of Red
From underneath from hellish bowels,
She lives the torment she shrieks and howls.
A damned flame of volcanic intent,
Seeks a city where her hatred may vent.
Underneath the bow of vaulted earth,
This spirit breaks from infernoed perch.
Circles the span of inward woe,
From beneath the caverns does she go.
She seeks the city she may destroy,
To lie in ruins for her ploy.
From lofty plume of sordid ash,
She delights to see her cuts and gash.
Vulcania Draconis, spirit of bitter ’ire,
Rings the earth with her dredful fires.
Horrendous demon from Vulcan’s forge,
Lays waste to the earth, her inhabitants engorged.
Mighty Pompeii knew her ways,
Scoffed at her threats and would not pay.
In vindiction’s rage hissed she their doom,
Cast them alive within their tombs.
And Krakatoa and Mycenae,
They would not yield, she laid them waste.
An extortioness, royal supreme,
To conquer or destroy, her consummate dream.
How this evil one sets her pace,
Rings sweet earth in her death’s nec-lace.
Far from below she blasts her smoke,
To cover their eyes until they choke.
At her command cities fall and swell,
Earthquake, tidal wave, gives masses to hell.
This spirit from the blackest pit,
Broods deep on those she kiss.
She comes to seek those to enslave,
To fuel her bowels, her booty in trade.
The pride and ruination of nations and men,
Seeks souls and bodies to ambition her ends.
Now this licking creature of red-hot glow,
Sends her heat to make fumerals.
Damns the many and damns the one,
As empires burn when her rage is done.
A vengeful spirit, Draconis is,
Smiles so pleasant as victims drop in.
Opens her shotted eyes in mirth,
To hear the screams of their heated death lurch.
This diabolic holds much potent sway,
Seeks for victims as ground gives way.
She holds the riddle to the land,
And holds it she must for her time is at hand.
Had learned she now that Kari had come,
That timeless conflict again begun.
“Never did I see one I could not coerce,
But now a convolcation of power, a tour de force.”
Suppressed regret ruminated throughout,
Yet shreds of fear left no doubt.
“I will finish what was started here in mmy land,
Beyond records treatise once we did stand.
Past all memories, hmm, even so,
Before myth began and Rome’s trumpets blowed.
I will shatter her like earthenware because I mmust,
She tasks mme this creature, mmy hate it is just.
Wounded mme she did, her preysence calls,
If nothing else, ha I will hurt her if I faullt.”
On Vulcania Draconis, Kari's Diabolical Enemy
Cold Steel Eternity Vol. ii”
Poetry
Meditation
Heroine
Drama
Martial Arts
Action Adventure
Valkyries
“What’s the burn rate on your anger?”
Anger
Motivational
Ceo
Keynote Speaker
Inspirational Author
Dissolution
“She cast about for her next adversary. She didn't seem to have one. The fight was over, and the few surviving hobgoblins were running away.
"Form up!" she shouted. "I want a column with the traders in the middle. Fast!"
Once the procession was under way, Aunrae, striding along at Greyanna's side, asked, "May I know where we're going? An ally's castle?"
"No," Greyanna replied. "I suspect we couldn't get in. We're going to hide our charges in Bauthwaf."
The column crept past corpses and burning stone, and as they made their way to the cavern wall, other commoners came running out of their homes to join the procession. Greyanna's first impulse was to turn away those without ties to House Mizzrym, but she thought better of it. Many of the newcomers carried swords, and she could press the dolts into martial service if needed.
Occasionally someone collapsed, coughing feebly, poisoned by the stinging smoke. The rest stepped over her and pressed on.
Someone gave a thin, high cry, as if at an unexpected pain. Greyanna spun around. The goblins weren't attacking. Her client the canoe maker had simply seized his opportunity to knife another male in the back.
"A competitor," the craftsman explained.”
Magic
Betrayal
Fantasy
Forgotten Realms
Dark Elf
Drow
Spider Queen
Buried in the Sky: The Extraordinary Story of the Sherpa Climbers on K2's Deadliest Day
“...[B]uddhists prefer to cremate the dead. The smoke carries the spirit to the sacred realm above...When someone dies above the timberline and it's hard to find firewood, a sky burial substitues for cremation. Although outsiders consider sky burials barbaric, [to Buddhists] this was the sacred wqy to free the soul. During a sky burial, Buddhist lamas or others with religious authority carry the body to a platform on a hill. While burning incense and reciting mantras, they hack the corpse into chunks and slices. They pound the bones with a rock or hammer, beating the flesh into a pulp and mixing in tea, butter, and milk. The preparation attracts vultures, and the birds consume the carcass, carrying the spirit aloft and burying it in the sky, where it belongs.” (Buried in the Sky: The Extraordinary Story of the Sherpa Climbers on K2's Deadliest Day, p. 103)”
Buddhism
Mountaineering
K2
Sky Burial
Team Pursuit
“We live together in the amphitheatre of high-performing sport. We love. We hate. We contest. We cuddle. But this here is street-level. We’re just two blokes jostling for power. I didn’t think I wanted the rank. I’ve been his beloved underling for eight years. He’s shared everything with me: his captaincy, his family life, and even, fuck, his wife. But in the last 20 minutes, I’ve taken over from him without consultation, almost without a thought. I just took the lightsabre out of his hand. I may as well have taken his number-five jumper and burned it on the cross, too. Jerome Kremers, book 2, TEAM PURSUIT”
Australian Sport
Residual Burn
“Lifetime called. They want their movie of the week back.”
Humor
Funny
Lifetime
Romance Book Quotes
Cheesy
Lmn
Residual Burn
“The man was so sexy she understood why every member of the double X-carrying chromosome imitated saran wrap in his presence.”
Humor
Attractiveness
Sexy
First Meet
Residual Burn
“Son of a nutcracker.”
Humor
Romance Novels
Cursing
Swear
Sensoring
Residual Burn
“Peachy. Alrighty, then. She’d just get in her car, run home to check her clothes, hair, and makeup, walk across the street to Jason’s apartment, knock on his door, stare at his masculine hotness in stupid adoration, probably insert her foot into her mouth fifty-five times in under five minutes, then go back to her place and relive the embarrassment all night long while replaying what she should’ve done or said had she been a sophisticated woman, instead of a blundering moron.
Done and done. Piece of cake.”
Humor
Confused
Babbling
Nervous
First Meet
The Sunrise's Commandment
“Fire needs to burn itself in order to burn anything else, it must carry injury in its core before it gives it to the rest of the world, there lies it weakness. - The Weakness of Evil”
Cruelty
Evil People
Goodness And Evil
Evil Quotes
Evil Words
Evils
Being Cruel
The Monsters We Deserve
“Orwell's vision of our terrible future was that world - the world in which books are banned or burned. Yet it is not the most terrifying world I can think of. I think instead of Huxley [...] I think of his Brave New World. His vision was the more terrible, especially now because it appears to be rapidly coming true, whereas the world of 1984 did not. What is Huxley's horrific vision? It is a world where there is no need for books to be banned, because no one can be bothered to read one.”
Books
Reading
Brave New World
1984
Banned Books
The Monsters We Deserve
Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors
“Let's get her to her room. She'll be fine." This time she didn't care how harsh she sounded.
"Why don't we let a doctor decide that?" he said, so coolly he couldn't possibly be messing with her... could he?
"A doctor
is
deciding that. So if you don't mind." She pushed him out of the way and grabbed her sister's am. The action made her feel like she was six and playing at being doctor instead of actually being one, and that shot her rioting emotions right into intense annoyance.
"I'm sorry," he said utterly unapologetically. "How could I forget?" And then she could swear he muttered, "The worth of your hands and all that," under his breath.
She couldn't remember the last time her ears had heated with embarrassment. What was it with him getting so hung up on that? Her hands
were
worth too much to burn on saving a pot of caramel. Why was that so hard to understand? He should be glad- she was going to save his sister's life, for shit's sake.
"That's okay," she said, then she matched his mumble with, "It's not like you need a photographic memory to cook food.”
Dj Caine
Trisha And Dj
Trisha Raje
Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors
“Well, you did walk away from that beautiful creature in the kitchen without so much as a glance, so I don't know about the genius part," the other woman said, and DJ felt his face warm. "You want to go back in there? I'll introduce you. You can celebrate for real."
Both women broke into giggles. DJ almost smiled; maybe he'd overreacted in there a bit.
"No thank you," the good doctor said in that voice of hers. "But thanks for thinking I'm desperate enough to be set up with the hired help."
DJ stepped away from the door, the warmth on his face turning into an angry burn.
The hired help?
He had worked at a Michelin-starred restaurant, for crying out loud. For years. People across Paris knew his name.
Who the bloody hell did this woman think she was? Sometimes he really, truly hated rich people.”
Snob
Hired
Trisha And Dj
Trisha Raje
Cat's Eye
“The north smells different from the city: clearer, thinner. You can see farther. A sawmill, a hill of sawdust, the teepee shape of a sawdust burner; the smokestacks of the copper smelters, the rocks around them bare of trees, burnt-looking, the heaps of blackened slag: I’ve forgotten about these things all winter, but here they are again, and when I see them I remember them, I know them, I greet them as if they are home.”
Canada
North
Ontario
“As historian Albert L. Hurtado wrote, "War, pestilence, and famine blow books around the planet like so many hostages to uncertain fortune. Thieves steal, vandals deface, pious clergy burn, and worms eat books. Whether threatened by worms or war, there is nothing permanent about books and libraries.”
Books
Vulnerability
Impermanence
Libraries
Transitory
Temporary Life Of Books
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