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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
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
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
“Empty streets are a blessing for you because an empty street whips your thoughts and makes you question your life! He who wants to dive into his own depths, let him wander in the empty streets!”
Empty
Streets
Mehmet Murat Ildan Quotes
Street
Street Quotations
Street Quotes
Streets Quotes
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Society inures us to acts of immorality and decadence. We passively accept violence and exploitation as part of the cultural normative. When the Wall Street Kings crashed their money mobile, Congress was quick to pass bailout bills. How many of these same Congressmen and Wall Street millionaires do you think ever reached into their pocket to buy a homeless person a sandwich?”
Violence
Homeless
Decadence
Immorality
Immoral
Homeless People
Immoral Act
Immoral Virtue
Intimiteit
“Als ik mij identificeer met - beter: als ik mij vervreemd op grond van - beelden en idealen die ingaan tegen mijn lichaam, dan is mijn buik de eerste lichaamsregio die protest aantekent, lang vooraleer ik bewust besef wat er aan de hand is. Onze (onder)buik is een lichaamsregio waar affecten voelbaar worden, wat we kunnen terugvinden in de wijsheid van onze taal: "het ligt zwaar op mijn maag", "ik doe het in mijn broek van angst", "er ligt iets op mijn lever". Wanneer ik daar geen gehoor aan geef en ondanks de protesten verderga op de ingeslagen weg, worden de signalen dwingender en verschuift protest van ongemak naar pijn en vervolgens naar ziekte.
Mijn lijf tekent protest aan - het doet pijn. Geef ik daar gehoor aan? Bij gebrek aan een goede afstemming op mijn lichaam doe ik dat niet. Het kan nog erger: vanuit het concurrentieprincipe kan ik zelfs nog een stap verdergaan en de pijn die ik voel als deel van het "offer" beschouwen dat ik moet brengen om een ideale vrouw of man te worden, als een te bepalen prijs om succesvol te zijn. Een dergelijke interpretatie van pijn illustreert hoe vervreemding erin slaagt ons een voor de hand liggende betekenis van signalen te doen negeren of zelfs om te keren. Pijn lezen als een aanmoediging om nog harder door te gaan op de ingeslagen weg - veel gekker hoeft het niet te worden.”
Offer
Succès
Pijn
Taal
Vervreemding
Inbeelding
Ziekte
Concurrentie
Ongemak
Intimiteit
“Wie deel uitmaakt van een groep die een doel nastreeft, voelt zich opleven en blijkt plots tot veel meer in staat dan hij of zij voordien mogelijk achtte. Het leven wordt zinvoller en vreugdevoller. Maar net zoals bij genot schuilt ook hier hetzelfde addertje onder het gras. Elke vorm van zingeving kan ontsporen tot een monomane, dogmatische gekte, ten koste van zichzelf en anderen. Gezonde voeding promoten, met het accent op minder vlees en meer groenten, is zonder twijfel een goed idee. Slagers bedreigen is een stap te ver. Als zich inzetten voor een betere wereld betekent dat andersdenkenden geëlimineerd moeten worden, dan botsen we op een andere waanzin.”
Waanzin
Vreugde
Genot
Gekte
Groep
Monomanie
Ontsporen
Zingeving
Intimiteit
“Mensen kunnen helpen, binnen een rechtstreeks contact, is een van de zaken die ons het meest gelukkig maken. Zorg voor onszelf loopt via zorg voor de ander, bij uitbreiding, via zorg voor de gemeenschap.”
Contact
Direct
Ander
Hulp
Geluk
Gemeenschap
Zorg
Pearls Before Swine
“If being transgender were a job, no-one would apply.
Imagine actually applying to be an outcast everywhere you go, feeling out of place even inside your own body, even when looking in a mirror, at old family photo albums, being continually denied by family members you held dear, being barely recognized or even acknowledged by old acquaintances, school or college friends, and taking the brunt of bigotry and spitefulness from colleagues and supervisors?
Does being excluded from family events, work parties, and being constantly attacked by religious groups and people sound like fun? How about constantly wondering if you will wake up with civil rights the next morning, or if you will be arrested or beaten up or murdered in the streets by someone you don’t know, or in your own home by someone you do know? How about the likelihood that your family would dress your dead body as someone else they would prefer you to have been for your memorial service, while dead-naming you and disrespecting the person you were and the things you had accomplished in your life? Sound like the job for you? Apply within.
If there was a CHOICE, then my dears, EVERYONE would walk away.”
Go
Imagine
Transgender
Even
If
No One Would Apply
Outcast Everywhere
Pearls Before Swine
“Life is a two way street – and sometimes there are collisions”
Life
Street
There Are Collisions
Harry's Trees
“Look at all the books in this place. Every one of them is inside you. And you're inside them."
"Sweetheart. It's a
public
library, not my private library. It needs people."
"They got out of the habit is all."
"The world has changed."
"No, everybody needs a story, Miss Perkins. That's something that never, ever changes.”
Books
Stories
Libraries
Public Libraries
The Fish That Climbed a Tree
“Awash with trepidation, he was suddenly on the mattress, lured like an errant sailor onto a siren’s rocky shore.”
Sex
Lust
Lustful
Virginity
First Time
Seduced
Sexy Humor
Seductiontion
How to Be Alone
“On the other hand, some of the family’s impatience with the public is justified. When I use Federal Express, I accept as a condition of business that its standardized forms must be filled out in printed letters. An e-mail address off by a single character goes nowhere. Transposing two digits in a phone number gets me somebody speaking heatedly in Portuguese. Electronic media tell you instantly when you’ve made an error; with the post office, you have to wait. Haven’t we all at some point tested its humanity? I send mail to friends in Upper Molar, New York (they live in Upper Nyack), and expect a stranger to laugh and deliver it in forty-eight hours. More often than not, the stranger does. With its mission of universal service, the Postal Service is like an urban emergency room contractually obligated to accept every sore throat, pregnancy, and demented parent that comes its way. You may have to wait for hours in a dimly lit corridor. The staff may be short-tempered and dilatory. But eventually you will get treated. In the Central Post Office’s Nixie unit—where mail arrives that has been illegibly or incorrectly addressed—I see street numbers in the seventy thousands; impossible pairings of zip codes and streets; addresses without a name, without a street, without a city; addresses that consist of the description of a building; addresses written in water-based ink that rain has blurred. Skilled Nixie clerks study the orphans one at a time. Either they find a home for them or they apply that most expressive of postal markings, the vermilion finger of accusation that lays the blame squarely on you, the sender.”
Post Office
Emergency Room
“What a joy it is to see, trees dancing in the rain!”
Joy
Trees
Dancing In The Rain
The Magic Christmas Ornament
“They stopped right in front of a grandfather tree with a deep knothole between two arm-like branches. The kids glanced at each other, but did not speak a word.”
Family
Magic
Wonder
Christmas
Holidays
Christmas Spirit
Family Traditions
The Magic Christmas Ornament
“I followed the footprints until they stopped in front of a very old mysterious tree - a grandfather tree”
Family
Trees
Christmas
Holidays
Christmas Tree
Christmas Trees
Christmas Traditions
Family Traditions
“Discharging cargo in the ports along the coast of South Africa went faster than loading it, but from Durban up to Dar es Salaam, hoping to save a little time not to mention port costs, we frequently did both at the same time, in these quaint little harbors along the coast,
By now some of these ports had become old hat to me and so I volunteered to stay aboard. This way I could make some overtime pay by covering for some of the other mates, who wanted to go ashore.
When we finally got to Dar es Salaam and I was informed that we would be there for a few days, I took advantage of the situation and finally went ashore. One of my favorite places in this British owned, colonial town was the “New Africa Hotel.“ It had an open air courtyard in the middle of the building, with wild monkeys swinging through the trees making loud blood curdling noises. Although the rooms were not air-conditioned, they were open to a constant breeze coming in off the Indian Ocean.
In the 1950’s, all of the beds had mosquito netting to keep the pesky winged vampires out and to prevent getting malaria; which most of us got anyway.”
Africa
Mma Captain Hank Bracker
Sea Stories
Sexy Humor
Dar Es Salaam
Mosquitoes
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
Darkest Night
“Tree: I'm Tree.
Jayfeather: You're the six-toed cat.
Alderheart: How did you guess?
Jayfeather: Why else would Leafpool make so much drama of bringing us out?”
Humor
Tree
Jayfeather
Darkest Night
“Tree: My name is Tree. I didn't mean to tease. I didn't realize it would upset you.
Violetpaw: My name is Violetpaw.
Tree: That's a pretty name.
Violetpaw: Don't start flirting again!
Tree: I'm not. It's just a pretty name. Most cats I meet are named Rocky or Snake or something dumb like that. My name's Tree.”
Romance
Humor
Tree
Names
Violetpaw
Darkest Night
“Violetpaw: She brought me here to meet you.
Tree: That was kind of her. Perhaps she thinks we're soulmates.
Violetpaw: Soulmates?
Tree: It is kind of romantic, don't you think? The moonlight? The heather?
Violetpaw: Romantic? Do you flirt with every strange cat you meet?
Tree: Only the ones who appear in the middle of the night claiming a ghost brought them.”
Romance
Humor
Tree
Violetpaw
Fireflies
“She is a rose filled guitar sitting by the ocean. Both a cat’s ‘purr’ along with the ‘hiss’. And lastly, a love poem carved into an old birch tree.”
Love
Poem
Rose
Beach
Ocean
Cat
Guitar
Love Poem
Birch Tree
There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN: A Dark Lord's Diary:
“Punching your companions is unhelpful. Go into the forest and practice unarmed combat against a tree.”
Anger
Forest
Tree
Companions
Practice
Aggravation
Punching
Unarmed Combat
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Am I alone in an ensconced inner world where I obsessively worry about what happens to me, where the story of personal survival becomes the central theme of my shallow existence? I think not. Swaddled in our own brand of strangeness, we all struggle to come to terms with our demonstrated personal shortcomings. Our yearned-for life of living in pink skyways far removed from harm’s way is depressingly marked in contrast by our actual crabby existence spent scuttling along akin to a smug lobster, scrunched down on the asphalt streets, working in the city grid as frumpy members of the faceless mob.”
Meaning Of Life
Alienation
Meaningful Living
Existential Crisis
Existential Angst
Existentialist
Existential Questions
Existential Anguish
Existential Alienation
An American Childhood
“I was flying. My shoulders loosened, my stride opened, my heart banged the base of my throat. I crossed Carnegie and ran up the block waving my arms. I crossed Lexington and ran up the block waving my arms.
A linen-suited woman in her fifties did meet my exultant eye. She looked exultant herself, seeing me from far up the block. Her face was thin and tanned. We converged. Her warm, intelligent glance said she knew what I was doing- not because she herself had been a child but because she herself took a few loose aerial turns around her apartment every night for the hell of it, and by day played along with the rest of the world and took the streetcar. So Teresa of Avila checked her unseemly joy and hung on to the altar rail to hold herself down. The woman's smiling, deep glance seemed to read my own awareness from my face, so we passed on the sidewalk- a beautifully upright woman walking in her tan linen suit, a kid running and flapping her arms- we passed on the sidewalk with a look of accomplices who share a humor just beyond irony. What's a heart for?”
Pittsburgh
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That
tion
Tion
thin
with
With
ever
here
have
ting
There
will
To Be
ally
People
Real
It Is
less
Live
Then
Pers
Could
Where
Call
Light
Body
Everything
Nigh
Kind
Ship