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My Dearest Breena, They will remember us. Long after these wars have been mourned and then forgotten long after Summer and Winter fairies lay aside their rancor for one another and forget that they have ever tasted hatred they will remember – Summer fairies and Winter too – of a fairy king who loved his queen. - Prince Kian ↗
You know," she said, pulling back from his neck. "I've always been wrong about something." "And that is?" "I thought there was nothing in the world more seductive than a troubadour singing his observations about his lady love. But I was wrong." She trailed her fingernail down his arm, raising chills in its wake. "The most incredible seduction is when a knight who is renowned for his strength speaks from his heart. Not as a knave out to woo a woman because he can, but as a man who wants only to give of himself." Her gaze seared him as she stared into his eyes and he saw her innermost sincerity. "I love you, Stryder. I always will." -Stryder and Rowena ↗
I couldn't save Kataoka. "If I loved him, I had to grant him his last wish. "So I told him what he wanted to hear. "I said, 'No, you're no longer human.'" I hadn't been able to say anything. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, I couldn't understand a word of what Miu was telling me. "Kataoka smiled kindly. "Like he was thanking me. "Then he jumped off the roof. "Osamu Dazai and I killed him. ↗
Ella se consideraba a sí misma como un cometa navegando en el viento y, asustada de su propio motín interior, cedía a veces a la tentación de pensar en alguien que pusiera freno a sus impulsos; pero esos estados de ánimo le duraban poco. Cuando meditaba en su futuro se tornaba melancólica, por eso prefería vivir desaforada mientras le fuera posible. ↗
#love
Finally when he climbed below deck after dark, wondering where his dinner was, perhaps with a storm come up and rough seas and blinding rains, I'd sulk and lure him into the warm and steamy darkness and from the hairs of his warm body I'd breed a myriad smiling, sparkle-eyed one-year-olds, my broods, my flocks. In the churning seas, below the waves, together inside our hammock woven in coarse sailcloth by Unguentine's deft hands, a spherical webbed sack which hung and swivelled between the two walls of our bedroom, we would spin round and round with lapping tongues and the soft suction of lips, whirling, our amorous centrifuge, all night long, zipped inside against the elements. Now, years and years later, those nights, the thought and touch of them is enough to make me throw myself down on the ground and roll in the dust like a hen nibbled by mites, generating clouds, stars and all the rest. ↗
