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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #ya
I trail my fingers across his cheek. He stays perfectly still for me. "Please stop apologizing, Etienne." "Say my name again," he whispers. I close my eyes and lean forward. "Etienne." He takes my hands into his. Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so. "Anna?" Our foreheads touch. "Yes?" "Will you please tell me you love me? I'm dying here." And then we're laughing. And then I'm in his arms, and we're kissing, at first quickly - to make up for lost time - and then slowly, because we have all the time in the world. And his lips are soft and honey sweet, and the careful, passionate way he moves them against my own says that he savors the way I taste, too. And in between kisses, I tell him I love him. Again and again and again. ↗
#etienne-and-anna #love #romance #ya #love
Now when Túrin learnt from Finduilas of what had passed, he was wrathful, and he said to Gwindor: 'In love I hold you for your rescue and sake-keeping. But now you have done ill to me, friend, to betray my right name, and call my doom upon me, from which I would lie hid.' But Gwindor answered: 'The doom lies in yourself, not in your name. ↗
Lucas beobachtete, wie Helen aus dem Haus rannte und in Claires Wagen sprang. Sie sah erschöpft und ausgezehrt aus, aber das Lächeln, mit dem sie Claire begrüßte, was leuchtend und wunderschön und voller Liebe. So war Helen eben. Auch wenn sie selbst litt, hatte sie diese beinahe magische Fähigkeit, anderen ihr Herz zu öffnen. Nur in ihrer Nähe zu sein, reichte bereits aus, dass er sich geliebt fühlte, auch wenn er wusste, dass ihre Liebe nicht mehr ihm galt. An diesem Morgen hatte sie ihn wieder beinahe erwischt, und er hatte mittlerweile den Verdacht, dass er ihr Angst machte. Irgendwie konnte sie ihn immer noch spüren. Lucas musste herausfinden, woran das lag, denn er würde ganz sicher nicht aufhören, sie zu bewachen. Nicht, bis er sicher war, dass Automedon endgültig verschwunden war. Claire und Helen fingen beim Losfahren an, zu singen und verunstalteten einen seiner Lieblingssongs von Bob Marley. Helen sang wirklich grauenhaft. Das war eines der Dinge, die er besonders an ihr mochte. Jedes Mal, wenn sie losjaulte, wie eine getretene Katze, wollte er sie am liebsten in den Arm nehmen und küssen. ↗
I lived in New York City back in the 1980s, which is when the Bordertown series was created. New York was a different place then -- dirtier, edgier, more dangerous, but also in some ways more exciting. The downtown music scene was exploding -- punk and folk music were everywhere -- and it wasn't as expensive to live there then, so a lot of young artists, musicians, writers, etc. etc. were all living and doing crazy things in scruffy neighborhoods like the East Village. I was a Fantasy Editor for a publishing company back then -- but in those days, "fantasy" to most people meant "imaginary world" books, like Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. A number of the younger writers in the field, however, wanted to create a branch of fantasy that was rooted in contemporary, urban North America, rather than medieval or pastoral Europe. I'd already been working with some of these folks (Charles de Lint, Emma Bull, etc.), who were writing novels that would become the foundations for the current Urban Fantasy field. At the time, these kinds of stories were considered so strange and different, it was actually hard to get them into print. When I was asked by a publishing company to create a shared-world anthology for Young Adult readers, I wanted to create an Urban Fantasy setting that was something like a magical version of New York...but I didn't want it to actually be New York. I want it to be any city and every city -- a place that anyone from anywhere could go to or relate to. The idea of placing it on the border of Elfland came from the fact that I'd just re-read a fantasy classic called The King of Elfland's Daughter by the Irish writer Lord Dunsany. I love stories that take place on the borderlands between two different worlds...and so I borrowed this concept, but adapted it to a modern, punky, urban setting. I drew upon elements of the various cities I knew best -- New York, Boston, London, Dublin, maybe even a little of Mexico City, where I'd been for a little while as a teen -- and scrambled them up and turned them into Bordertown. There actually IS a Mad River in southern Ohio (where I went to college) and I always thought that was a great name, so I imported it to Bordertown. As for the water being red, that came from the river of blood in the Scottish folk ballad "Thomas the Rhymer," which Thomas must cross to get into Elfland. [speaking about the Borderland series she "founded" and how she came up with the setting. Link to source; Q&A with Holly, Ellen & Terri!] ↗
മണലിൽ പണിതവനും ശിലയിൽ പണിതവനും എന്നൊക്കെ ക്രിസ്തു പറയുന്നതിനിടയിലെ അകലമാണിത്. അറിവ് ഒരു മണൽക്കൂമ്പാരമാണ്. അതിനുമുകളിൽ ക്രിസ്തുവിനോടുള്ള നിലപാടിന്റെ വീട് പണിയുകയാണെങ്കിൽ നാളെ തീർച്ചയായും കാറ്റും മഴയുമുണ്ടാകുമ്പോൾ അതിളകിത്തുടങ്ങും. വ്യത്യസ്തമോവിപരീതമോ ആയ ഏറ്റവും ചെറിയ അറിവുപോലും കാറ്റായും മഴയായും മാറി ഭവനത്തെ ഉലയ്ക്കും. എന്നാൽ, അനുഭവങ്ങളുടെ ശിലമേൽ വീടുപണിയുക. കാറ്റും മഴയുമൊന്നും ആർക്കും ഒഴിവാക്കാനാവില്ല. പക്ഷേ, അതിനെയും അതിജീവിക്കാൻ ഈ ശിലയ്ക്ക് കെല്പുണ്ട്. നാളെ ജീവിതത്തിൽ അനർത്ഥങ്ങളുടെ അഗ്നിമഴ പെയ്താലും ദൈവം സ്നേഹമാണെന്ന അനുഭവദാർഢ്യങ്ങളെ ഉലയ്ക്കാൻ അവമതിയാവുന്നില്ല. ↗
പുറത്തിത്രയും മമതകള് മുഴുവന് ആടയാഭരണങ്ങളും അണിഞ്ഞ് കൈകൊട്ടി വിളിച്ചിട്ടും നിങ്ങളുടെ ഉറ്റവര് എന്തുകൊണ്ട് വീട് വിട്ടിറങ്ങി പോകുന്നില്ല , എന്തുകൊണ്ട് നിങ്ങളുടെ കൗമാരകാരനായ മകന് മദ്യപിക്കുന്നില ല് ,പെണ്കുട്ടി പ്രണയത്തിന്റെ മായ പങ്കാളിയെ ചുറ്റിപിടിച്ചു പുലരിയോളം നൃത്തം ചവിട്ടുന്നില്ല ,പുറത്തേക്ക് പോകാന് ഉയര്ത്തിയ പാദങ്ങള് ഒരു നിലവിളിയോടെ താഴ്ത്തി അവര്ട് ഉള്ളിലേക്ക് ഓടിപോയതെന്തുകൊണ്. രണ്ടു പേര്ക്കിടയില് സംഭവിച്ചതതാണ് , ശരിയായ രണ്ടു പേര് തെറ്റായ ഒരു കാലത്തില് കണ്ടു മുട്ടുകയെന്നു പറയുന്നതുപോലെ .ആരോ ചിലര് കുറുകെ കടക്കാനുള്ള വൈമുഖ്യം കൊണ്ട് അവര് അങ്ങനെ നിന്ന് പോയതാണ് .അങ്ങനെതന്നെയായ ിരിന്നോ അതുവേണ്ടിയിരുന്നതെന്ന് പറയാനുള്ള ധൈര്യമോന്നുമില്ല. ദൈവമേ, ഈ വാതില് പടികള് എന്തുകൊണ്ടാണ് നീ ഉണ്ടാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നത് ... ? തടി തരങ്ങള് കൊണ്ടല്ല എന്ന് വരുമോ ..? നിങ്ങളുടെ സ്നേഹം ഒരു കടമ്പയായി കുറുകെ കിടക്കുമ്പോള് ആര്ക്കാണ് പുറത്തു കടക്കാനാവുക .. ↗
North Korea is a famine state. In the fields, you can see people picking up loose grains of rice and kernels of corn, gleaning every scrap. They look pinched and exhausted. In the few, dingy restaurants in the city, and even in the few modern hotels, you can read the Pyongyang Times through the soup, or the tea, or the coffee. Morsels of inexplicable fat or gristle are served as 'duck.' One evening I gave in and tried a bowl of dog stew, which at least tasted hearty and spicy—they wouldn't tell me the breed—but then found my appetite crucially diminished by the realization that I hadn't seen a domestic animal, not even the merest cat, in the whole time I was there. ↗
My friend Wicker once said to be careful what and how you say what you’re really thinking to a woman. After much screwing up in that department with Emma, I’ve learned it’s not what you should hide, but what you say that makes her react the way she does. If I am unable to make myself clear, as I so often do, it’s more likely going to go to pot if I try to explain how I really feel. Instead, I rework in my brain what she needs to hear. I don’t always nail it, but I’m getting better at it. And it’s always the truth even if it isn’t how I see it. Is it deceiving? No. It’s being considerate and aware that she is an emotional creature, and that for some crazy reason, craves my attention. I love to make her happy. My jumbled up mess of a mind isn’t important in the long run if it just confuses her. So I chose words carefully. When something goes right, I use it over and over again. -Ames ↗
An old man sat down beside her. "Well, aren't you a pretty little peach?" His breath smelled near as foul as the dead men in the cages, and his little pig eyes were crawling up and down her. "Does my sweet peach have a name?" For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn't any peach, but she couldn't be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. "I'm . . ." "She's my sister." Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder, and squeezed. "Leave her be." The man turned, spoiling for a quarrel, but when he saw Gendry's size he thought better of it. "You sister, is she? What kind of brother are you? I'd never bring no sister of mine to the Peach, that I wouldn't." He got up from the bench and moved off muttering, in search of a new friend. "Why did you say that?" Arya hopped to her feet, "You're not my brother." "That's right," he said angrily. "I'm too bloody lowborn to be kin to m'lady high." Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. "That's not the way I mean it." "Yes it is." He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. "Go away. I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I'll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her." "But . . ." "I said, go away. M'lady." Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that's all he is. He could ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her. ↗
