Aberdeen Quotes

Man is the Reasoning Animal. Such is the claim. I think it is open to dispute. Indeed, my experiments have proven to me that he is the Unreasoning Animal... In truth, man is incurably foolish. Simple things which other animals easily learn, he is incapable of learning. Among my experiments was this. In an hour I taught a cat and a dog to be friends. I put them in a cage. In another hour I taught them to be friends with a rabbit. In the course of two days I was able to add a fox, a goose, a squirrel and some doves. Finally a monkey. They lived together in peace; even affectionately. Next, in another cage I confined an Irish Catholic from Tipperary, and as soon as he seemed tame I added a Scotch Presbyterian from Aberdeen. Next a Turk from Constantinople; a Greek Christian from Crete; an Armenian; a Methodist from the wilds of Arkansas; a Buddhist from China; a Brahman from Benares. Finally, a Salvation Army Colonel from Wapping. Then I stayed away for two whole days. When I came back to note results, the cage of Higher Animals was all right, but in the other there was but a chaos of gory odds and ends of turbans and fezzes and plaids and bones and flesh--not a specimen left alive. These Reasoning Animals had disagreed on a theological detail and carried the matter to a Higher Court.

If we don’t make out of this alive, Sophie Price, I want you to know that I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. You’re it for me.

No need to flatter me, Miss Price. I believe your bait worked. I’m hooked. Line and sinker.

My god, he’s the one who gets the girls? What? Is he made of chocolate or something?

Note to self, Ian is happiest when in dangerous situations.

I was not staring at you,” he told his plate. I leaned over. “Did you hear that, Dingane’s lunch? He was not staring at you.” He looked up at me crossly. “I was not staring at you.” “I never said you were.” “I was merely explaining that Henry was exaggerating. I did not stare at you.” “Okay,” I stated, implying in my tone that he had done just that. “I didn’t. I-I wasn’t.” “I believe you,” I told him “I may have looked at you a few times to make sure you were doing your job.” “Oh, I see then.” “But I certainly wasn’t staring.” “We’ve established that you were not staring.” He breathed deeply a few times, his eyes burning into mine. “Good.” He’d definitely been staring.

Prepare yourself, Price, ‘cause I’m about to rock your world.

Who says all the lines of love are supposed to match up? I'd never thought about it that way before - that maybe your perfect other wasn't everything you already were, but everything you were never going to be.

I’d been kissed before, many times, but never like that.

Edinburgh could be bleak, but Aberdeen really took the pish. A life could be wasted waiting for the sky tae change fae grey tae blue.

Sophie Price, you are devastatingly beautiful.

Understanding. I was in love with Ian Aberdeen. So deeply, so incredibly. And it was true and it was sublime and it was mine. Nothing could take that away from me and that was absolutely freeing to me. I owned that love. I chose it. I owed no one for it because it couldn’t have been purchased. It belonged to me free and clear. I had never felt more empowered.

She felt raw, a painting that wasn't dry yet. One hard nudge and she'd smear all over the place.

Maybe 'perfect' was just another word for belonging. For feeling like yourself. It didn't mean things weren't hard. It just meant they were right.

Kurt left in the early morning to walk around Aberdeen in the pale light of dawn. The storm had passed, birds were chirping, and everything in the world seemed more alive. He walked around for hours thinking about it all, waiting for school to begin, watching the sun come up, wondering where his life was heading.

On the face of things, we were hopelessly mismatched, but somehow we fit together perfectly.

Isn't that part of love, I wanted to ask, carrying someone else's ghosts for them?

She never understood that love -- especially that of a child -- was the most necessary weight you can endure in life, even if it hurts, even if it tugs bags under the skin of your eyes. Without it, the soul skitters to the edge of the world and teeters there, confused.

Everything in the world has its two faces, however. Weeds sometimes blossom into artful flowers. Beauty walks hand in hand with ugliness, sickness with health, and life tiptoes around in the horned shadow of death. The trick is to recognize which is which and to recognize what you're dealing with at the time.

Maybe the heavens were a kind of celestial grave, I thought, the way the earth is a repository for our flesh, and when we stared at the stars, we were really beholding a million lives twinkling back at us, asking us not to forget.

And one day, you, too, might grow up to be enchanting.

Well, the way I see it, honey, love's love, whatever shape it comes in.

...but life doesn't give us the option to remake our decisions, only the power to reconceive them

How was Ivy supposed to know how to handle all these feelings for June, all these feelings at all, if everything she saw and read about and heard about was all boy-girl, girl-boy?

It's okay not to be okay. Most people don't think so, but I do. It has to be okay to not be okay all the time

I was sixteen and just waking up to the peculiar rules of love - how what's left unsaid between two people can be a far more complicated language than what's written on the page.

The feeling was wild and sort of unpredictable, like a good summer storm.

We see what we want to see in life, regardless of whether it's really in front of us or not...

I-I'm just - I knew you were beautiful, knew it so very well, but it's like I just woke up to the idea. There's something about you now, Soph. You exude something and I can't quite place my finger on it. You practically glow with it. You devastate me," he said, clutching at his heart.

So often, we believe we are alone in the privacy of our fantasies, but that is a delusion as well - and perhaps the most dangerous kind. For in letting ourselves forget about the common threads of our innermost wishes, we erode our foundations and lose the keystone of our souls.

She was as necessary as the sun to me

If there was one thing Brenda Dyerson was good at, she knew it, was cooking up the scraps destiny had laid out on its plates for her.

Whatever you ever saw in that mirror left it long ago and became part of you. No one can steal that.

Make sure you don't lose your heart living with Robert Morgan. Make sure he doesn't use up all the very best parts of you.

Sometimes I think I collect souls to make up for the ones I've lost over the course of my life.

Death is a kind of guilt in itself. We're all alive in this world together, and we're also all mortal, but when one person pulls his thread through to the other side, it can start a chain reaction you never in your wildest dreams saw coming. Maybe you'll be left with nothing more than an unholy knot to unpick. Maybe a new design. Sometimes a whole new perspective on yourself.

A gardin is where you can find a whole spectrum of life, birth and death

Even back then, I guess, I suspected that sometimes the only available choice in life is to spit on death and run.

Many people under the influence of science, and particularly neuro-nonsense, will say the sacred is an old concept, it’s just a hangover, but you can easily see that’s not so, because everyone has a sense of desecration: there are things everybody values which, when they are spoiled are not just moved or destroyed, they are desecrated. Something that is vital not just to you but the world. People have this sense when they see their towns pulled apart and concrete blocks put in the middle of them. You only have to look at Aberdeen to see what happens to a beautiful place when the desecrators get their hands on it.

L. Frank Baum, a Dakota Territory settler later famous for writing The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, edited the Aberdeen Saturday Pioneer at the time. Five days after the sickening event at Wounded Knee, on January 3, 1891, he wrote, “The Pioneer [sic] has before declared that our only safety depends upon the total extermination of the Indians. Having wronged them for centuries we had better, in order to protect our civilization, follow it up by one more wrong and wipe these untamed and untamable creatures from the face of the earth.

But it's easy to solve the past in the present, and when you do, you sometimes forget to leave room for forgiveness.

Amelia and I were at the age where wonderful things sometimes still did happen, but far less often than they used to.

The body is just the body. It has it's own structures, it's own laws. It's a thing unto itself. When it breaks down, that's it.

Tabitha's quilt was more than pieces of fabric sewn together. It was a patchwork of souls.

But what I liked in Aberdeen was what I liked generally in Britain: the bread, the fish, the cheese, the flower gardens, the apples. the clouds, the newspapers, the beer, the wollen cloth, the radio programmes, the parks, the Indian restaurants and amateur dramatics, the postal service, the fresh vegetables, the trains, and the modesty and truthfulness of people.

At night, the valleys of my body curve around him, creating a geography I never knew existed before, where size is relative and more is always better, and I can't seem to get enough of it.

I have always attributed a great importance to eyes. How mysteriously expressive those damp orbs can be; the eyeball does not change and yet it is the window of the soul. And colour in eyes is, in its nature and inherence, quite unlike colour in any other substance. Mr Osmand had grey eyes, but his eyes were hard and speckled like Aberdeen granite, while Tommy’s were clear and empty like light smoke.

Methane emissions are lower in biodiverse pasture systems largely because of fumaric acid – a compound that scientists at the Rowett Institute in Aberdeen identified as leading to faster growth and reducing emissions of methane by 70 per cent when added to the diet of lambs. Fumaric acid occurs widely in many plants and herbs of the field and hedgerow, including angelica, common fumitory, shepherd’s purse and bird’s-foot trefoil.

Still, that would not solve the problem; Percy would merely languish in prison until such time as Grey was recovered enough to testify. No, he decided, Hal’s response would more likely be to knock Grey over the head, bundle him into a sack, and have him smuggled aboard a merchantman bound for China, after which he would declare Grey lost at sea, and… He discovered that he was laughing helplessly at the thought, tears coming to his eyes. “Christ, Hal, I wish you would,” he said aloud, and quite suddenly thought of Aberdeen, realizing for the first time just how desperately his brother loved him.

Not like me, who would have given anything to shed my cumbersome skin and bones, stripping myself down to marrow, to nothing more than a gambler's heart, which beat fast and true and still believed that somewhere out there, a deck was stacked entirely in my favor.

No hay mayor estupidez que volverse loco analizando los posibles sentimientos ocultos de otra persona cuando lo que cuenta son sus acciones.

Do you want to know the difference between a good story and the truth? . . . The little bits, Robert Morgan.That's all. If you get those right, you can get away with murder.

The whole world was crying as everything fell apart.

I found myself gazing into the eyes of the dog Bartholomew, which were fixed on me with the sinister intentness which is characteristic of this breed of animal. Aberdeen terriers, possibly owing to their heavy eyebrows, always seem to look at you as if they were in the pulpit of the church of some particularly strict Scottish sect and you were a parishioner of dubious reputation sitting in the front row of the stalls.

I looked at my sister's white knees nestled together like a pair of Brenda's eggs and had the urge, not for the first time, to crack her right open. I wanted to pick her ribs apart until I got to the messy center of her - surely somewhere inside my sister there must be some sort of mess, I thought - and dip my fingers in

Of course, this memory makes me sorrowful now, for it anyone ever knew the shape of me, it was Amelia - and not just the outer lines of me, either, but all my innards as well. She was as necessary as the sun to me. She was the quiet heat that shimmered inside my shadow and made it live, and without her, I am a little darker.

The sun beams down on Algiers — but the inhabitants do not smile back. It is a surly city, harrowed by the stresses of over-population and under-employment; with the architecture of Cannes, but the atmosphere of Aberdeen. During the day the cafés are thronged with all-male, typically Arab society. At night the city, responsive to President Boumedienne’s own personal brand of puritanism, closes down like wartime Toronto on a Sunday.

Lo que él quería de ella era verse reflejado en el espejo de sus ojos. Unos ojos que lo observaban con admiración y adoración, y alimentaban su ego del mejor festín imaginable.

Her heart was no longer zooming. It wasn't melting or standing still. It was shattering.

The sad truth is that nowadays - as at all periods of our history - misinformation about Faerie assails us from every side. It is through stories such as these that the serious student of Sidhe culture may make a window for herself into Faerie and snatch a glimpse of its complexity, its contradictions and its perilous fascinations. James Sutherland Aberdeen, April 2006

But every so often the government remembered about Indians and when they did they always tried to solve Indians, thought Thomas. They solve us by getting rid of us. And do they tell us when they plan to get rid of us? Hah. And hah. He had received no word from the government. By reading the Minot Daily News, he'd found out something was up. Then Moses had to pry the papers out of his contact down in Aberdeen. It had taken precious time to even get confirmation, or see the actual House Resolution stating, as its author said, that the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa was targeted by the United States Congress for emancipation. Emancipation. Emancipation. Emancipation. This word would not stop banging around in his head. Emancipated. But they were not enslaved. Freed from being Indians was the idea. Emancipated from their land. Freed from the treaties that Thomas's father and grandfather had signed and that were promised to last forever. So, as usual, by getting rid of us the Indian problem would be solved. Overnight, the tribal chairman job had turned into a struggle to remain a problem to not be solved.

You can't go climbing out of windows under the eyes of an Aberdeen terrier so prone as Bartholomew was always to think the worst. In due season, no doubt, he would learn that what he had taken for a burglar escaping with the swag had been in reality a harmless guest of the house and would be all apologies, but by that time my lower slopes would be as full of holes as a Swiss cheese.

Resilient means the ability to withstand or recover quickly from difficulties. It doesn't mean things aren't hard. It doesn't mean we aren't hurt. It just means we keep going. We keep living. We keep trying.

found myself gazing into the eyes of the dog Bartholomew, which were fixed on me with the sinister intentness which is characteristic of this breed of animal. Aberdeen terriers, possibly owing to their heavy eyebrows, always seem to look at you as if they were in the pulpit of the church of some particularly strict Scottish sect and you were a parishioner of dubious reputation sitting in the front row of the stalls.

In 1996 Dorothy Mackey wrote an Op-ed piece, “Violence from comrades a fact of life for military women.” ABC News 20/ 20 did a segment on rape in the military. By November four women came forward at Aberdeen Proving Ground, in Maryland, about a pattern of rape by drill sergeants. In 1997 the military finds three black drill sergeants to scapegoat. They were sent to prison and this left the commanding generals and colonels untouched to retire quietly. The Army appointed a panel to investigate sexual harassment. One of the panelists was the sergeant Major of the Army, Eugene McKinney. On hearing his nomination, former associates and one officer came forward with charges of sexual coercion and misconduct. In 1998 he was acquitted of all charges after women spoke (of how they were being stigmatized, their careers stopped, and their characters questioned. A Congressional panel studied military investigative practices. In 1998, the Court of Appeals ruled against Dorothy Mackay. She had been outspoken on media and highly visible. There is an old Arabic saying “When the hen crows cut off her head.”“This court finds that Col. Milam and Lt. Col. Elmore were acting in the scope of their duties” in 1991-1992 when Capt. Mackey alleged they harassed, intimidated and assaulted her. A legislative remedy was asked for and she appealed to the Supreme Court. Of course the Supreme Court refused to hear the case in 1999, as it always has under the feres doctrine. Her case was cited to block the suit of one of the Aberdeen survivors as well!

What I really wanted to do was linger in the tidy lines that Marcus had scored into the earth. I wanted to sit in the exact center of the spiral and wait for the plants to unfurl themselves. I wanted them to climb and rove over my limbs until I burst into bloom with them.

A life passed amid gangsters, thieves, smugglers, and gamblers had granted Amelia an unerring nose for greed, vanity, and other assorted venal characteristics, and in Miss Sparrow, she smelled rancid pride combined with the bitter char of unrequited love. She smelled the lemon tang of loneliness mingling with despair. Just under Priscilla Sparrow's skin, Amelia could tell, a rosemary blast of judiciousness rippled, followed by the must decay of jealousy and a lingering note of envy - in short (and in spite of all of Miss Sparrow's better attempts with Dick Crane), the odors of a lifelong spinster.

Baum then bought the Aberdeen Saturday Pioneer, becoming its editor, writer, and sole proprietor. He wrote most of the editorials, including one calling for the “total extirmination” of the Indians. “Why not annihilation?” he argued. “Their glory has fled, their spirit broken, their manhood effaced; better that they die than live the miserable wretches that they are.”182 That was his response to the death of Sitting Bull and to the 1890 massacre of several hundred men, women, and children at Wounded Knee Creek, which marked the end of the Indian wars that Little Crow had set in motion thirty years earlier. People were still worried about another Minnesota massacre.

All this time Bartholomew had been trying to join us, making a series of energetic springs. Fortunately Providence in its infinite wisdom had given Scotties short legs, and though full of the will to win he could accomplish nothing constructive. However much an Aberdeen terrier may bear 'mid snow and ice a banner with the strange device Excelsior, he nearly always has to be content with dirty looks and the sharp, passionate bark. Some minutes later my fellow-rooster came out of the silence. No doubt the haughtiness of my manner had intimidated him, for there was a mildness in his voice which had not been there before. 'Mr. Wooster.' I turned coldly. 'Were you addressing me, Bassett?' 'There must be something we can do.' 'You might fine the animal five pounds.

Together, by 2005, the contiguous parts of the Belarusian and Ukrainian zones made up a total area of more than 4,700 square kilometers of northwestern Ukraine and southern Belarus, all of it rendered officially uninhabitable by radiation. Beyond the borders of the evacuated land, the contamination of Europe with radionuclides from the explosion had proved widespread and long lasting: for years after the accident, meat, dairy products, and produce raised on farms from Minsk to Aberdeen and from France to Finland were found laced with strontium and cesium and had to be confiscated and destroyed. In Britain, restrictions on the sale of sheep grazed on the hill farms of North Wales would not be lifted until 2012. Subsequent studies found that three decades after the accident, half of the wild boar shot by hunters in the forests of the Czech Republic were still too radioactive for human consumption. At

If a person was questioning all this stuff, that person doesn't have to know all the answers. They don't have to be sure about anything. They don't have to label themselves as anything but as humang being if they don't want to. Does that make sense?" "I... I think so." "That person can just let themselves feel and think about what they need to. It's okay to wonder. To be curious. And it's okay to be sure too. But you--that person--don't have to be, all right?

When you get back, I finally wrote, let's lay ourselves down in the fields outside, and sleep there for the night, whatever the weather. We'll let the crows roost on our shoulders and skulls, let them nudge our necks with their wings, and pick at our earlobes, nibbling all the rotten bits out of us until we're nothing more than sinew, bone, and teeth. Until we're so pure, you can see right through us down to the roots and dirt. Until even our memories are eaten alive.

Now, in Scribner's window, I saw a book called The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy. I went inside, and took it off the shelf, and looked at the table of contents and at the title page which was deceptive, because it said the book was made up of a series of lectures that had been given at the University of Aberdeen. That was no recommendation, to me especially. But it threw me off the track as to the possible identity and character of Etienne Gilson, who wrote the book. I bought it, then, together with one other book that I have completely forgotten, and on my way home in the Long Island train, I unwrapped the package to gloat over my acquisitions. It was only then that I saw, on the first page of The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy, the small print which said: "Nihil Obstat ... Imprimatur." The feeling of disgust and deception struck me like a knife in the pit of the stomach. I felt as if I had been cheated! They should have warned me that it was a Catholic book! Then I would never have bought it. As it was, I was tempted to throw the thing out the window at the houses of Woodside -- to get rid of it as something dangerous and unclean. Such is the terror that is aroused in the enlightened modern mind by a little innocent Latin and the signature of a priest. It is impossible to communicate, to a Catholic, the number and complexity of fearful associations that a little thing like this can carry with it. It is in Latin -- a difficult, ancient and obscure tongue. That implies, to the mind that has roots in Protestantism, all kinds of sinister secrets, which the priests are supposed to cherish and to conceal from common men in this unknown language. Then, the mere fact that they should pass judgement on the character of a book, and permit people to read it: that in itself is fraught with terror. It immediately conjures up all the real and imaginary excesses of the Inquisition. That is something of what I felt when I opened Gilson's book: for you must understand that while I admired Catholic culture, I had always been afraid of the Catholic Church. That is a rather common position in the world today. After all, I had not bought a book on medieval philosophy without realizing that it would be Catholic philosophy: but the imprimatur told me that what I read would be in full conformity with that fearsome and mysterious thing, Catholic Dogma, and the fact struck me with an impact against which everything in me reacted with repugnance and fear. Now, in light of all this, I consider that it was surely a real grace that, instead of getting rid of the book, I actually read it. The result was that I at once acquired an immense respect for Catholic philosophy and for the Catholic faith. And that last thing was the most important of all.

The clouds hang heavy, like wet wool, and stars start to appear through the trees like large, shining stones at the bottom of a river. The temperature has fallen with the sun and Lauren hugs her padded arms to her padded body. ‘It’s already dark. Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ve got homework to do.’ The thought of school tomorrow sits in her stomach. They gather various belongings and treasures scattered around the camp – some plastic binoculars, a handmade catapult, a rusty teapot, a length of rope – and put them inside the hut. They argue about whether to take home the packet of bourbons that have been stolen from Billy’s larder, before deciding to leave it in the supply tin, half buried in the frozen ground. They walk back down the looping path, banked by snow-laden ferns, towards Clavanmore. She likes Billy walking beside her like this, in his Aberdeen beanie. He’s like a big brother, but with a better face and hair. Lauren rolls the silver ring between her index finger and thumb, in her pocket. Darkness seeps into the forest and the white snow fades to a dark grey, then darker still, until the world is black.

No," Taryn said quietly. "I started it so you'd talk to me.

... I was mad because Gigi didn't tell me, and I heard it from some guy I barely knew. I was hurt that Gigi didn't trust me with that...

When Ivy told her about the idea, Mom had called it a graphic memoir. Ivy just called it a letter to the world.

She felt a storm in her head.

Both girls were happy inside that treehouse, their secret small and safe. Ivy wished she was there right now. It sounded like a wild adventure, sitting in that treehouse while the sky fell down around them.

This is me. I'm your best friend, and I had to hear it from Jesse Ryder, who said he saw you two kissing in your car. How do you think that made me feel?

That a heart could exist that's big enough to fit a whole person inside. Isn't that cool?

Maybe Ivy and June's friendship was just a different kind of friendship, stormier and wilder, just like she'd thought last night.

Ivy was tired of secrets.

Pondering mysteries?" Taryn asked. Ivy let herself smile. A couple of years ago, Taryn started calling those times when they'd be hanging out and then got really quiet "pondering mysteries". It was never an awkward quiet, but the kind that Ivy liked best. Friendly quiet, like the times they would jump on the big trampoline in Taryn's backyard until their sides hurt from laughing, and then they'd collapse onto the stretchy surface and stare up at the trees in silence. They'd ponder mysteries.

Ivy's heart leaped into her throat. She felt sick and glittery, droopy and elated. She had no clue which emotion to trust.

They're happy because they're together. They're happy because they can be themselves.

Even if Keeper was June, there was a big difference between writing words on notes in a locker and saying the same words out loud while looking into June's big brown eyes.

But then, Ivy saw herself reaching out and holding June's hand. And she didn't hold it like she might hold Taryn's or Layla's or even like she'd held June's hand in the past. She tangled her fingers with June's. She ran her thumb over June's knuckles. She sat so close to June that their shoulders pressed together. She-

In the end, this was about me, not them," Robin said, tapping her chest. "And the people in my life could either accept that or they could live without me." Ivy swallowed hard. "Did anyone choose to... well..." "Live without me?" Ivy nodded. Robin smiled sadly. "One friend. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. But if she couldn't love me for me, then I didn't need her in my life. I know that's easier said than done, and it took me a long time to really believe that, but it's the truth.

Even made-up stories are about the truth," Ivy said.

It was so nice to be hugged by a grown-up, by someone Ivy liked and trusted. It was nice to feel taken care of.

Seeing isn't sharing.

Funny, Ivy thought, all the things that people could survive that they never imagined they could.

Definitely a crush," Jessa had said, crunching on a baby carrot. Her glossy hair fell into her eyes and she brushed it away. "Oh yeah," Robin said, and Ivy huffed a lot of air through her nose. "I know," Ivy said. "Now what do I do about it?" Robin's smile turned serious, and she took Ivy's hand. "Honestly? Nothing. It'll hurt for a while, and then it will get better." Robin said it would be okay. And Ivy believed her. "You just focus on you," Robin said, ripping off an edge of crust from her sandwich and popping it into her mouth. "Focus on friendship and feeling okay with yourself and proud of yourself. That's what's important right now.

In the agrarian economy of Aberdeenshire, the crofter, or improving smallholder generally, has filled a most useful part in the past. To them it is due that many hundreds of acres of barren moor have been brought under the plough within the last fifty or sixty years; and from his class, trained up in habits of industry, thrift, and self-reliance, there have continued to go forth into various walks of life men and women fitted to act well their part under any circumstances; the main cause of regret without doubt being that in such limited proportion of numbers have these men and women been retained in connection with the soil as settled labourers, cottars, crofters, and farmers, from the smallest tenant upward. But while it will be readily admitted that the existence of crofts in a county like Aberdeen - and indeed any agricultural county - is in the highest degree desirable; and while one may assert, without much fear of contradiction, that a judicious blending of farm and croft is greatly preferable to either a community of crofers apart from farms, or a collection of farms without a mixture of the crofter element, we are not blind to the difficulties that attend the perpetuation of the crofting system, as we have been wont to view it, under the changed conditions that now obtain.

In the fifteenth century three Scottish universities were founded, St Andrew’s, Glasgow, and Aberdeen—one more than England had until the nineteenth century.

Regular guests had claimed she'd outdone herself with such creations as her Aberdeen Angus grass-fed rib eye with mushroom puree and beef tea; they'd gushed over her sea bass with prawn tortellini accompanied by fennel and a white wine sauce, and the crowd favorite always received lots of compliments, a chocolate orange mousse with fruit brioche.

Nuestras miradas conectadas y la química entre nosotros despertando, multiplicándose. La observé con cierta culpa y una muda petición: “Vamos gathinha, dime con los ojos que quieres pasar al siguiente nivel”.

Aun así, la besé y … mierda, había experimentado pasión antes en mi vida, mi existencia estaba llena de pasión, pero nunca la había sentido mezclada con cariño y admiración.

Scottish witchcraft suspect Isobel Gowdie claimed that she had been favoured with gifts of meat (food) by the ‘Qwein of Fearrie’ who was “brawlie clothed in whyt linens, and white and browne cloathes.” This queen had a partner, an anonymous king, as was the case too with the faery queen of the ballad of Thomas of Erceldoune- and from whom her sexual relationship with mortal Thomas had to be concealed.57 Accused witch Isobel Watson was privileged enough to be midwife to an unnamed fairy queen, whereas Alison Pearson, from St Andrews in Fife, failed to achieve such intimate access. She had (deceased) relatives who resided in the fairy court and who were on good terms with the queen, she told to her trial in 1588, but she personally had never met her majesty, who was, by all accounts, quite a moody individual. Sometimes she was good, sometimes evil; sometimes she was present in the court and sometimes elsewhere.58 Another anonymous queen was met by Andro Man of Aberdeen- who entered into a long-term sexual relationship with her and was taught healing and prophetic skills by her. Elizabeth Dunlop from Lyne near Peebles was endowed with the same knowledge by the queen herself.