Alphabet Of Thorn Quotes

The only evidence I had at all that Rhys remained on the premises were the blank copies of the alphabet, along with several sentences I was to write every day, swapping out words, each one more obnoxious than the last: Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord. Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord. Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.

That's the beginning of magic. Let your imagination run and follow it.

Do you become in visible?' 'No. I'm there, if you know how to look. I stand between the place you look at and the place you see. Behind what you expect to see. If you expect to see me, you do. I listen in places where no one expects me to be.

Here in Raine, I can walk with the sunlight on my face. I can speak to anyone who speaks to me. I can learn my daughter's language. I can be called the name I was given when I was born. Here I am no longer my own secret. Will you let me stay?

...that once were urgent and necessary for an orderly world and now were buried away, gathering dust and of no use to anyone.

What are the thorns really telling her? It's why she won't let us see them, why she clings to them--or they cling to her--as though she got herself buried in a bramble thicket and she can't get out and we can't get in to free her.

Every moment is like a wheel with a hundred spokes in it. We ride always at the hub of the wheel and go forward as it turns. We ignore the array of other moments constantly turning around us. We are surrounded by doorways; we never open them.

A librarian had found the baby sitting abandoned on the sheer edge of the world; the librarians kept her. That proved shrewd. Nepenthe had drooled on words, talked at them, and tried to eat them until she learned to take them into her eyes instead of her mouth.

The message, which one fall or another of the coin would eventually give him, was how to get himself out of his chamber and into Nepenthe's, so that he could tell her why he had not come to tell her why he had not come.

Once I used my powers. Now I feel like a dancing instructor, reminding the queen whom she is dancing with at this hour and with which foot she should begin.' 'Be thankful,' Gavin advised with a laugh, 'that so far the music is still being played and everyone is trying to dance in harmony.

She [Kane] and Axis performed the ancient ritual of flinging their toys at one another's heads, and in that moment recognized a common destiny. They became inseparable.

His face, at once beautiful and feral, revealed no more than the lion’s face, which says nothing at all as the lion crouches and waits. It speaks only when it springs.

I trust the depths don't leak." "No." "Then I'll sleep happily buried in stone.

Easier to understand the wind . . . Easier to walk on the surface of the frothing sea, than to remember the hunger to do it. Easier to remember knowledge than ignorance, experience than innocence. Easier to know what you are than remember what you were.

In sixteen years since then, she had changed beyond recognition, and he had not changed by a moment, being the same dispassionate, thin-haired wraith who had picked her up with his bony hands and tucked her into a book bag to add to the acquisitions of the royal library.

Now the wood in early morning was utterly silent. She walked carefully through damp leaves, around tangles of bramble and vine, trying not to disturb the stillness. She could not see the sky, only green and shadow woven thickly above her, yelding not a scrap of blue. She breathed soundlessly. So did the wood around her, she felt; it seemed a live thing, alert and watching her, trees trailing whisps of morning mist, their faces hidden, their thoughts seeping into the air like scent. It was, she thought, like being surrounded by unspoken words.

That sleep that has no language, No dream, No time, No end.

The Shadow of the Emperor The Hooded One Who unmasked night Who laid the stars like paving stones Who rode the Thunderbolt Down the star-cobbled path into day Was Kane, The Emperor's twin Silent, as lightning is silent, Before the thunder speaks.

The cruel white man tried to braid fabrications. He tried to cut a curve and make me weak. He tried to split me from the ones I love. I tell him to, suck a lemon or sit on thorned spirea. Alphabet coming from my mouth is like us. But I maintain my faith, hope for dreams of silk and my greatest kiss of life.

The limpid blue stone crowning the hood of Clotho’s robe flickered like a Siphon in the dim light as she slid a piece of parchment across the desk. You can begin today by shelving books on Level Three. Take the ramp behind me to reach it. There will be a cart with the books, which are organized alphabetically by author. If there is no author, set them aside and ask for help at the end of your shift.

It was not a book—not with paper and leather. It had been formed of dark metal plates bound on three rings of gold, silver, and bronze, each word carved with painstaking precision, in an alphabet I could not recognize. Yes, it indeed turned out my reading lessons were unnecessary. Rhys left it inside the box as we all peered in—then recoiled. Only Amren remained staring at it. The blood drained from her face entirely. “What language is that?” Mor asked. I thought Amren’s hands might have been shaking, but she shoved them into her pockets. “It is no language of this world.

I know my alphabet,' I said sharply as he laid a piece of paper in front of me. 'I'm not that stupid.' I twisted my fingers in my lap, then pinned my restless hands under my thighs. 'I didn't say you were stupid,' he said. 'I'm just trying to determine where we should begin.' I leaned back in the cushioned seat. 'Since you've refused to tell me a thing about how much you know.' My face warmed. 'Can't you hire a tutor?' He lifted a brow. 'Is it that hard for you to even try in front of me?' 'You're a High Lord- don't you have better things to do?' 'Of course. But none as enjoyable as seeing you squirm.' 'You're a real bastard, you know that?' Rhys huffed a laugh. 'I've been called worse. In fact, I think you've called me worse.' He tapped the paper in front of him. 'Read that.' A blur of letters. My throat tightened. 'I can't.' 'Try.' The sentence had been written in elegant, concise print. His writing, no doubt. I tried to open my mouth, but my spine locked. 'What exactly, is your stake in all this? You said you'd tell me if I worked with you.' 'I didn't specify when I'd tell you.' I peeled back from him as my lip curled. He shrugged. 'Maybe I resent the idea of you letting those sycophants and war-mongering fools in the Spring Court make you feel inadequate. Maybe I indeed enjoy seeing you squirm. Or maybe-' 'I get it.' He snorted. 'Try to read it, Feyre.' Prick. I snatched the paper to me, nearly ripping it in half in the process. I looked at the first word, sounding it out in my head. 'Y-you...' The next I figured out with a combination of my silent pronunciation and logic. 'Look...' 'Good,' he murmured. 'I didn't ask for your approval.' Rhys chuckled. 'Ab... absolutely.' It took me longer than I wanted to admit to figure that out. The next word was even worse. 'De... Del...' I deigned to glance at him, brows raised. 'Delicious,' he purred. My brows knotted. I read the next two words, then whipped my face toward him. 'You look absolutely delicious today, Feyre?! That's what you wrote?' He leaned back in his seat. As our eyes met, sharp claws caressed my mind and his voice whispered inside my head. It's true, isn't it? I jolted back, my chair groaning. 'Stop that!' But those claws now dug in- and my entire body, my heart, my lungs, my blood yielded to his grip, utterly at his command as he said, The fashion of the Night Court suits you.

Start copying the alphabet. Until your letters are perfect. And every time you get through a round, lower and raise your shield. Until that is second nature. I'll be back in an hour.' 'What?' 'Copy. The. Alphabet. Until-' 'I heard what you said.' Prick. Prick, prick, prick. 'Then get to work,' Rhys uncoiled to his feet. 'And at least have the decency to only call me a prick when you shields are back up.

The only evidence I had at all that Rhys remained on the premises were the blank copies of the alphabet, along with several sentences I was to write every day, swapping out words, each one more obnoxious that the last. Rhys is the most handsome High Lord. Rhys is the most delightful High Lord. Rhys is the most cunning High Lord. Every day, one miserable sentence- with one changing word of varying arrogance and vanity. And every day, another simple set of instructions: shield up, shield down, shield up, shield down. Over and over and over.

Christ's sacred face was spat upon to cleanse our soul which was blacker than coal. His precious flesh was covered with a robe that the veil of ignorance we had incurred by sin might be lifted and our spiritual blindness cured: he was presented before the judges that we might appear fearlessly before the Judge of all men. He kept silence to make satisfaction for Eve's speech with the serpent, and that our much and evil speaking might be chastised in his divine Person. He was left naked that we might be stripped of the old man and adorn ourselves with virtuous habits in readiness for the eternal nuptials, Christ was scourged to screen us from the scourge of justice we so well deserved; mock honors were paid to him on earth to win true honor for us in heaven. He wore a crown of thorns to crown us with glory; bore a reed in his hand that we might be given the scepter of the kingdom and was crucified between thieves to deliver us from the infernal companions with whom we had made friends and to make us companions of the holy angels.

his unending ambition to find death and conquer it or become it, which, poets said later, became the same thing in the end.

He was sitting in moonlight and candlelight, scratching the head of some beast that looked to Vevay a cross between a lion and a bear. It had black pelt, a flat, broad, fanged face, a powerful bulky body. It seemed to be purring. It cast a smoldering red glance at Vevay than closed it eyes again, leading heavy against Felan's knee. "what on earth is that?" Vavey asked. "I've no idea," Felon said. "It came out of an old book I was reading once and it never went back in again. It seems harmless and is very obliging: it let the students practice transformation spells on it. It eats strawberries when it can get them.

Copy. The. Alphabet. Until—” “I heard what you said.” Prick. Prick, prick, prick. “Then get to work.” Rhys uncoiled to his feet. “And at least have the decency to only call me a prick when your shields are back up.

Just begin at the beginning and proceed whichever way you can into hope.

The only evidence I had at all that Rhys remained on the premises were the blank copies of the alphabet, along with several sentences I was to write every day, swapping out words, each one more obnoxious than the last: Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord. Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord. Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.