Ani The Wight Quotes

There are a million Paths in this world, Lindon, but any sage will tell you they can all be reduced to one. Improve yourself.

But the foundation of any Path is learning to accept the world as it is, not as you wish or even observe it to be.

people he had known all his life would be dead. He hadn’t especially liked any of them except Leah, but they were his own people. Practically family. And you didn’t have to like your family to protect them.

the foundation of any Path is learning to accept the world as it is, not as you wish or even observe it to be.

Suriel spoke as though reciting a poem. “There are a million Paths in this world, Lindon, but any sage will tell you they can all be reduced to one. Improve yourself.

In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon," says an old writer - of whose works I possess the only copy extant - "it maketh a marvelous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier."... Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed.

The invisible bubble containing them rushed forward, and Lindon’s body shuddered with the instinct to protect itself, but Suriel spoke as though reciting a poem. “There are a million Paths in this world, Lindon, but any sage will tell you they can all be reduced to one. Improve yourself.” Lindon was still somewhat worried about offending this visitor from another world, but he dared to say, “That doesn’t sound like enough.” The mountain rushed closer as they descended into its shadow. “It’s been my path for longer than you would believe. Do you think anyone dares to attack my homeland?

[This is a good plan,] Dross whispered. [Now we’ll be able to train against a model of him. Our uprising will be swift.] Eithan loosened his shoulders. He hopped in place, rolling his neck. “Well then, who am I to deny the request of my two adorable subordinates?” The door slid upward, and Eithan tilted his head as though listening to something. Then he slipped his scissors back into his pocket. “I won’t be needing those. Lindon, since we’re not keeping secrets any longer, you should pay close attention.” The door slid up enough so that Lindon could see the arena floor was covered in white sand, unlike the dark domain that had sealed off Lindon and Yerin. “This,” Eithan said, “is the Path of the Hollow King.” The Ninecloud Soul’s voice boomed out across the stadium. “Sacred artists, I present Eithan Arelius, chosen of Akura Malice!

Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed. "In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon," says an old writer—of whose works I possess the only copy extant—"it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier.

Most observers and analysts deny the duality. The ones on the left address occupation and overlook intimidation, while the ones on the wight address intimidation and dismiss occupation. But the truth is that without incorporating both elements into one worldview, one cannot grasp Israel or the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Any school of thought that does not relate to seriously to these two fundamental is bound to be flawed and futile. Only a third approach that internalizes both intimidation and occupation can be realistic and moral and get the Israel story right.

You made it to the other side of the field, but I said to face the wights—not throw a magical tantrum.” “I will kill you,” she said, the words raw and gasping. “How dare—” “That was not a wight, Princess.” He flicked his attention toward the trees beyond her. She might have roared about using specifics to escape his bargain to bring her to Doranelle, but when his eyes met hers again, he seemed to say, That thing should not have been there. Then what in hell was it, you stupid bastard? she silently shot back. He clenched his jaw before he said aloud, “I don’t know. We’ve had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this … this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don’t think I’ll learn anytime soon.” He gave a pointed look at her current state. “It was gone when I circled back. Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were … different.” She dared a look at herself again. Her skin was bone-white, as if the little color she’d received lying on those rooftops in Varese had been leeched away, and not only by fright and sickness.

In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon," says an old writer—of whose works I possess the only copy extant—"it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier." True enough, thought I, as this passage occurred to my mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well. Yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity they didn't stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint here and there. But it's too late to make any improvements now. The universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted off a million years ago. Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a corn-cob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the tempestuous Euroclydon. Euroclydon! says old Dives, in his red silken wrapper (he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh! What a fine frosty night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals. But what thinks Lazarus? Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the grand northern lights? Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra than here? Would he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the line of the equator; yea, ye gods! go down to the fiery pit itself, in order to keep out this frost?

Over the next few days we spent every waking moment together. We made up silly dances, did puzzles in the evening, and she stood smiling on the beach waiting for me as I took my customary New Year’s dip in the freezing cold North Atlantic. I just had a sense that we were meant to be. I even found out she lived in the next-door road along from where I was renting a room from a friend in London. What were the chances of that? As the week drew to a close we both got ready to head back south to London. She was flying. I was driving. “I’ll beat you to London,” I challenged her. She smiled knowingly. “No, you won’t.” (But I love your spirit.) She, of course, won. It took me ten hours to drive. But at 10:00 P.M. that same night I turned up at her door and knocked. She answered in her pajamas. “Damn, you were right,” I said, laughing. “Shall we go for some supper together?” “I’m in my pajamas, Bear.” “I know, and you look amazing. Put a coat on. Come on.” And so she did. Our first date, and Shara in her pajamas. Now here was a cool girl. From then on we were rarely apart. I delivered love letters to her office by day and persuaded her to take endless afternoons off. We roller-skated in the parks, and I took her down to the Isle of Wight for the weekends. Mum and Dad had since moved to my grandfather’s old house in Dorset, and had rented out our cottage on the island. But we still had an old caravan parked down the side of the house, hidden under a load of bushes, so any of the family could sneak into it when they wanted. The floors were rotten and the bath full of bugs, but neither Shara nor I cared. It was heaven just to be together. Within a week I knew she was the one for me and within a fortnight we had told each other that we loved each other, heart and soul. Deep down I knew that this was going to make having to go away to Everest for three and a half months very hard. But if I survived, I promised myself that I would marry this girl.

All that remains is for me to make a sad observation. Like so many other creatures that once embellished life and brought hope, house spirits have vanished and with them the souls of our houses have fled, never to return. Homes have sunk into anonymity; building rituals have almost entirely disappeared; prefabricated industrial materials have replaced the quest for attentive selection of materials that were wrought with love; the meaning of ornaments are no longer known and the moon, sun, stars and crosses have disappeared from our facades; radiators have replaced the hearth and stove; our corners have become little more than dust collectors; and there is no longer anything concealed beneath our thresholds. We have transformed into rootless wanderers with no fire or place to call our own. The individual no longer has any attachment to a house that has been passed down for generations. In loosing all of this, we have lost a piece of ourselves, one of our most solid anchors, and like dead leaves carried by the wind, we settle one day here, another day there, driven by the whims of our professions, but we no longer bring the embers from our hearths with us, and the surviving spirits weep in abandoned houses.

13. You Can’t Become A Horseman Until You’ve Fallen Off A Horse When I was a kid, my dad and I would often rent a couple of horses and go riding on the beaches of the Isle of Wight where I grew up. They are some of my best childhood memories, even though there were many times I fell off on to the hard wet sand. But just as I was about to burst into tears, my dad would then start to applaud me. Applaud the fall? But why? Dad wanted me to understand that I could only become a horseman if I had fallen off a horse a few times - that we only become good at something when we do it enough. That means there will be times when we get thrown off and find ourselves face down in the mud. Life is much the same. It’s a vital lesson for almost any path we choose to take in life: whatever you want to do, the chances are that if it is worth doing it will be difficult. We all fall off a few horses. And getting thrown to the ground by the unexpected is a big part of learning how to ride. It is how to get good at something - don’t be afraid to make mistakes. So see the inevitable setbacks and mishaps as vital parts of the learning process. The stumbles teach us more about how to stay up than they do about falling down.

(Amavia's suicide) But if that carelesse heauens (quoth she) despise The doome of iust reuenge, and take delight To see sad PAGEANTS OF MEN'S MISERIES, As bound by them to liue in liues despight, Yet can they not warne death from wretched wight. Come then, come soone, come sweetest death to mee, And take away this LONG LENT LOATHED LIGHT: Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweet the medicines bee, That long captiued soules from wearie thraldome free. But thou, sweet Babe, whom frowning froward fate Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall, Sith heauen thee deignes to hold in liuing state, Long maist thou liue, and better thriue withall, Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall: Liue thou, and to thy mother dead attest, That cleare she dide from blemish criminall; Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest Loe I for pledges leaue. So giue me leaue to rest. With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw, That through the wood reecchoed againe, And after gaue a grone so deepe and low, That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine, Or thrild with point of thorough piercing paine; As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell steele Through launched, forth her bleeding life does raine, Whiles the sad pang approching she does feele, Brayes out her latest breach, and vp her eyes doth seele. Which when that warriour heard, dismounting straict From his tall steed, he rusht into the thicke, And soone arriued, where that sad pourtraict Of death and dolour lay, halfe dead, halfe quicke, In whose white alabaster brest did sticke A cruell knife, that made a griesly wound, From which forth gusht a streme of gorebloud thick, That all her goodly garments staind around, And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassie ground. Pittifull spectacle of deadly smart, Beside a bubbling fountaine low she lay, Which she increased with her bleeding hart, And the cleane waues widi purple gore did ray; Als in her lap a louely babe did play His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew; For in her streaming blood he did embay His litle hands, and tender ioynts embrew; Pitifull spectacle, as euer eye did view. Out of her gored wound the cruell steele He lighdy snatcht, and did the floudgate stop With his faire garment: then gan softly feele Her feeble pulse, to proue if any drop Of liuing bloud yet in her veynes did hop; Which when he felt to moue, he hoped faire To call backe life to her forsaken shop. ... Not one word more she sayd But breaking off, the end for want of breath, And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd, And ended all her woe in quiet death. That seeing good Sir Guyon, could vneath From tears abstaine, for griefe his hart did grate, And from so heauie sight his head did wreath, Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate, Which plunged had faire Ladie in so wretched state. Then turning to his Palmer said, Old syre Behold the image of mortalitie, And feeble nature cloth’d with fleshly tyre, When raging passion with fierce tyrannie Robs reason of her due regalitie, And makes it seruant to her basest part: The strong it weakens with infirmitie, And with bold furie armes the weakest hart; The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the weake through smart.

While he did, he searched through his own feelings. Was there any sympathy left in him? Any spark remaining in the ashes? Nope, just ashes. People did nothing but let him down. It was the one thing they could be counted on to do, and that was a universal statement. It included Jak and Omega equally. Omega had no expectations left, not even for himself. This was a lesson Jak had yet to learn.

We were now receiving daily very accurate weather reports from the Bracknell Weather Centre in the UK. These gave us the most advanced precision forecast available anywhere in the world. The meteorologists were able to determine wind strengths to within five knots accuracy at every thousand feet of altitude. Our lives would depend on these forecasts back up the mountain. Each morning, the entire team would crowd eagerly around the laptop to see what the skies were bringing--but it did not look good. Those early signs of the monsoon arriving in the Himalayas, the time when the strong winds over Everest’s summit begin to rise, didn’t seem to be coming. All we could do was wait. Our tents were very much now home to us at base camp. We had all our letters and little reminders from our families. I had a seashell I had taken from a beach on the Isle of Wight, in which Shara had written my favorite verse--one I had depended on so much through the military. “Be sure of this, that I am with you always, even unto the end of the earth.” Matthew 28:20. I reread it every night at base camp before I went to sleep. There was no shame in needing any help up here.

Pretty soon after returning from Everest, I was asked to give a lecture on the Everest expedition to my local sailing club in the Isle of Wight. It would be the first of many lectures that I would eventually give, and would soon become my main source of income after returning from the mountain. Those early talks were pretty ropey, though, by anyone’s standards. That first one went okay, mainly due to the heavy number of family members in the audience. Dad cried, Mum cried, Lara cried. Everyone was proud and happy. The next talk was to a group of soldiers on a course with the SAS. I took one of my old buddies along with me for moral support. Huge Mackenzie-Smith always jokes to this day how, by the time I finished, the entire room had fallen asleep. (They had been up all night on an exercise, I hasten to add--but still--it wasn’t my finest hour.) We had to wake them--one by one. I had a lot to learn about communicating a story if I was to earn any sort of a living by giving talks.

A drowning man will seize any branch, no matter how thin.

That’s the nature of any acquired skill. It will feel like breathing through a wet rag for a while, and your body will tell you to stop. But one day, you’ll look back and wonder how it was ever difficult.

Just one more day,” Yerin said, letting out a deep breath and relaxing against the door again. “Don’t know why you’re crowing about it. Any day where I haven’t beaten a Remnant to death with its own limb is a holiday.

That sounded good, when he put it like that, but it didn’t feel like enough. He should have run straight after her, not played a game of ‘wait and see.’ He hadn’t had any idea where to go or what to do, but at the moment that felt like the flimsy excuse of a child caught in a lie.

The heavens can show great cruelty in a man’s birth. But the foundation of any Path is learning to accept the world as it is, not as you wish or even observe it to be.

Naru Gwei wouldn’t last any longer against an Archlord than a Copper would. And the Sages were the greatest of the Archlords.

Is there any way to avoid them?” “Some believe that hope is the strongest force in the universe,” Dross said. “Although that is objectively untrue.

The meat increases the density of blood aura, strengthening the body. The vegetables cleanse the body, the fruits cleanse and restore the spirit, and also there's some rice in there. Rice is good for you. The pill is a Flowering Heart pill, and the bottle contains a Lifeseed Elixir. This will give you more life and blood aura than any single human body could possibly hold.

In the 1640s, a formerly pious London teenager named Sarah Wight suffered four years of spiritual agonies. As she recalled: ‘I could see nothing but Hell, and wrath: I was as desperate, as ever was any … I felt myself, soul and body, in fire and brimstone already.’ From that agonised conviction, it was only a short step to wonder if ‘there was no other Hell, but that which I felt’. At least that held out the hope that death would end her sufferings. On that basis she attempted suicide several times, thinking that ‘if I made away [with] myself, there was an end of my misery, and that there was no God, no Heaven; and no Hell’. But the very fact she had such thoughts convinced her that she ‘was damned already, being an unbeliever’.

State your desires,” Northstrider said. Yerin spoke immediately. “Infinite wishes.” The gathered Monarchs looked to one another. Northstrider grunted. “Obviously we can’t—” “I wish to win the next tournament.” “That violates the entire spirit of the competition.” “Immortality.” “You don’t need any more increases to your lifespan.” “The ability to grant my own wishes.” “That’s advancement, and it’s what we’re offering you.” Northstrider’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you getting these ideas?” Yerin pulled out a scroll, which unfurled all the way to the ground. “Lindon wrote it. I remember ‘em all, but he thought you might want to read them. Next, I’m supposed to ask for ‘points.’” Northstrider incinerated the list.