City Of Ember Quotes

I am a descendant of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid. My friends are behind me, and I will protect them.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is. And when anger is the boss, you get unintended consequences.

When someone has been mean to you, why would you want to be good to them?' 'You wouldn't want to. That's what makes it hard. You do it anyway. Being good is hard. Much harder than being bad.

There is so much darkness in Ember, Lina. It's not just outside, it's inside us, too. Everyone has some darkness inside. It's like a hungry creature. It wants and wants and wants with a terrible power. And the more you give it, the bigger and hungrier it gets.

The main thing to do is pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you'll know what no one else knows, and that's always useful.

What you need to learn, children, is the difference between right and wrong in every area of life. And once you learn the difference, you must always choose the right.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

People find a way through just about anything.

She realized all at once that Doon, thin, dark eyed Doon, with his troublesome temper and his terrible brown jacket, and his good heart---- was the person she knew better than anyone now. He was her best friend. --City of Ember--

Wouldn't it be strange, she thought, to have a blue sky? But she liked the way it looked. It would be beautiful - a blue sky.

Why, if its going to be allright, do we see it getting worse every day?

Remember the city, the city remember Where treasure is hidden under the ground The city, the city, always remember That's where the treasure will be found.

Now Doon seemed to care for his new friends more than he did for her. Every time she thought about him she felt a thud of pain, like a bruised place inside her.

The main thing is to pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you’ll know what no one else knows, and that’s always useful.

Losing your family….it puts fear in a different perspective,” he said. “Besides, I got by all right. I stayed on the fringe around Chicago, hoped around tent cities and Red Cross camps. Worked for some people who didn’t ask questions. Avoided case-workers and foster care. And thought about you.” “Me?” I huffed, completely unsettled. In awe at how vanilla my life seemed. In awe of what he’d endured, He turned then, meeting my eyes for the first time. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, and unashamed. “You. The only thing in my life that doesn’t change. When everything went to hell, you were all I had.

Lina loved her little sister so much that it was like an ache under her ribs.

It would be something that another person had written down without understanding its significance; just a sentence or two that would be like a flash of light.

His sympathy made tears spring to Lina's eyes. Doon looked startled for a moment, and then he took a step toward her and wrapped his arms around her. He gave her a squeeze so quick and tight that it made her cough, and then it made her laugh. She realized all at once that Doon--thin, dark-eyed Doon with his troublesome temper and his terrible brown jacket and his good heart--was the person that she knew better than anyone now. He was her best friend.

Unintended consequences, he thought miserably. He was angry at his anger, the way it surged up and took over.

The main thing is to pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you'll know what no one else knows, and that's always useful.

Doon was touched. Kenny looked like a tiny little wisp, but there was something strong inside him. --People of Sparks--

I am a descendent of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid. My friends are behind me and I will defend them.

He says I'm beautiful as a red tomato

Lina looked out at the lighted streets spreading away in every direction, the streets she knew so well. She loved her city, worn out and crumbling though it was.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

They lifted their faces to the astonishing warmth. The sky arched over them, a pale, clear blue. Lina felt as though a lid that had been on her all her life had been lifted off. Light and air rushed though her, making a song, like the songs of Ember, only it was a song of joy. She looked at Doon and saw that he was smiling and crying at the same time, and she realized that she was, too.

What was the power that turned the worm into a moth? It was greater than any power the Builders had had, he was sure of that. The power that ran the city of Ember was feeble by comparison...

The day had a strange but comforting feel to it, like a rest between the end of one time and the beginning of another.

Everyone has some darkness inside. It’s like a hungry creature. It wants and wants and wants with a terrible power. And the more you give it, the bigger and hungrier it gets.

Dandelion, staring into the dying embers, sat much longer, alone, quietly strumming his lute. It began with a few bars, from which an elegant, soothing melody emerged. The lyric suited the melody, and came into being simultaneously with it, the words bending into the music, becoming set in it like insects in translucent, golden lumps of amber. The ballad told of a certain witcher and a certain poet. About how the witcher and the poet met on the seashore, among the crying of seagulls, and how they fell in love at first sight. About how beautiful and powerful was their love. About how nothing - not even death - was able to destroy that love and part them. Dandelion knew that few would believe the story told by the ballad, but he was not concerned. He knew ballads were not written to be believed, but to move their audience. Several years later, Dandelion could have changed the contents of the ballad and written about what had really occurred. He did not. For the true story would not have move anyone. Who would have wanted to hear that the Witcher and Little Eye parted and never, ever, saw each other again? About how four years later Little Eye died of the smallpox during an epidemic raging in Vizima? About how he, Dandelion, had carried her out in his arms between corpses being cremated on funeral pyres and buried her far from the city, in the forest, alone and peaceful, and, as she had asked, buried two things with her: her lute and her sky blue pearl. The pearl from which she was never parted. No, Dandelion stuck with his first version. And he never sang it. Never. To no one. Right before the dawn, while it was still dark, a hungry, vicious werewolf crept up to their camp, but saw that it was Dandelion, so he listened for a moment and then went on his way.

People in Ember rarely threw anything away. They made the best possible use of what they had.

Vienna, to me it was the tuning fork for the entire world. Saying the word Vienna was like striking a tuning fork and then listening to find what tone it called forth in the person I was talking to. It was how I tested people. If there was no response, this was not the kind of person I liked. Vienna wasn't just a city, it was a tone that either one carries forever in one's soul or one does not. It was the most beautiful thing in my life. I was poor, but I was not alone, because I had a friend.

But that was what made things so exciting--nothing was ever how you expected it to be.

There is so much darkness in Ember, Lina. It’s not just outside, it’s inside us, too. Everyone has some darkness inside. It’s like a hungry creature. It wants and wants and wants with a terrible power. And the more you give it, the bigger and hungrier it gets.

Vienna wasn't just a city, it was a tone that either one carries forever in one's soul or one does not. It was the most beautiful thing in my life. I was poor, but I was not alone, because I had a friend. And Vienna was like another friend. When it rained in the tropics, I always heard the voice of Vienna. And at other times too. Sometimes deep in the virgin forests I smelled the musty smell of the entrance hall in Hietzing. Music and everything I loved was in the stones of Vienna, and in people's glances and their behavior, the way pure feelings are part of one's very heart. You know when the feelings stop hurting. Vienna in winter and spring. The allés in Schönbrunn. The blue light in the dormitory at the academy, the great white stairwell with the baroque statue. Morning ridings in the Prater. The mildew in the riding school. I remember all of it exactly, and I wanted to see it again...

Lina couldn't sleep at first, thinking of the old songs and what they meant. Someone, long ago, had hoped that at least a few people would survive and had wanted them to remember her city and the treasure it held, the treasure that was most valuable of all - herself, her family, and all of the generations of people who had lived in that secret place, their purpose, though they didn't know it, to make sure that human beings did not vanish from the world, no matter what happened above.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself. Anger is.

she loved exploring every nook and cranny

I think you've been sleeping on the job; the city isn't exactly paradise," she said caustically. "Every time you clap your hands, another person becoms a statistic.

Maybe. The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself any-more. Anger is.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself any-more.

In the end, I don't answer her question. She doesn't answer mine. Instead, we sit without words, watching the city, the river, the desert beyond, our secrets heavy between us.

Why,' she asked Bryce, 'is Hunt Athalar your roommate?' 'He was booted from the 33rd for his questionable fashion sense,' she said munching on the croissant. 'I told him his boring black clothes don't bother me, and let him stay here.

May I offer you my congratulations, Commandant?” “On what?” “On the naming of the Aspirants. It’s all over the city. Your son—” “Get out,” the Commandant says. She turns her back on the startled slaver, who quickly retreats, and settles her gaze on me. This thing actually spawned? What kind of demon had she whelped? I shudder, hoping I never find out. The

Picket instinctively stepped in front of Emma as the Preylords dropped lower and lower, nearing the edge of the city. “Shuffler, you’re going to have to stop doing that,” Emma said, hooking him with her arm. “It’s ‘my place beside you,’ not ‘my place blocking your view.

My father is deceast, come Gaveston,' And share the kingdom with thy deerest friend.' Ah words that make me surfet with delight: What greater blisse can hap to Gaveston, Then live and be the favorit of a king? Sweete prince I come, these these thy amorous lines, Might have enforst me to have swum from France, And like Leander gaspt upon the sande, So thou wouldst smile and take me in thy armes. The sight of London to my exiled eyes, Is as Elizium to a new come soule. Not that I love the citie or the men, But that it harbors him I hold so deare, The king, upon whose bosome let me die, And with the world be still at enmitie: What neede the artick people love star-light, To whom the sunne shines both by day and night. Farewell base stooping to the lordly peeres, My knee shall bowe to none but to the king. As for the multitude that are but sparkes, Rakt up in embers of their povertie, Tanti: Ile fawne first on the winde, That glaunceth at my lips and flieth away: ....

In the second row was a boy named Doon Harrow. He sat with his shoulders hunched, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and his hands clasped tightly together. His hair looked rumpled, as if he hadn’t combed it for a while. He had dark, thick eyebrows, which made him look serious at the best of times and, when he was anxious or angry, came together to form a straight line across his forehead. His brown corduroy jacket was so old that its ridges had flattened out.

We were underground', she said. 'Not just the pipeworks, everything!

I missed Starbucks. There were no caramel flavoring or whipped cream options in purgatory.

enough is all that a person of wisdom needs.

You always think there will be a tomorrow. More time.

The city glides past through the window, framing them in, and August's skin is on fire. Her skin is on fire, and Jane's dragging her fingers through the embers,

That's the city I see in my dreams, Poppy. It isn't like Ember at all. The sky is light and the buildings are tall and sort of sparkle." (Lina)

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

And I said candles, not condoms.” “Same difference.” “Really?” He winked. “Both burn vigorously all night long.

What you get is what you get. What you DO with what you get, though...that's more the point, wouldn't you say" -Doon's Father

My homeland,' says the guest, 'no longer exists. My homeland was Poland, Vienna, this house, the barracks in the city, Galicia, and Chopin. What’s left? Whatever mysterious substance held it all together no longer works. Everything’s come apart. My homeland was a feeling, and that feeling was mortally wounded. When that happens, the only thing to do is go away.

The wood was her favourite place, for it was also where you could find foxes and hares and slowworms and at least ten species of birds. She could sit for hours in the treetops, observing owls chasing mice, mice fighting over burrows, and all the other small dramas that were part of everyday life in the woods. She liked animals - there as something restful about them, like people.

Then came "The Song of Darkness," the last of the three songs, and the one most filled with longing and majesty. The soul of Ember was in this song. Its tremendous chords held all the sorrow and all the strength of the people of the city. The song reached its climax: "Darkness like an endless night," sang the hundreds of voices, so powerfully the air seemed to shiver. And at that moment, the lights once more went out. The voices faltered, but only for an instant. Then they rose again in the darkness, stronger even than before. Lina sang, too. She stood up and sang with all her might into the deep, solid blackness.

Why is it always us? All of these people—so many children—hunted and abused and tormented. Families stolen, lives shattered. They come all this way to be rejected yet again, sent outside the city walls to sleep in flimsy tents, to fight over paltry scraps of food, to starve and freeze and suffer more. And we are expected to be thankful. To be happy. So many are—I know it. Happy to be safe. To be alive. But it’s not enough—not to me.

New York City, New York   The slap on Angela Bellini’s cheek burned, but not as fiercely as the hurt in her heart. The pain and disappointment smoldering there sizzled like hot embers, threatening to reduce her to a pile of ash. She glared at her father’s back as he stomped out of the room. Why couldn’t her papá understand? She would not marry Pietro, no matter how wealthy his family was,

They had hoped, hated, loved, suffered, sung, and wept. They had known loss. They had surrounded and comforted themselves with objects. They had driven automobiles. They had walked dogs and pushed children on swing sets and waited in line at the grocery store. They had said stupid things. They had kept secrets, nurtured grudges, blown upon the embers of regret. They had worshipped a variety of gods or no god at all. They had awakened in the night to the sound of rain. They had apologized. They had attended various ceremonies. They had explained the history of themselves to psychologists, priests, lovers, and strangers in bars. They had, at unexpected moments, experienced bolts of joy so unalloyed, so untethered to events, that they seemed to come from above; they had longed to be known and, sometimes, almost were. Heirs

We come from the city of Ember,” the boy said. “We left there because our city was dying. We need help.” Mary, Ben, and Wilmer exchanged glances. Mary frowned. “The city of Ember? Where’s that? We’ve never heard of it.” The boy gestured back the way they had come, to the east. “That way,” he said. “It’s under the ground.” The frowns deepened. “Tell us the truth,” said Ben, “not childish nonsense.” This time the girl spoke up. She had long, snarled hair with bits of grass caught in it. “It isn’t a lie,” she said. “Really. Our city was underground. We didn’t know it until we came out.” Ben snorted impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. “Who is in charge here?” He looked at the bald man. “Is it you?” The bald man shook his head and gestured toward the boy and the girl. “They’re as in charge as anyone,” he said. “The mayor of our city is no longer with us. These young people are speaking the truth. We have come out of a city built underground.” The people around him all nodded and murmured, “Yes” and “It’s true.” “My name is Doon Harrow,” said the boy. “And this is Lina Mayfleet. We found the way out of Ember.” He thinks he’s pretty great, thought Torren, hearing a note of pride in the boy’s voice. He didn’t look so great. His hair was shaggy, and he was wearing an old jacket that was coming apart at the seams and grimy at the cuffs. But his eyes shone out confidently from under his dark eyebrows. “We’re hungry,” the boy said. “And thirsty. Will you help us?” Mary, Ben, and Wilmer stood silent for a moment. Then Mary took Ben and Wilmer by the arms and led them aside a few steps. They whispered to each other, glanced up at the great swarm of strangers, frowned, whispered some more. While he waited to hear what they’d say, Torren studied the people who said they came from underground.

Nemuseli "uzavírat přátelství" jako jejich vrstevníci při směšných a slavnostních obradech, s důležitou vášnivostí, jako když se mezi lidmi ohlásí vášeň, nevědomky a zmrzačená, kdy člověk poprvé chce odejmout světu tělo a duši jiného člověka, aby patřili jemu, pouze jemu. Toto je smysl lásky a přátelství. Jejich přátelství bylo tak vážné a mlčenlivé jako všechny velké city na celý život. A jako v každém velkém citu i v tomto byla cudnost a vědomí viny. Člověk nemůže beztrestně vzít někoho ostatným lidem.

Darkness: I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings—the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd, And men were gather'd round their blazing homes To look once more into each other's face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch: A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them; some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd And twin'd themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food. And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again: a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought—and that was death Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails—men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answer'd not with a caress—he died. The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they rak'd up, And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died— Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless— A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still, And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd They slept on the abyss without a surge— The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

Where is Bryce?” hissed the Prince of the Chasm. “She went to find you.” Hunt’s voice broke. Beside him, Ruhn groaned, stirring. “She went to fucking find you, Aidas.” The Princes of Hel looked at each other, some wordless conversation passing between them. Hunt pushed, “You two told her to find you. Fed us all that bullshit about armies and wanting to help and getting her ready—” “Is it possible,” Aidas said to his brother, ignoring Hunt entirely, “after everything …?” “Don’t fall into romanticism,” Apollion cautioned. “The star might have guided her,” Aidas countered. “Please,” Hunt cut in, not caring if he was begging. “Tell me where she is.” Baxian grunted, rising to consciousness. Aidas said quietly, “I have a suspicion, but I can’t tell you, Athalar, lest Rigelus wring it from you. Though he has likely already arrived at the same conclusion.” “Fuck you,” Hunt spat. But Apollion said to his brother, “We must leave.” “Then what was the point of all this watching me from the shadows?” Hunt demanded. “To ensure that we can continue to rely on you when the time comes.” “To do what?” Hunt ground out. “What you were born to do—to accomplish the task for which your father brought you into existence,” Apollion said before fading into nothing, leaving Aidas standing alone before the prisoners. Shock reared up in Hunt, dampened by the weight of an old, unbidden hurt. “I have no father.” Aidas’s expression was sad as he stepped out of the shadows. “You spent too long asking the wrong questions.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Aidas shook his head. “The black crown once again circling your brow is not a new torment from the Asteri. It has existed for millennia.” “Tell me the fucking truth for once—” “Stay alive, Athalar.” The Prince of the Chasm followed his brother, vanishing into darkness and embers.

A fejükben ez jár: Velem is megtörténhet?, és te szeretnéd megnyugtatni őket, hogy ez csakis a te hibád. Próbálják magukat a bőrödbe képzelni, csakhogy ez fogós feladat. Tegnap este Vicky a belső élmény megoszthatatlanságáról beszélt. Képzeld el, milyen lehet denevérnek lenni, mondta. Még ha tudod is, mi az a radar és hogyan működik, akkor sem tudhatod meg soha, milyen érzés radarral látni vagy kicsi, szőrös lényként fejjel lefelé lógni egy barlang tetejéről. Bizonyos tények, magyarázta, csakis egy nézőpontból közelíthetők meg: annak a lénynek a szemszögéből, aki megéli őket. Vagyis az ember nem bújhat be másnak a bőrébe. Meg nem képzelheti el, milyen neked önmagadnak lenni, ő csak ő magát tudja a helyedbe képzelni.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself any-more. Anger is.

The main thing,” she said, “is this: we will refuse to be each other’s enemies. We will renounce violence, which is so easy to start but so hard to control. We will build a place where we can all live in peace. If we hold to that, everything is possible.

But the sorrow and the fear lasted only a few seconds. Everyone was tired of sorrow and fear. Whatever lay ahead, they thought, would probably be better. They were willing to try it.

Oh!” Doon’s face fell. “That’s so sad,” he said. “I’m sorry.” His sympathy made tears spring to Lina’s eyes. Doon looked startled for a moment, and then he took a step toward her and wrapped his arms around her. He gave her a squeeze so quick and tight that it made her cough, and then it made her laugh. She realized all at once that Doon—thin, dark-eyed Doon with his troublesome temper and his terrible brown jacket and his good heart—was the person that she knew better than anyone now. He was her best friend.

went to school. On the last day of their final year, which was called Assignment Day, they were given jobs to do.

She found her very pale and very still, all the life gone out of her.

Father,” said Doon as they hurried along, “the mayor is a fool, don’t you think?” For a moment his father didn’t answer. Then he said, “He’s in a tough spot, son. What would you have him do?” “Not lie, at least,” Doon said. “If he really has a solution, he should have told us. He shouldn’t pretend he has solutions when he doesn’t.” Doon’s father smiled. “That would be a good start,” he agreed.

Let me get this straight. One four-hex to thirty billion, in one year.” “I’ll do it in six months.” Richard said. “You wish to wager?” Roland grinned. “Usual terms?” “Usual. Double the term, or swap now.” Roland tapped the ebony table. “One condition.” “Name it,” Richard snapped. “I get to pick the bum.” It was raining, which was not exactly uncommon for the southern part of Texatron City, and it was nighttime, which occurred roughly once every day. Neon-clad shops lined one half of the main boulevard, while the ramshackle favela perched on the other. Above those precarious dwellings, jutting out of the hillside like challenging chins, luxurious villas that housed the favela’s bosses boasted panoramic glass infinity pools and helipads. Upon the very peak of the great hill, above even those villas, a single, sprawling building sat, lost to the smog-laden rain. Terisco dwelled there, and Terisco was death, plain and simple. Fortunately, there was very little reason for Jayden to ever cross paths with Terisco or any of his lieutenants. He kept his head down. He did his job. He paid his dues. Jayden had a very good chance of living a hard, skinny, but quiet life. That was unless fate meddled, or luck gave him a sharp kick in the

Grown people did their work, and younger people, until they reached the age of twelve, went to school. On the last day of their final year, which was called Assignment Day, they were given jobs to do. The graduating students occupied Room

Humans have never been welcome in the Dragon’s capital city, Growl-Growl-Hiss-Growl-Snap Your Teeth Together, but Rose insisted on having Ember, Jake, Miranda, and I accompany her.

Grayden and I, along with Dahnath, Drael and countless others, stayed to keep vigil, sitting on the hillside until the funeral blaze consumed itself, settling into cinders. In the early hours of the morning, a light, almost magical snow began to fall, and the moon’s glow as it reflected off the ground brightened the scenery, making everything seem new. My uncle’s death had again set my family reeling. While we were accustomed to picking up pieces, sorting through rubble and holding on to memories, the brothers who had died had been the pillars of our family, strong leaders in Hytanica’s military, and shining examples of all that was good and honorable within our kingdom. But this time, beneath the grieving, there was hope--hope that glowed like the remaining embers. This land was again our own, the Province Wall would be torn down, and we citizens would once more walk through the city gates without fear or suspicion. I shivered, and Grayden put his arm around me, snuggling me close to him, and a melancholy smile played across my face. My uncle had promised he would find a husband for me who would meet my father’s standards. And at what did the Captain of the Guard fail?

Vášeň neargumentuje slovy rozumu. Vášní je naprosto lhostejné, co od druhého dostane, chce se vyjádřit úplně, chce úplně odevzdat svou vůli, a to i tehdy, když za to nedostane nic jiného než vlídné city, zdvořilost, přátelství aneb trpělivost. Každá velká vášeň je beznadějná, jinak by to nebyla vášeň, nýbrž smlouva, chystrá dohoda, výměnný obchod vlažných zájmů. Nenáviděl si mě a to je stejně silné pouto, jako bys mě miloval.

glued them to me. It was like tearing off duct tape. With a harsh wrench, I went on my back. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry. He finished taking off my pants and straightened. His arms slipped under my legs and around my back, collecting me in his arms. My cold, bare skin burned where it touched his warm body. The numbness of most of my skin kept

Shirt" I remember once I ran after you and tagged the fluttering shirt of you in the wind. Once many days ago I drank a glassful of something and the picture of you shivered and slid on top of the stuff. And again it was nobody else but you I heard in the singing voice of a careless humming woman. One night when I sat with chums telling stories at a bonfire flickering red embers, in a language its own talking to a spread of white stars: It was you that slunk laughing in the clumsy staggering shadows. Broken answers of remembrance let me know you are alive with a peering phantom face behind a doorway somewhere in the city’s push and fury. Or under a pack of moss and leaves waiting in silence under a twist of oaken arms ready as ever to run away again when I tag the fluttering shirt of you.

The thought made him suddenly furious. He sat up, grabbed a shoe heel out of the bucket at his feet, and hurled it with all his might. It arrived at the front door just as the door opened. Doon heard a hard thwack and a loud “Ouch!” at the same moment. Then he saw the long, lean, tired-looking face of his father in the doorway.

This piece from a larger collection—likely one that would have wrapped around the entire exterior of a building, each slab telling a different part of the story. This one says: Thus the seven Princes of Hel looked in envy upon Midgard and unleashed their unholy hordes upon our united armies.” “Apparently nothing’s changed in fifteen thousand years,” Ember said, shadows darkening her eyes. Bryce kept her mouth shut. She’d never told her mom about Prince Aidas—how he’d helped her twice now, and had seemed unaware of his brothers’ dark plans. If her mom knew she’d consorted with the fifth Prince of Hel, they’d have to redefine the concept of going berserk.

Only ten minutes remained until the show began. Until the world could see how insanely talented Juniper was. Ember gracefully sank into one of the red velvet chairs at the front of the box, Randall claiming the seat beside her. Bryce’s mother didn’t smile. Considering that the royal Fae boxes occupied the wing across from them, Bryce didn’t blame her. And considering that many of the bejeweled and shining nobility were staring at Bryce, it was a miracle Ember hadn’t flipped them off yet. Randall whistled at the prime seats as he peered over the golden rail. “Nice view.” The air behind Bryce went electric, buzzing and alive. The hair on her arms prickled. A male voice sounded from the vestibule, “A benefit to having wings: no one wants to sit behind you.

What you get is what you get. What you do with what you get, though . . . that's more the point, wouldn't you say?

and

Rage. It’s not appreciated enough. Not studied enough. The capabilities of the human body are no longer limited to the laws of physics. The absolute destruction that resides in my fingertips could burn down entire cities—reduce them to ashes and embers. A simple stroke of a match, or a flick of my wrist, and as far as my eyes can see would be consumed in the same black fire that rages inside me.

Nehezen tudta elviselni, hogy az üzleti sikerei a díványon mit sem számítottak, hogy hiába volt az életben talpig férfi, a férfiassághoz ez még nem volt elég. Aztán vagy még akkor, a kocsiban ülve, vagy csak évekkel később, amikor az eszébe jutott az, ahogy ott ült a kocsiban – tulajdonképpen maga sem tudta biztosan, mikor volt a nagy pillanat, s úgy volt vele, mint amikor az ember képzelgés közben is tisztában van vele, hogy csak áltatja magát –, mindenesetre elhatározta, hogy megvárja, amíg annyira sikeres nem lesz, hogy már nem fog rászorulni, hogy férfiként ő kezdeményezzen. Azt akarta, hogy kívánják, hogy meg akarják hódítani. Azt akarta, hogy ő maga legyen a vágy tárgya. Olyan nagy és hatalmas akart lenni.

Lina didn't really feel cold but she did feel sad, which was in a way the same.

Imagine a crown of thorns, twisted, dark and unreflective, grown too thickly tangled to ever rest on any human head. Put it in orbit around a failed star whose own reflected half-light does little more than throw its satellites into silhouette. Occasional bloody highlights glinted like dim embers from its twists and crannies; they only emphasized the darkness everywhere else. Imagine an artefact that embodies the very notion of torture, something so wrenched and disfigured that even across uncounted lightyears and unimaginable differences in biology and outlook, you can't help but feel that somehow, the structure itself is in pain. Now make it the size of a city.

What you get is what you get. What you do with what you get, though…that’s more the point, wouldn’t you say?” He looked at Doon and smiled, a bit sadly. “I guess so,” Doon said. “But what can I do?” “I don’t know,” said his father. “You’ll think of something. You’re a clever boy. The main thing is to pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you’ll know what no one else knows, and that’s always useful.

Clary had a habit of answering questions in the briefest possible way. You had to keep asking and asking before she would believe you really wanted to know and weren’t just being polite. Then she would explain, and you could see how much she knew, and how much she loved her work.

Doon’s father put a hand on Doon’s back and steered him toward the corner. “A great many things make you angry lately,” he said. “For good reason,” said Doon. “Maybe. The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

where Lehabah still moved, still summoned her power, repeating the words over and over: “I am a descendant of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid.

And do you believe it necessary that I contact your mother, Ember Quinlan, to ask for her discretion, too?” The threat gleamed, sharp as a knife. One step out of line, and they knew where to strike first. Hunt’s hands curled into fists. “No,” Bryce said. “She doesn’t know about the Governors.” “And she never will. No one else will ever know, Bryce Quinlan.” Bryce swallowed again. “Yes.” A soft laugh. “Then you and Hunt Athalar have our blessing.” The line went dead. Bryce stared at the phone like it was going to sprout wings and fly around the room. Hunt slumped on the couch, rubbing his face. “Live quietly and normally, keep your mouths shut, never use the Horn, and we won’t fucking kill you and everyone you love.

Bryce glanced back—just once. To the friend who had stayed by her when no one else had. Who had refused to be anything but cheerful, even in the face of the darkness that had swallowed Bryce whole. Lehabah burned a deep, unfaltering ruby and began to move. First, a sweep of her arm upward. Then an arc down. A twirl, hair spiraling above her head. A dance, to summon her power. Whatever kernel of it a fire sprite might have. A glow spread along Lehabah’s body. So Bryce climbed. And with each painful step upward, she could hear Lehabah whisper, almost chanting, “I am a descendant of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid.” Bryce reached the top of the stairs. Lehabah whispered, “My friends are behind me, and I will protect them.” Screaming, Bryce shoved the library door. Until it clanged shut, the enchantments sealing, cutting off Lehabah’s voice with it, and Bryce leaned against it, sliding to the floor as she sobbed through her teeth.

I am a descendant of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid.” Lehabah glowed, bright as the heart of a star. “My friends are behind me, and I will protect them.” The top of the bathroom door began to curl open. And Lehabah unleashed her power. Three blows. Perfectly aimed. Not to the bathroom door and Archangel behind it. No, Lehabah couldn’t slow Micah. But a hundred thousand gallons of water would. Lehabah’s shimmering blasts of power slammed into the glass tank. Right on top of the crack that Bryce had made when the nøkk threw her into it. The creature, sensing the commotion, rose from the rocks. And recoiled in horror as Lehabah struck again. Again. The glass cracked further. And then Lehabah hurled herself against it. Pushed her tiny body against the crack. She kept whispering the words over and over again. They morphed together into one sentence, a prayer, a challenge. “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” Hunt wrested control of his body enough that he was able to put a hand over his heart. The only salute he could make as Lehabah’s words whispered through the speakers. “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” One by one, the angels in the 33rd rose to their feet. Then Ruhn and his friends. And they, too, put their hands on their hearts as the smallest of their House pushed and pushed against the glass wall, burning gold as the nøkk tried to flee to any place it might survive what was about to come. Over and over, Lehabah whispered, “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” The glass spiderwebbed. Everyone in the conference room rose to their feet. Only Sandriel, her attention fixed on the screen, did not notice. They all stood, and bore witness to the sprite who brought her death down upon herself, upon the nøkk—to save her friends. It was all they could offer her, this final respect and honor. Lehabah still pushed. Still shook with terror. Yet she did not stop. Not for one heartbeat. “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” The bathroom door tore open, metal curling aside to reveal Micah, glowing as if newly forged, as if he’d rend this world apart. He surveyed the library, eyes landing on Lehabah and the cracked tank wall. The sprite whirled, back pressed against the glass. She hissed at Micah, “This is for Syrinx.” She slammed her little burning palm into the glass. And a hundred thousand gallons of water exploded into the library.

In the realm of boundless skies I soar, With the fire of beginnings, I implore, Though thorns may pierce, and darkness may loom, I'll test my strength in thunder's fierce boom. For high above, I seek my place, In the heavens, a name to embrace, Yet every breath fuels my might, As I brave the storms, take flight in the night. In the face of dust, my resolve remains, Despite the wounds, and life's crushing pains, I stand unbroken, my spirit's ablaze, In the crucible, I'll burn and amaze. Though I may stumble, and falter, and strain, In my heart, the desire remains untamed, With sparks in my eyes, and hope in my veins, I'll rise from the ashes, through trials and gains. For I've etched in my fists, a star's radiant gleam, In the city's uproar, I'll conquer, it seems, Though darkness may fall in an infinite stream, My end won't be falling; it's more than it seems. On my face, I may wear the marks of the fight, With a broken resolve, a fractured light, But within my core, strength takes its flight, And from the embers, I'll emerge in the night. Though breaths may shatter, and heartbeats may sway, In the depths of my being, I'll find my way, With fiery gaze, and a steadfast say, I'll conquer the tempest, come what may. I've woven a star in the palm of my hand, Let the drums of the city resound, understand, Though shadows may gather, like grains of sand, My fall is not final, I'll rise and expand. In the realm of boundless skies, I roam, With a heart unyielding, I'll find my home, Through trials and triumphs, I'll ceaselessly roam, My end isn't falling; it's where I'll become.

I am a descendant of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid.

Hi, Mom.” “Hey, sweetie.” Ember Quinlan’s