Crystal Castles Quotes

Across the river, a row of crystal castles glittered in the sunlight in a way that would make Walt Disney want to throw rocks at his “Magic Kingdom.

Ty: Just words I like. If I say them to myself, it makes my mind - quieter. Does it bother you? Kit: No. I was just curious what words you liked. Ty: It's not the meaning, just the sound. Glass, twin, apple, whisper, stars, crystal, shadow, lilt. Kit: Whisper would be one of mine, too. Cloud, secret, highway, hurricane, mirror, castle, thorns. Ty: Blackthorns.

Here and now...breathe and relax...in battle and in life

She stood at the edge of a glassy river lined with impossibly tall trees, fanning out their wide emerald leaves among the puffy white clouds. Across the river, a row of crystal castles glittered in the sunlight in a way that would make Walt Disney want to throw rocks at his “Magic Kingdom.” To her right, a golden path led into a sprawling city, where the elaborate domed buildings seemed to be built from brick-size jewels—each structure a different color. Snowcapped mountains surrounded the lush valley, and the crisp, cool air smelled like cinnamon and chocolate and sunshine.

Where is he?” she demanded, though she wasn’t too worried about the answer. Paris and Zacharel were friends despite their differences, and Wrath had yet to make a peep. “I took him to the castle and dropped him on the bridge.” Reevaluation time. Paris and Zacharel were not friends on any level. Wrath, on the other hand, must think angels could do no wrong. “Why would you do that?” Sure, Paris would be carried inside and locked up. Sure, he would escape, and he would be fine. But none of that mattered to her just then. Fury rose, dark and hot and dangerous. Calm down. Before she whipped out that crystal blade Paris had given her and went to town on angel flesh. She’d so had enough of males and their abuse of supernatural abilities. Zacharel blinked as if the answer should be obvious to one and all. “That, as you called it, is what one male does to another when they are arguing.” “No. No, it’s not.” His lips edged down in the slightest of frowns. “That is what your Paris did to William of the Dark only this morn.” Well, she had no comeback for that, did she?

Across the river, a row of crystal castles glittered in the sunlight in a way that would make Walt Disney want to throw rocks at his 'Magic Kingdom

BILLY CRYSTAL It’s been one of the little jewels of my career. Very often, still to this day, in airports or movie theaters, people will walk by and go, “Have fun storming the castle!” Or the really cool ones will whisper to me, “Don’t go swimming for an hour, a good hour,” and then just walk away. Those are the really cool ones.

I have read that long ago there was a land of glass castles that sank beneath the sea. It was not called Atlantis, but Lyonesse. This happened before history and across the ocean, but when I was little I wondered about that place, how it could be so beautiful and so lost. Sometimes it seemed that the land around my New England home was like that flooded country, with mud where the streets of gold should be and mayflies swarming where there should be lovely fishes, but here and there a shard of crystal to call the heart to beauty. --"Wetlands," in Phoebe.

Snow crunched under the feet of three cloaked figures – a queen, her lady, and a gravedigger – as they hurried along a moonlit path in Windsor Castle's lower ward. The gravedigger pushed a cart that held a slab of marble, his pick and shovel, and some straw. When the trio reached the steps of St. George's Chapel, Queen Mary stopped. She turned her head, pushing aside the fur of her hood, and a gust of wind needled her with crystallized snow. She looked back at her attendants. Was she wrong to trust them with this night's work?

There were twenty-three females on the Keltar estate--not counting Gwen, Chloe, herself, or the cat--Gabby knew, because shortly after Adam had become visible last night, she'd met each and every one, from tiniest tot to tottering ancient. It had begun with a plump, thirtyish maid popping in to pull the drapes for the evening and inquire if the MacKeltars "were wishing aught else?" The moment her bespectacled gaze had fallen on Adam, she'd begun stammering and tripping over her own feet. It had taken her a few moments to regain a semblance of coordination, but she'd managed to stumble from the library, nearly upsetting a lamp and a small end table in her haste. Apparently it had been haste to alert the forces, for a veritable parade had ensued: a blushing curvaceous maid had come offering a warm-up of tear (they'd not been having any), followed by a giggling maid seeking a forgotten dust cloth (which--was anyone surprised?--was nowhere to be found), then a third one looking for a waylaid broom (yeah, right--they swept castles at midnight in Scotland--who believed that?), then a fourth, fifth, and sixth inquiring if the Crystal Chamber would do for Mr. Black (no one seemed to care what chamber might do for her; she half-expected to end up in an outbuilding somewhere). A seventh, eighth, and ninth had come to announce that his chamber was ready would he like an escort? A bath drawn? Help undressing? (Well, okay, maybe they hadn't actually asked the last, but their eyes certainly had.) Then a half-dozen more had popped in at varying intervals to say the same things over again, and to stress that they were there to provide "aught, aught at all Mr. Black might desire." The sixteenth had come to extract two tiny girls from Adam's lap over their wailing protests (and had stayed out of his lap herself only because Adam had hastily stood), the twenty-third and final one had been old enough to be someone's great-great-grandmother, and even she'd flirted shamelessly with the "braw Mr. Black," batting nonexistent lashes above nests of wrinkles, smoothing thin white hair with a blue-veined, age-spotted hand. And if that hadn't been enough, the castle cat, obviously female and obviously in heat, had sashayed in, tail straight up and perkily curved at the tip, and would her furry little self sinuously around Adam's ankles, purring herself into a state of drooling, slanty-eyed bliss. Mr. Black, my ass, she'd wanted to snap (and she liked cats, really she did; she'd certainly never wanted to kick one before, but please--even cats?), he's a fairy and I found him, so that him my fairy. Back off.

Oh, what the ocean did to a man. How unmatched it was. One could competitively build a giant castle made of sand or even hire architects to construct a true castle by the shore made of rocks and furnish its enormous insides with crystals. Yet plop him closer to the sea and within seconds, he will yield and feel as dumb as any other measly man lost at land.

three pale yellow moons floating amid black stars, and a stunted forest along the banks of a black lake that drew the eyes to a castle, huge and decayed, perilously perched on an outcrop of crystal. And although it was far off, a figure clearly stood there on the highest battlement, long black robes flapping in the breeze. It turned towards me, a wrinkled yellow mask with no features.

But if the Crystal Palace vanishes from the face of the earth, who shall trust any more in castles? Will they really pull it down, do you think? If it’s a bubble, it’s a glass bubble, and not meant, therefore, for bursting in the air, it seems to me. And you do want a place in England for sculpture, and also to show people how olives grow. What a beautiful winter garden it would be! But they will pull it down, perhaps; and then, the last we shall have seen of it will be in this description of your letter, and that’s seeing it worthily, too.

Lovers Who Uncover Where do all the lovers meet with one another, In an effort to uncover what has happened to the silent days? Despite ones on the corner, dream of something warmer A semblance of our old ways, what has happened to our handmade days? Oh no Oh no Oh nooooooooo We can pull a map out detailing the direct route Young ones grow anxious to proclaim their advances to the fray If we don't wake up and the truth never comes up You will never have our old lane, you will never have a right of way Oh no [x8] Hey-oh! Oh no [x8] Hey-oh! Oh nooooooooo Where do all the lovers meet with one another, In an effort to uncover what has happened to the silent days? Despite ones on the corner, dream of something warmer A semblance of our old ways, what has happened to our handmade days? Oh no [x4] Hey! Oh no [x4] Hey-oh! Hey-oh! And won't you show us where your heart is?

Crimewave Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eyelids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eyelids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit I want short breaths I found dark eye lids Nice breasts Like the summer into rough hands Eyes lit On short breaths From dark lids Firm nice breasts Up the summer into rough hands

Sad Eyes (You can't disguise) (You can't disguise) [Verse 1] She wears her veil at night Shadows cast uninvited [Hook] (Discourage affection) Sad eyes Sad eyes (You can't disguise) sad eyes (You can't disguise) [Verse 2] Feign care and warm concern The kiss you did not earn [Hook] (Discourage affection) (Discourage) (Discourage affection) (Discourage) [Hook] Sad eyes Sad eyes (You can't disguise) sad eyes (You can't disguise)

Vanished In the dark lights, We come out and play We are its children, And we’re here to stay Running through the streets, Hungry for strays No invitation, To take me away I’m not cruel, But thats still what you see Club to club, Come see this city with me Hungry for life, Without your pity I dont want it, But it comes anyway You go sexual city You till can’t say she won’t start up a fight You go the city 'Cause in the city of life she can't, she can't wait In the darkness, A killer awaits To kill a life, And the lies you make You do another, So this death can live Just keep on dancing, To the movie you’re in The smell of your sweat, Just lures me in Your heartbeat, Does sing to me Your running feet, Beats my blood My ghost inside you, Soon will be Now it’s over, You’ve taken your life The dark grows thin, And I’m left to hide I don’t regret it, But it’s sad anyway Now were both dead, And scared of the black This life of games, And diligent trust It’s the things we do, Or the things we must I’m now tired of being cussed So go sleep forever end to dust

HA,” Snowfall snorted. “I only have, like, seven non-magical weapons on me. We need THOUSANDS of weapons to drive these dragons away!” Lynx glanced down at her claws, as if she’d only just noticed that those were the only weapons she’d brought. “Really? Seven weapons?” “Yes, of course!” Snowfall said. She pointed to the spear on her back. “Spear.” Then to the knives in the sheaths at her wrists. “Knife, knife.” Then to the sheaths under her wings, the concealed pockets of her chain mail armor, and the pouch around her neck. “Knife, knife, throwing stars, poison.” She didn’t mention the other three hidden weapons, just in case Lynx was actually working for Crystal or the NightWings or had her own ulterior motives and was maybe planning to attack Snowfall as soon as she had her away from the castle unprotected. Well, ha ha, Snowfall had foiled her with those five guards! And the extra secret weaponry. And the totally being onto her!

Pender was shocked to see that the two other night watchmen, who should have been on deck, had been drafted to help with cabin service. The Morro Castle was now protected by only four men: Fourth Officer Howard Hansen, the officer of the watch; a helmsman; the bow lookout; and night watchman Pender. Pender regarded this as the most flagrant breach yet of the rules governing safety at sea. Another violation of those rules kept First Officer William Warms awake in the early hours of Thursday morning. His previous uneasiness had crystallized around one thing: the lack of boat drills on the Morro Castle.

I stared at it for a while. Then something happened to me which hadn’t happened for a long time. Once as a boy my parents took me to the beach. I didn’t build sand castles or play in the waves. I just stared at the horizon the whole time. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. My father asked me what I was looking at, and I told him I wanted to get in a boat and sail out there and keep sailing. When I went to Greece with Sarah and we looked out over the crystal blue Mediterranean, the same sweetness pulled at me. I cannot tell you where it came from or what I wanted, but I never forgot it. And it was happening again, in that lonely, quiet place Malachi had brought me to, because … what was that, above the thin curtain of reality? Past the furthest horizon, unseen, outside, silent? I could not make it out, but from my great depth, I was sure there was something, the way stars become visible in daylight from the bottom of a well. It pulled at me.

The greatest adventure is what lies ahead. Today and tomorrow are yet to be said. The chances, the changes are all yours to make. The mold of your life is in your hands to break." J.R.R. Tolkien

Lumina: (thoughtfully) Remember, magic is not just about spells and potions. It's also about belief and hope.

excessive attachments are to be avoided, especially in relationships. For example, a parent can be so possessive of a child it becomes harmful to the child, a friend may lead one to sin, and so on. Excessive desires cloud our recognition of truth. They keep us from thinking clearly and cause anxiety. It is why you see agitation in so many persons here.

Why do so many have chains?” “You have seen souls burdened with attachments, but these souls are also bound in fear. They are free to go, but lack of trust in God keeps them prisoners here, afraid to venture forth.” “They look so unhappy.” “If you wish to avoid their misery, listen to what I tell you now, Mundana. It is most important.” Fidelity stopped walking and gazed at her intently. “Know yourself! There is no growth without self-knowledge. It is the first step to freedom.

Black water and mud emitting a foul odor oozed from the darkness. A person stepped out of the building. Mundana stared in horror. Rats, insects, and evil-looking creatures swarmed around him, attempting to nip or crawl on him. He made no attempt to brush them away. Instead he turned and re-entered the house. “You have seen the soul of a person living in serious sin. Mortal sin, the one and only thing you should fear,” said Wisdom. “Why doesn’t he run away from that horrible place?” Sadness in her eyes, Wisdom answered. “Jesus said, ‘I am telling you the truth: everyone who sins is a slave to sin.’ ” (John 8:34) Sighing, she added, “Slaves are not free to run away, my dear.

first, she spent a great deal of time in the Outer area. Everything there beckoned to her. Shops, theaters, restaurants - all crooned a siren song of attraction, craving, and the “easy familiarity” of her former life. But, as time passed, the alluring melody rang off-key and she began to feel the weight of invisible burdens. In contrast, whenever she stole away to the Temple of Prayer, Mundana felt a return of the peace and delight given to her by the touch of God’s love. She experienced pleasure in prayer, which now flowed freely from her lips and heart.

You know,” Mundana sighed, “I always told myself I’m not like the people we hear about in the news. I never murdered anyone or robbed a bank, so I thought I was okay. Now I see how sinful I am.” “My dear child, you have repented. You made peace with your sister and contacted friends you may have hurt in the past. And most important, you went to confession and received forgiveness. Trust in the power of that sacrament. You have been forgiven; now you must forgive yourself.

Jasmine gazed out through the window, past the lantern-lit gardens and sparkling crystal fountains of the palace grounds, toward the sand dunes and mountains towering in the distance. They were promises of thrills waiting to be discovered... if she could only get to them. "Do you remember what you said when we first met, when you thought I was a handmaiden?" she asked Aladdin. "You told me the palace was your favorite view in the whole world." "It was the most amazing sight I'd ever seen, that's for sure. After you, of course." He ruffled her hair playfully. "To see those white-and-gold domed roofs towering over the city, the castle rising from the dunes... it was a wonder, especially from where I was sitting. It still is." "My favorite view has always been this one." Jasmine's expression turned wistful as she nodded at the window. "You wanted to get in, while I was desperate to get out and see the world. And now..." "Now you're locked in," he finished, his smile fading. "And everyone wants me out." "Well. Hardly everyone," she reminded him.

How do I know I have lived? How can I be certain my days were not squandered? What criteria, which principles qualify life as lived? Certainly, I have endured trials and troubles, and I learned from life’s lessons. I grew wise as well as empathetic. But is edification and its accompanying traits the ultimate aim for living? I have traveled. Oh, I have seen marvelous wonders in this world. Skies that were artic blue, emerald green, soft lilac, and rosy red. Mountains fixed like monuments to the gods. Waters as clear as crystal, as blue as larimar, deeper than a leviathan’s lair, and as vast as the night’s sky. I have witnessed pyramids and castles, colosseums, great walls, and temples. Is this living? To travel, to see, to awe at the world’s aesthetic wonders? I have experienced great joys in my days: laughter, kindness, fun, love, thrills, successes. I have suffered a great many sorrows: sickness, loss, pain, cruelty, vengeance, disparagement. I have valued the good and abhorred the bad. Is this the ultimate feat of living? I have been actively doing: from sailing to flying, acting to singing, hiking to biking. I have dived, danced, drummed, battled, built, raced, and used my incredible body to perform every activity I desired. I gained strength and endurance in the process. Is this a sure sign of living? I have been part of a family and raised my own. I have formed lasting, loyal friendships that have passed the test of time. I have felt what it means to sacrifice for loved ones, shared in their joys and sorrows, prayed for tender mercies and miracles in their lives. I have loved and been loved in return. Is it connection to family and friends, the relationships developed between kindred, is this what it means to truly live? How do I know I have lived? As my days near an end, how can I be certain my life was worthwhile and not wasted? Did I accomplish what life mandates of those who truly live? What qualifies life as lived?

They passed a huge, dim, pale shape. which was the square moon without its night-light on, and several crystal castles floated by apricot clouds. The Prince was so delighted that they had somehow given his horse a pair of fiery wings so that it too could flap through the air like the others.

Killing a human can’t be that hard!” Cress shouted back. “I just need to speak her real name and command her to die!” His boots thundered down the hall until he reached the crystal spiral staircase. He travelled down three levels into the dark pits of the Silver Castle where the cold morgue prepared faeborn bodies for candlelight ceremonies. When Cress burst into the room, he found it empty of servants. But he saw Whyp. He saw the body of the golden-eyed fairy. His brother assassin. Mor jogged in behind him. “Cress—” “Steal his memories for me,” Cress said. “Just this once, Mor. Do this for me.” “You know I can’t do that.” Moisture filled the Prince’s turquoise eyes when he looked at his friend. “Have you ever done it before?” he asked, and Mor looked like he’d turned to faestone. “Yes. Once,” he said. Cress nodded and marched over to Whyp. “Good,” he said. “Do it, Mor. Please. I’ll never tell a soul that you used your Shadow Fairy gift. I want to see Whyp’s last moments. I want to feel what he felt as his faeborn heart stopped.” “You can’t do anything about it, Cress,” Mor said quietly. “Promise me.” Cress laid his hands along Whyp’s temples. “I can’t even take a breath anymore without the whole North High Court watching me. How could I do something about this?

Por nuestro hilo notaba que estaba mal, pero él nunca me quería decir por qué de primeras, como si no quisiese darle presencia cuando estábamos a solas, o solo para no revivir aquellas cosas que rozaban, tocaban y retorcían lo grotesco. Al final siempre me lo decía. Me daba mucha pena. En esos momentos quería estar con él más que nunca. No para besarle ni para demostrar que me tenía colada por completo, sino para darle un hombre donde apoyarse, para darle un abrazo para comprarle un paquete de pipas y sentarme con él en su banco a comer tijuana y a escuchar Crystal Castles. Le hablaría de mi gata Virutas para que se alegrara, le enseñaría fotos suyas y nos reiríamos juntos. Le comentaría mi amor por Winnie The Pooh y su amigo Puerquito, que es así como se llama en mi cabeza. Cómo un día me pasé el día con mi familia en el Max Center, el epicentro comercial de Barakaldo, y me compraron un libro de Puerquito que me hizo feliz. Le escucharía todos los minutos y las horas que necesitase soltarlo todo, nuestros clásicos let it out. Le haría reír con mis cosas de Pringada y con sus cosas de fan. Le tumbará en un césped escucharíamos The Cure mirando al cielo. Le pasaría un rotulador para que entre entretuviese pintándome barbaridades en los brazos. Le recordaría la escena de Phiphi vs. Sharon de RuPaul's Drag Race y el fracaso que fue Serena ChaCha. Le permitiría ser pedante sobre lo mala que le parece American Beauty, mi peli favorita. Le preguntaría sobre los orígenes de PXXR GVNG, el realismo sucio de Bukowski, su descubrimiento de The Drums y el outfit que tenía pensado llevar a nuestra próxima pinchada en Razzmatazz. Le haría elegir entre Vetements y Maison Margiela. Le sacaría todas sus nuevas ideas estéticas de haute cuture, como juntar dos camisas en una y parecer la promesa de la próxima MET Gala. Le haría saber que dentro de mí hay alguien que le acepta, le admira y le quiere tal y como es, sin cambiar ni una pizca, sin miedo a que parezca un maricón o a que pierda las formas con gente que en realidad importa una mierda. Le enseñaría que hay un mundo ahí fuera con más freaks como nosotros y que él era una estrella de las cegadoras que había ahí arriba. Que vivir en un mundo pequeño no le condenaba a una vida pequeña. la aseguraría que lo arreglarían mientras me haría un nudo de la garganta, dejaría mis bloqueos y le abrazaría hasta que se le fuese toda la tristeza por los pies. Y si se nos hacía de noche le dejaría mi chaqueta para que no se congelase de frío.

Come with me, Marlowe Jones. I’ll take you on a tour of the underworld.

Psalm" And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I am with my heavenly Father and He comforts me. And in this place, I lack nothing at all. I have found the path that leads me to the place of strength, where enemies cannot outcast their wrath. He has prepared a table, laden with a feast and fit for a king, though I am nothing but. I am empowered as I sit in the presence of the Lord. Seated at his table, I look inside the divine castle and the most beautiful crystals can be seen dangling from it's ceiling of white clouds, jeweled walls adorned with ornate candelabra, heavy goblets filled with red wine. And as I turn around from all these glorious pictures, I see my beautiful father, no longer on earth. I have missed him so. I envisioned him here with my own eyes, all this time. You see, I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death.

What teens have to work with, then, are two wildly divergent messages. They live in a candyland of sex…every magazine stand is a gumdrop castle of breasts, every reality show is a bootylicious Tootsie Roll tree. And these are hormonal teenagers: This culture speaks to them. But at school, the line given to the majority of them about sex is just say no. They are taught that sex is wrong until you have a wedding (they have seen those in the magazines and on the reality shows too, huge affairs that require boatloads of Casablanca lilies and mountains of crystal), and then suddenly it becomes natural and nice. If you process this information through the average adolescent mental computer, you end up with a printout that reads something like this: Girls have to be hot. Girls who aren’t hot probably need breast implants. Once a girl is hot, she should be as close to naked as possible all the time. Guys should like it. Don’t have sex.

I have had my homes razed, raided and burned to the ground, my towers gutted, marauded, and blasted, and my castles pillaged, defiled, and demolished. I have been imprisoned in the Astral Plane, entombed in stone, had my spirit bound within a phylactery, and had my mind trapped within a crystal prism. I have been held for ransom by bandits, robbed by nobility, and dispossessed by extradimensional thieves. I have been threatened, cajoled, berated, cursed (both literally and actually), abused, and blackmailed. I have been stabbed, bludgeoned, whipped, tortured, burned, shocked, flayed, and worse.1 I have been possessed, mind-controlled, robbed of my body and volition, and rendered incorporeal. I have been turned into a newt, transmogrified into a frog, changed into a toad, and transformed into creatures slimier still.2 I have been charmed, bewitched, hexed, ensorcelled, enchanted, mesmerized, spellbound, and let’s not even talk about what happened while I was under the influence of hostile supernatural entities and agents. I have been abandoned by friends, forgotten by allies, scorned by compatriots, and turned upon by companions. I have had intimates taken, comrades killed, family members persecuted, and kith imprisoned. I have fought with incomprehensible daemons face to face, been engulfed by dragons’ raging hellfires, clashed with greater Powers, and been laid low by alien intelligences. I have been trapped within the bowels of forgotten ruins, lost within haunted crypts, striven through extradimensional labyrinths, delved over and through the hearts of uncharted planets, and foundered within the darkest and deepest wilds. I have had my identity erased, my memories taken, my will sapped, and my spirit broken. And these were on some of my better days. I am a wizard.

I always got called a goth and a witch and shit, just because I wasn’t in a catsuit.

The entire meal had a bird and egg theme, including magnificent castles with birds that flew out when the tower tops were cut off, roasted peacocks that still looked alive, swans made of sugar paste, and hundreds of eggs dyed black in the water of walnut hulls. I would have loved to have seen such a sight!

The table before the emperor was spread with an entire city of sugar, a city so resplendent it was as though a door had opened into heaven itself. Groves of trees dotted the the table's landscape with beautiful painted castles nestled among hills of pale green. Stars hung from the trees and graced the castle flags. From the ceiling, many dozens of gold and silver stars hung by ribbons over the table, creating a fantastical sky. Amid this wondrous landscape there were sculptures of ancient Roman gods in various scenes: Jupiter on a mountain, lightning bolt in hand; Venus born from a sea of blue; Bacchus in drunken debauchery in a grove of delicate green vines. Ever one to be in control, Michelangelo had insisted he not only develop the many dozen molds but that he also be the one to pour the sugar and finalize the details with sugar paste.

The handsome Prince Nelly, new gay bar royalty, lip-synced along to his power ballad selections with a crooner’s passion, both his fists at his sternum. He announced the next song into a microphone, imparting copious factoids. In general, the music was eighties pop—Dead or Alive, Bananarama, Belinda Carlisle, the Human League—and stuff irresistible after imbibing cheap beer: ‘Fantasy’ by Mariah Carey. ‘9 to 5.’ Crystal Castles. CSS. Janet Jackson’s ‘When I Think of You.’ ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ by Depeche Mode. ‘That’s Not My Name.’ MGMT. ‘D.A.N.C.E.’ ‘Last Dance.’ I recognized the Lovely Jonjo from his appearance on the cover of Butt magazine.

There was a tremendous flash, as the crystal of the Secret Country exploded into a billion colored shards, and a ringing, terrible, sustained crash as the land, from end to end, from the Mountains of the North to the Dubious Hills, from the Wide West Waste to the Sunrise Sea, cities of men and manners, climates, councils, governments, the boost of heraldry and pomp of power, all that heart heard of or mind expressed, trees, flowers, cottages, and wells, the unicorn, the cardinal, the dragon, and the owl, sun, moon, stars, clouds, the loving detail of High Castle, the barely imagined cities of the Dwarves, the fabulous mines whence came Lord Randolph's ring, the Green Caves and the Magic Wood, King John's solemn tomb, Laura and Ellen downstairs, the stones beneath them and their very bones, shook, rang, shattered, and seemed to collapse in dust.

Cold beads of dew touching my skin, shimmering like silver crystal globes on the grass blades.