Enchanted Kingdom Quotes

It has always seemed to me. ever since early childhood, amid all the commonplaces of life, i was very near to a kingdom of ideal beauty. Between it and me hung only a thin veil. I could never draw it quite aside, but sometimes a wind fluttered it and I caught a glimpse of the enchanting realms beyond-only a glimpse-but those glimpses have always made life worthwhile.

Intoxicated With the madness I'm in love with My sadness Bullshit beggars, enchanted kingdom Fashion victims through their charcoaled teeth

…This place was once like your Enchanted Forest is- home to tens of thousands of fairies. But that was many ages ago, before the Kingdom of Britain was established. In those early days, the fairies ruled over the land.

Inej cleared her throat. “You do look a bit …” “Enchanting,” said Matthias. Nina was about to snap that she didn’t appreciate the sarcasm when she saw the expression on his face. He looked like someone had just given him a tuba full of puppies. “You could be a maiden on the first day of Roennigsdjel.” “What is Roennigsdjel?” asked Kuwei. “Some festival,” replied Nina. “I can’t remember. But I’m pretty sure it involves eating a lot of elk. Let’s go, you big goon—and I’m supposed to be your sister, stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like I’m made of ice cream.” “I don’t care for ice cream.” “Matthias,” Nina said, “I’m not sure we can continue to spend time together.” But she couldn’t quite keep the satisfaction from her voice. Apparently she was going to have to stock up on ugly knitwear.

These better be my size,” Nina said grumpily. She was tempted to strip down in the middle of the tomb, but she thought Matthias might keel over from the sheer impropriety of it all. She grabbed a lantern and marched into one of the side catacombs to change. She didn’t have a mirror, but she could tell the dress was spectacularly dowdy, and she had no words for the little knitted vest. When she emerged from the passage, Jesper doubled over laughing, Kaz’s brows shot up, and even Inej’s lips twitched. “Saints,” Nina said sourly. “How bad is it?” Inej cleared her throat. “You do look a bit …” “Enchanting,” said Matthias. Nina was about to snap that she didn’t appreciate the sarcasm when she saw the expression on his face. He looked like someone had just given him a tuba full of puppies.

Kaz had rescued her from that hopelessness, and their lives had been a series of rescues ever since, a string of debts that they never tallied as they saved each other again and again. Lying in the dark, she realized that for all her doubts, she’d believed he would rescue her once more, that he would put aside his greed and his demons and come for her. Now she wasn’t so sure. Because it was not just the sense in the words she’d spoken that had stilled Van Eck’s hand but the truth he’d heard in her voice. He’ll never trade if you break me. She could not pretend those words had been conjured by strategy or even animal cunning. The magic they’d worked had been born of belief. An ugly enchantment.

Keep that hairy mutt outside the great hall,” Merlin ordered as they made their way to the treasury door. “No.” “You are acting like a child.” “I am a woman masquerading as a 15 year old boy king who makes no decisions about his own kingdom. The least you will allow me to do is to make decisions regarding my pets.” “Fine.

There were nights for instance, especially in August, where the view of the full moon from the top of the Acropolis hill or from a high terrace could steal your breath away. The moon would slide over the clouds like a seducing princess dressed in her finest silvery silk. And the sky would be full of stars that trembled feebly, like servants that bowed before her. During those nights under the light of the August full moon, the city of Athens would become an enchanted kingdom that slept lazily under the sweet light of its ethereal mistress.

As punishment, I was exiled to the moon—an enchantment cast upon me which binds me here for eternity. I cannot leave this place, no matter how much I want to.” In a low voice, she added, “A palace you cannot escape is a prison nonetheless.

The road to the kingdom of childhood, governed by ingenuousness and innocence, is thus regained in the horror of atonement. The purity of love is regained in its intimate truth which, as I said, is that of death. Death and the instant of divine intoxication merge when they both oppose those intentions of Good which are based on rational calculation. And death indicates the instant which, in so far as it is instantaneous, renounces the calculated quest for survival. The instant of the new individual being depended on the death of other beings. Had they not died there would have been no room for new ones. Reproduction and death condition the immortal renewal of life; they condition the instant which is always new. That is why we can only have a tragic view of the enchantment of life, but that is also why tragedy is the symbol of enchantment.

According to an ancient and common tradition in the kingdom of Great Britain, this king did not die, but was transformed into a raven by the art of enchantment and, in the course of time, he shall return to rule again and regain his kingdom and his scepter.

It’s not the same,” I ground out. “You’ve taken away their freedom to choose, to judge on their own. To compel them to acts they might rather die than commit.” I fixed him with a scornful stare, even as I shrank away inside. “But no enchantment is unbreakable. You’ll pay when they break free.

I was ensorcelled from the moment you spoke with that sharp tongue of yours, my lioness, my princess of ice, my torture, and my salvation.

How can I help?" "Don't let me murder you." "I'm not sure how to refrain from dying by your magical hand, my lady, but I will endeavor to please you with every action.

Fight me, love. You'll need the strength at the pass. Let that power fly." She wouldn't hear him, but he couldn't help speaking to her like she was by his side.

Was Ozma once a boy?" asked Zeb, wonderingly. "Yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. But she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world.

Ah, is this what you are after, Princess Mage?" He came close, his lips a breath from hers, his gaze flitting from her head to her neck, then back again. "Would you kiss me, even though you long to shatter my heart?

I am now going to make an admission. I confess, I agree, that all these good people who protested, who laughed, who did not perceive what we perceived, were in a quite legitimate position. Their opinion was quite in order. One must not be afraid to say that the kingdom of letters is only a province of the vast empire of entertainment. One picks up a book, one puts it aside; and even when one cannot put it down one very well understands that this interest is related to the facility of pleasure. That is to say that every effort of a creator of beauty or of fantasy should be bent, by the very essence of his work, on contriving for the public pleasure which demands no effort, or almost none. It is through the public that he should deduce what touches, moves, soothes, animates or enchants the public. There are however several publics; amongst whom it is not impossible to find some people who do not conceive of pleasure without pain, who do not like to enjoy themselves without paying, and who are not happy if their happiness is not in some part their own contrivance through which they wish to realize what it costs them.

The fact that he was a good man-a good elven prince-made him all the more appealing.

Doi devin unul. Doua inimi. Un suflet.

With the soaring bliss of knowing she was in the arms of the one who adored her, she would risk absolutely everything for true love.

He had shed his cloak, but still wore his crown. He looked like a king who'd lost his kingdom, tragic and beautiful.

I thought you’d never match up to the figment of my dreams, and I was wrong. You are far more enchanting in real life. Far more exquisite.

Be aware! Bad things can happen and the bigger they are, the greater the test. You can learn from them or pity yourself and focus on the negative, which will never get you out of the lesson, remember you hold the key!” Den the Wise Oak Tree, See the little people…An Enchanting Adventure

Since the crown robbed them of their happily ever after, then damn it all to hell! Let the kingdom all burn down! Let it all fall into ruin! Let them all pay for what the entire kingdom did to her! To them!

Does that mean you won’t be building me a castle in our new kingdom?”  He pouted.  “Because, your grandmother said I could be prince of the Enchanted Forest.  She’s going to steal me a crown and everything.  We have it all planned.

Happily Ever After Imagine them all after the plotting, after the ball, after the spelling, hopping, sweeping, grumping, grousing, mopping, sleeping, from small glass shoe to nuisance pea, so ever after, all happily be- enchanted with magic from kingdoms to seas. Now close your eyes, and dream of these.

In after years when he remembered the enchanting dreams of his boyhood, instead of sighing after them as something gone for ever, he would say to himself, "what matter they are gone? In the heavenly kingdom my own mother is waiting me, fairer and stronger and real. I imagined the elves; God imagined my mother.

Once upon a time, during a time after all the happily-ever-afters, and perhaps even after the ever-afters after that, all the evil villains of the world were banished from the United Kingdom of Auradon and imprisoned on the Isle of the Lost. There, underneath a protective dome that kept all manner of enchantment out of their clutches, the terrible, the treacherous, the truly awful, and the severely sinister were cursed to live without the power of magic. King Beast declared the villains exiled forever.

Martha spoke again. “In case you’ve forgotten, here are the rules, Beast, laid out by all the sisters: You must love her and that love must be returned with true love’s kiss, before your twenty first birthday. She may use the mirror as you do, to see into the world beyond your kingdom, but she must never know the details of the curse or how it’s to be broken. You will notice she sees the castle and its enchantments differently than yourself. The most terrifying aspects of the curse are reserved for you.

There were only two good things about the winter solstice celebration at the fae court. Wine and wine.

Thus far, they were equals. They both embodied what the kingdom wanted them to be, but not necessarily, what they chose to be.

INTRODUCTION A NOTE TO ALL STORYTELLERS  Imagine a world with magic. Now imagine this place is home to everything and everyone you were told wasn’t “real.” Imagine it has fairies and witches, mermaids and unicorns, giants and dragons, and trolls and goblins. Imagine they live in places like enchanted forests, gingerbread houses, underwater kingdoms, or castles in the sky. Personally, I know such a place exists because it’s where I’m from. This magical world is not as distant as you think. In fact, you’ve been there many times before. You travel there whenever you hear the words “Once upon a time.” It’s another realm, where all your favorite fairy-tale and nursery-rhyme characters live. In your world, we call it the Land of Stories.

God, go with us. Help us to be an honor to the church. Give us the grace to follow Christ’s word, to be clear in our task and careful in our speech. Give us open hands and joyful hearts. Let Christ be on our lips. May our lives reflect a love of truth and compassion. Let no one come to us and go away sad. May we offer hope to the poor, and solace to the disheartened. Let us so walk before God’s people, that those who follow us might come into his kingdom. Let us sow living seeds, words that are quick with life, that faith may be the harvest in people’s hearts. In word and in example let your light shine in the dark like the morning star. Do not allow the wealth of the world or its enchantment flatter us into silence as to your truth. Do not permit the powerful, or judges, or our dearest friends to keep us from professing what is right. Amen.

Filip was removing his vest, sleeves, and tunic. Of course he was. The man loved being half naked. "And why is he disrobing?" Her teeth ground together. "I assume it's so his entire uniform doesn't suffer from the water?" Sunniva retied the black ribbon holding her knotted hair at her neck. "Right" Filip tried to focus on Aury's voice within the mess of noise from the running water and the many humans lined up around the field. "...he disrobing?" He chuckled. "To watch color rise to your lovely cheeks, amant," he whispered.

He might have been the crown prince to the rest of the guests at this banquet, but Violet wasn’t a part of his world. Of his kingdom. She was supposed to be a stranger to him, and he to her. But somewhere, along the way, he became so much more. He became someone, whom her heart secretly clung to.

When you truly believe in the desires of your heart, they show themselves to you, creating a world you wish to see. When you believe in the bad things of your world, they also become visible, weighing on your heart, which makes peace hard to find.” Den the Wise Oak Tree, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

MAY 9 YOU WILL REBUKE ALL THE POWERS OF JEZEBEL OUT OF YOUR LIFE MY CHILD, PLACE yourself securely within the control and power of My Holy Spirit so that you will not be surprised or intimidated by the overwhelming of the spirit of Jezebel in your world today. Allow My presence to permeate your spirit and sensitize you to all the gateways by which the devil and Jezebel may enter your life. Get rid of the gods of Jezebel who creep in unawares into your home. Do not let the diviners and evil prophets of this world deceive you, nor listen to the lies they would tell you about your thoughts and dreams. Watch out for the evil influence of this world’s enchanters, astrologers, and diviners. Allow the power of My Holy Spirit to fill your life with My power, which alone is mighty enough to destroy the spirits of Jezebel out of your life. 1 SAMUEL 28:9; JEREMIAH 29:8; DANIEL 5:11 Prayer Declaration Father, I loose tribulation against the kingdom of Jezebel. I rebuke and tear down her strongholds, and in the name of Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit I destroy her witchcraft. No longer will she be allowed to cast spells or influence me or my family to practice idolatry. Greater is the power of Your Holy Spirit within me than the evil power of Jezebel upon me.

According to an ancient and widespread tradition throughout the kingdom of Great Britain, this king did not die but, through the art of enchantment, was turned into a crow and in time will return to rule and recover his kingdom and scepter; for this reason, it can be demonstrated that no Englishman has ever killed a crow from that time to this.

My head says forget it, my heart says I’ll regret it, and what my stomach tells me, I should not ignore. Oh no, I gotta go, give me a leave, not your sleeve! I know this will cease, when I feel peace. So I will help a boy, come to Joy, a risk I shall take, it’s no mistake, my stomach tells me so.” Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

She might have sat on a golden throne and controlled dominion over the entire Kingdom of the West at her feet, but it came at a great cost. In the end, she was lonely. All so incredibly lonely. And bitter, too. Had she known the end game from the very beginning, then maybe, Vera would have abandoned her lust for power and revenge long ago. In the end, her quest for vengeance cost her dearly.

You might just be compelled to hear, that there is folklore about a boy so dear, a legend the fairies readily discern, of a good King’s rule upon his return. A boy, a boy is in front of me, I know not who this human could be. I will just become a part of this tree! Unless he cries a desperate plea, I shall then be allowed to reach out to thee.” Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

In short, the way to the heart is through the body, and the way into the body is throughs tory. And this is how worship works: Christian formation is a conversion of the imagination effected by the Spirit, who recruits our most fundamental desires by a kind of narrative enchantment---by inviting us narrative animals into a story that seeps into our bones and becomes the orienting background of our being-in-the-world.

… But I should tell you that, come the apple festival of Transfiguration Day, when the sky begins to change from summer to autumn, it is the usual thing for our town to be overrun by an absolute plague of cicadas, so that by night, much as you might wish to sleep, you never can, what with all that interminable trilling on all sides, and the stars hanging down low over your head, and especially with the moon dangling just above the tops of the bell towers, for all the world like one of our renowned “smetana” apples, the kind that the local merchants supply to the royal court and even take to shows in Europe. If someone should ever happen to glance down at Zavolzhsk from those heavenly spheres out of which the lamps of the night pour forth their bright rays, then the picture presented to that fortunate person’s eyes would surely be one of some enchanted kingdom: the River sparkling lazily, the roofs glittering, the gas lamps flickering in the streets, and, hovering over all the shimmer and glimmer of this multifarious radiance, the tremulous silvery chiming of the cicada choir.

Anyway, Em, I am sure you are happily ensconced in your native habitat, that dreary monument to mortal rumination that is the library, no doubt thinking of me hardly at all. Well, why would you give a thought to romance or the faerie kingdom that now belongs to you as much as to me when you have a limitless supply of dusty old tomes to mutter and scowl at? I see now that my downfall as a suitor lies in my ability to offer you only a castle, great quantities of faerie silver, and various enchantment to dazzle and provoke you, instead of the full bound collection of Dryadological Fieldnotes.

Prince Arctic?” A silvery white dragon poked her head around the door, tapping three times lightly on the ice wall. Arctic couldn’t remember her name, which was the kind of faux pas his mother was always yelling at him about. He was a prince; it was his duty to have all the noble dragons memorized along with their ranks so he could treat them according to exactly where they fit in the hierarchy. It was stupid and frustrating and if his mother yelled at him about it one more time, he would seriously enchant something to freeze her mouth shut forever. Oooo. What a beautiful image. Queen Diamond with a chain of silver circles wound around her snout and frozen to her scales. He closed his eyes and imagined the blissful quiet. The dragon at his door shifted slightly, her claws making little scraping sounds to remind him she was there. What was she waiting for? Permission to give him a message? Or was she waiting for him to say her name — and if he didn’t, would she go scurrying back to the queen to report that he had failed again? Perhaps he should enchant a talisman to whisper in his ear whenever he needed to know something. Another tempting idea, but strictly against the rules of IceWing animus magic. Animus dragons are so rare; appreciate your gift and respect the limits the tribe has set. Never use your power frivolously. Never use it for yourself. This power is extremely dangerous. The tribe’s rules are there to protect you. Only the IceWings have figured out how to use animus magic safely. Save it all for your gifting ceremony. Use it only once in your life, to create a glorious gift to benefit the whole tribe, and then never again; that is the only way to be safe. Arctic shifted his shoulders, feeling stuck inside his scales. Rules, rules, and more rules: that was the IceWing way of life. Every direction he turned, every thought he had, was restricted by rules and limits and judgmental faces, particularly his mother’s. The rules about animus magic were just one more way to keep him trapped under her claws. “What is it?” he barked at the strange dragon. Annoyed face, try that. As if he were very busy and she’d interrupted him and that was why he was skipping the usual politic rituals. He was very busy, actually. The gifting ceremony was only three weeks away. It was bad enough that his mother had dragged him here, to their southernmost palace, near the ocean and the border with the Kingdom of Sand. She’d promised to leave him alone to work while she conducted whatever vital royal business required her presence. Everyone should know better than to disturb him right now. The messenger looked disappointed. Maybe he really was supposed to know who she was. “Your mother sent me to tell you that the NightWing delegation has arrived.” Aaarrrrgh. Not another boring diplomatic meeting.

The baby girl who lifted the flaps of Rod Campbell's Dear Zoo becomes the toddler charmed by Ludwig Behmelman's Madeline who turns into the sixth grader listening open-mouthed to Mark Halperin's A Kingdom Far and Clear who grows up to be the young woman swept away by Leo Tolstoy and the beautiful, ill-fated heroine of Anna Karenina. Each book makes straight the path for the next, opening out into sunlit literary meadows where, over time, young people will encounter beautiful writing and characters and scenes that may have been known, loved, and remembered by generations long since past. For the child, or teenager, or anyone else for that matter, getting these tickets to arcadia is a matter of simplicity. All they have to do is listen.

He remembered an old tale which his father was fond of telling him—the story of Eos Amherawdur (the Emperor Nightingale). Very long ago, the story began, the greatest and the finest court in all the realms of faery was the court of the Emperor Eos, who was above all the kings of the Tylwydd Têg, as the Emperor of Rome is head over all the kings of the earth. So that even Gwyn ap Nudd, whom they now call lord over all the fair folk of the Isle of Britain, was but the man of Eos, and no splendour such as his was ever seen in all the regions of enchantment and faery. Eos had his court in a vast forest, called Wentwood, in the deepest depths of the green-wood between Caerwent and Caermaen, which is also called the City of the Legions; though some men say that we should rather name it the city of the Waterfloods. Here, then, was the Palace of Eos, built of the finest stones after the Roman manner, and within it were the most glorious chambers that eye has ever seen, and there was no end to the number of them, for they could not be counted. For the stones of the palace being immortal, they were at the pleasure of the Emperor. If he had willed, all the hosts of the world could stand in his greatest hall, and, if he had willed, not so much as an ant could enter into it, since it could not be discerned. But on common days they spread the Emperor's banquet in nine great halls, each nine times larger than any that are in the lands of the men of Normandi. And Sir Caw was the seneschal who marshalled the feast; and if you would count those under his command—go, count the drops of water that are in the Uske River. But if you would learn the splendour of this castle it is an easy matter, for Eos hung the walls of it with Dawn and Sunset. He lit it with the sun and moon. There was a well in it called Ocean. And nine churches of twisted boughs were set apart in which Eos might hear Mass; and when his clerks sang before him all the jewels rose shining out of the earth, and all the stars bent shining down from heaven, so enchanting was the melody. Then was great bliss in all the regions of the fair folk. But Eos was grieved because mortal ears could not hear nor comprehend the enchantment of their song. What, then, did he do? Nothing less than this. He divested himself of all his glories and of his kingdom, and transformed himself into the shape of a little brown bird, and went flying about the woods, desirous of teaching men the sweetness of the faery melody. And all the other birds said: "This is a contemptible stranger." The eagle found him not even worthy to be a prey; the raven and the magpie called him simpleton; the pheasant asked where he had got that ugly livery; the lark wondered why he hid himself in the darkness of the wood; the peacock would not suffer his name to be uttered. In short never was anyone so despised as was Eos by all the chorus of the birds. But wise men heard that song from the faery regions and listened all night beneath the bough, and these were the first who were bards in the Isle of Britain.

Walt's father had been shopping with his son on a Sunday afternoon when he'd wandered into All Saints' Passage and found the bookshop. A silent boy, Walt still hadn't spoken, so there was no reason to think he'd be interested in reading yet. But when Walt snuck through the door, under his father's arm, he let out a gasp of delight. He had stepped into a kingdom: an oak labyrinth of bookshelves, corridors and canyons of literature beckoning him, whispering enchanting words Walt had never heard before. The air was smoky with the scent of leather, ink and paper, caramel-rich and citrus-sharp. Walt stuck out his small tongue to taste this new flavor and grinned, sticky with excitement. And he knew, all of a sudden and deep in his soul, that this was a place he belonged more than any other.

The fairy tale offers the child hope that someday the kingdom will be his. Since the child cannot settle for less, but does not believe that he can achieve this kingdom on his own, the fairy tale tells him that magic forces will come to his aid. This rekindles hope, which without such fantasy would be extinguished by harsh reality. Since the fairy tale promises the type of triumph the child wishes for, it is psychologically convincing as no "realistic" tale can be. And because it pledges that the kingdom will be his, the child is willing to believe the rest of what the fairy story teaches: that one must leave home to find one's kingdom; that it cannot be gained immediately; that risks must be taken, trials submitted to; that it cannot be done all by oneself, but that one needs helpers; and that to secure their aid, one must meet some of their demands. Just because the ultimate promise coincides with the child's wishes for revenge and a glorious existence, the fairy tale enriches the child's fantasy beyond compare.

In 2004 the British government’s official advisers, the Royal Commission on Environmental Pollution, proposed that 30 per cent of the United Kingdom’s waters should become reserves in which no fishing or any other kind of extraction happened.58 In 2009 an environmental coalition launched a petition for the same measure – strict protection for 30 per cent of UK seas – which gathered 500,000 signatures.59 Yet, while some nations, including several that are much poorer than the United Kingdom, have started shutting fishing boats out of large parts of their seas, at the time of writing we have managed to protect a spectacular 0.01 per cent of our territorial waters: five of our 48,000 square kilometres. This takes the form of three pocket handkerchiefs: around Lundy Island in the Bristol Channel, Lamlash Bay on the Isle of Arran and Flamborough Head in Yorkshire. There are plenty of other nominally protected areas but they are no better defended from industrial fishing than our national parks are defended from farming.

The farther back the bed, the older the child looked. The last few didn’t even look like children anymore, but petite senior citizens. Their faces were wrinkled and their hair was gray. “These must be the missing children!” Red gasped. “What’s happening to them?” Tootles asked. Red noticed that the walls were lined with empty coffins. She covered her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. “Morina is draining their youth and beauty to make potions!” Red said. “She’s a monster!” Red and the Lost Boys stared around at the cursed children in disbelief. They wanted to free them from whatever enchantment was draining their life force, but they didn’t know how. They were too afraid to touch any of them. “Why are there empty beds?” Nibs asked. “Because they died,” said a voice that didn’t belong to Red or the Lost Boys. They looked around the basement to see where it was coming from. Propped up in the corner of the basement was a tall mirror with a silver frame, and to Red’s horror, Froggy was standing inside of it. “Charlie!” Red yelled, and ran to it. She placed both of her hands on the glass and Froggy put his webbed hands against hers. “Our dad’s a giant frog?” Nibs asked. “Hooray, our dad’s a frog!” “Red, who are these children?” Froggy asked. “And why are they calling me Dad?” “These are the Lost Boys of Neverland. I’ve adopted them for the time being—it’s a long story,” Red said. “Charlie, what are you doing inside a mirror?” “Morina put me in here so I would have to watch the children,” Froggy said sadly. “So how do we get you out?” Red asked. Froggy shook his head. “Magic mirrors are irreversible, my darling” he said. “I’m trapped just like the Evil Queen’s lover, but since the wishing spell doesn’t exist anymore, I’ll most likely be in here… forever.” Red fell to her knees and shook her head. She thought her heart was broken before, but it had shattered into so many pieces now, it might never heal again. “No…,” she whispered. “No, no, no…” Froggy became emotional at the sight of her. “I am so sorry, my love,” he cried. “You must take these children and leave before Morina gets back.” “I can’t leave you…,” Red cried. “There’s nothing we can do.” Froggy wept. “Morina wanted to separate us, and I’m afraid she has for good. The

We stood upon a hill, green and studded with pale stones. Below us was forest, bluebells undulating among the trees, a tide of purple dissolving into shadow. There was a lake-- no, two lakes, the second a mere line of glitter in the distance. At our back, behind the nexus and extending to the northern horizon, were mountains of indigo and layered shadow, some darkened to black by the moody sky overhead, some greyed and smudged by shafts of sunlight. Must I even say it? It was beautiful--- of course it was. The forest in particular, which glinted here and there with silver as the wind rode the branches, as if someone had clambered into the canopy to hang baubles. And yet I had the sense that I was not seeing the entirety of it, that the shadows were thicker here, more obscuring, than those in the mortal realm, and many of the details were clouded by a dreamlike haze. Even now, as I write these words--- I am still in Wendell's kingdom!--- I find the memory of that view trying to slip from my mind like a bird darting through the boughs, so that I catch only the flickering edge of it. Perhaps there is some enchantment embedded in the place, or perhaps it is simply too much for my mortal eyes to take in. Where the Trees Have Eyes.

Reason says, I will beguile him with the tongue;" Love says, "Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul." The soul says to the heart, "Go, do not laugh at me and yourself. What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him thereby?" He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion that I may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure. The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should beguile the shaft of his gaze with a bow. He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world of earth, that I should beguile him with gold of the kingdom of the world. He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not lustful that I should beguile him with women. Angels start away from the house wherein this form is, so how should I beguile him with such a form and likeness? He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings; his food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread? He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the world that I should beguile him with enchantment of gain and loss. He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and utter sighs, to beguile him with lamentation. I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out of hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or fluttering. Hair by hair he sees my crookedness and feigning; what’s hidden from him that I should beguile him with anything hidden. He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets, that I should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing poetry. The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to beguile it with blessing or Paradise. Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved – perchance I will beguile him with this same pole of the age.

he was no mountaineer when he decided to climb the Hindu Kush. A few days scrambling on the rocks in Wales, enchantingly chronicled here, were his sole preparation. It was not mountaineering that attracted him; the Alps abound in opportunities for every exertion of that kind. It was the longing, romantic, reasonless, which lies deep in the hearts of most Englishmen, to shun the celebrated spectacles of the tourist and without any concern with science or politics or commerce, simply to set their feet where few civilized feet have trod. An American critic who read the manuscript of this book condemned it as ‘too English’. It is intensely English, despite the fact that most of its action takes place in wildly foreign places and that it is written in an idiomatic, uncalculated manner the very antithesis of ‘Mandarin’ stylishness. It rejoices the heart of fellow Englishmen, and should at least illuminate those who have any curiosity about the odd character of our Kingdom. It exemplifies the essential traditional (some, not I, will say deplorable) amateurism of the English. For more than two hundred years now Englishmen have been wandering about the world for their amusement, suspect everywhere as government agents, to the great embarrassment of our officials. The Scotch endured great hardships in the cause of commerce; the French in the cause of either power or evangelism. The English only have half (and wholly) killed themselves in order to get away from England. Mr Newby is the latest, but, I pray, not the last, of a whimsical tradition. And in his writing he has all the marks of his not entirely absurd antecedents. The understatement, the self-ridicule, the delight in the foreignness of foreigners, the complete denial of any attempt to enlist the sympathies of his readers in the hardships he has capriciously invited; finally in his formal self-effacement in the presence of the specialist (with the essential reserve of unexpressed self-respect) which concludes, almost too abruptly, this beguiling narrative – in all these qualities Mr Newby has delighted the heart of a man whose travelling days are done and who sees, all too often, his countrymen represented abroad by other, new and (dammit) lower types. Dear reader, if you have any softness left for the idiosyncrasies of our rough island race, fall to and enjoy this characteristic artifact. EVELYN

One way to put the question that I want to answer here is this: why was it virtually impossible not to believe in God in, say, 1500 in our Western society, while in 2000 many of us find this not only easy, but even inescapable? Part of the answer, no doubt, is that in those days everyone believed, and so the alternatives seemed outlandish. But this just pushes the question further back. We need to understand how things changed. How did the alternatives become thinkable? One important part of the picture is that so many features of their world told in favour of belief, made the presence of God seemingly undeniable. I will mention three, which will play a part in the story I want to tell. (1) The natural world they lived in, which had its place in the cosmos they imagined, testified to divine purpose and action; and not just in the obvious way which we can still understand and (at least many of us) appreciate today, that its order and design bespeaks creation; but also because the great events in this natural order, storms, droughts, floods, plagues, as well as years of exceptional fertility and flourishing, were seen as acts of God, as the now dead metaphor of our legal language still bears witness. (2) God was also implicated in the very existence of society (but not described as such-this is a modern term-rather as polls, kingdom, church, or whatever). A kingdom could only be conceived as grounded in something higher than mere human man action in secular time. And beyond that, the life of the various associations which made up society, parishes, boroughs, guilds, and so on, were interwoven with ritual and worship, as I mentioned in the previous chapter. One could not but encounter counter God everywhere. (3) People lived in an “enchanted” world. This is perhaps not the best expression; it seems to evoke light and fairies. But I am invoking here its negation, Weber’s expression “disenchantment” as a description of our modern condition. This term has achieved such wide currency in our discussion of these matters, that I’m going to use its antonym to describe a crucial feature of the pre-modern condition. The enchanted chanted world in this sense is the world of spirits, demons, and moral forces which our ancestors lived in. People who live in this kind of world don’t necessarily believe in God, certainly not in the God of Abraham, as the existence of countless “pagan” societies shows. But in the outlook of European peasants in 1500, beyond all the inevitable ambivalences, the Christian God was the ultimate guarantee that good would triumph or at least hold the plentiful forces of darkness at bay.

Great King Vasilli,” one of the fairy women said, “we know that you come from the Northern Kingdom. We’ve seen you and your men journey through here before to the lands outside. This night we found a wayward traveler.

She'd never seen a place so decorated so extravagantly. It was like a glittering underwater kingdom, reminding her of the tales of Atlantis that had enchanted her as a child. The walls were hung with gauzy blue and green silk draperies. A painted canvas studded with seashells gave the impression of a castle beneath the sea. Slowly she wandered around the room, inspecting the plaster sculptures of fish, scallop shells, and bare-breasted mermaids. A gaudy treasure chest filled with paste jewels was wedged beneath the central hazard table. The doorway to the next room had been converted into the hull of a sunken ship. Lengths of blue gauze and silver netting were hung overhead, making it seem as if they were under water.

The kingdom of poetry" This is like light. This is light, Useful as light, as charming And enchanting… …Poetry is certainly More interesting, more valuable, and certainly more charming Than Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, the Atlantic Ocean And other much admired natural phenomena. It is useful as light, and as beautiful It is preposterous Precisely, making it possible to say One cannot carry a mountain, but a poem can be carried all over. It is monstrous. Pleasantly, for poetry can say, seriously or in play: “Poetry is better than hope, “For poetry is patience of hope, and all hope’s vivid pictures, “Poetry is better than excitement, it is far more delightful, “Poetry is superior to success, and victory, it endures in serene blessedness “Long after the most fabulous feat like fireworks has mounted and fallen. “Poetry is far more powerful and far more enchanting animal “Than any wood, jungle, ark, circus or zoo possesses.” For poetry magnifies and heighten reality: Poetry says of reality that if it is magnificent, it is also stupid: For poetry is, in a way, omnipotent; For reality is various and rich, powerful and vivid, but it is not enough Because it is disorderly and stupid or only at times, and erratically, intelligent: For without poetry, reality is speechless or incoherent: It is inchoate, like the pomp and the bombast of thunder: Its peroration verge upon the ceaseless oration of the ocean: For reality glows and glory, without poetry, Fake, like the red operas of sunset The blue rivers and the windows of morning. The arts of poetry makes it possible to say: Pandemonium. For poetry is gay and exact. It says: “The sunset resembles a bull-fight. “A sleeping arm feels like soda, fizzing.” Poetry resurrect the past from the sepulchre, like Lazarus. It transforms a lion into a sphinx and a girl. It gives a girl the splendor of Latin. It transforms the water into wine at each marriage in Cana of Galilee. For it is true that poetry invented the unicorn, the centaur and the phoenix. Hence it is true that poetry is an everlasting Ark. An omnibus containing, bearing and begetting all the mind’s animals. Whence it is that poetry gave and gives tongue to forgiveness Therefore a history of poetry would be a history of joy, and a history of the mystery of love For poetry provides spontaneously, abundantly and freely The petnames and the diminutives which love requires and without which the mystery of love cannot be mastered. For poetry is like light, and it is light. It shines over all, like the blue sky, with the same blue justice. For poetry is the sunlight of consciousness: It is also the soil of the fruits of knowledge In the orchards of being: It shows us the pleasures of the city. It lights up the structures of reality. It is a cause of knowledge and laughter: It sharpens the whistles of the witty: It is like morning and the flutes of morning, chanting and enchanted. It is the birth and the rebirth of the first morning forever. Poetry is quick as tigers, clever as cats, vivid as oranges, Nevertheless, it is deathless: it is evergreen and in blossom; long after the Pharaohs and the Caesars have fallen, It shines and endures more than diamonds, It is because poetry is the actuality of possibility, it is The reality of the imagination, The throat of exaltation, The processions of possessions, The motion of meaning and The meaning of morning and The mastery of meaning. The praise of poetry is like the clarity of the heights of the mountains. The heights of poetry are like the exaltation of the mountains. It is the consummation of consciousness in the country of the morning!

Her attention wandered, and she began staring at the clouds, dreamily watching them drift over the city. When she was little, she wished she could fly up there and play, or even, when things were particularly miserable, stay there forever. She'd never told anyone, but she used to daydream about trapping one of the flying horses that were supposed to live in the mountains, or finding some other way of getting up there. The idea of living in a place where you were never above the same landscape, that in fact, you could see the world without leaving "home," was enchanting.

You might just be compelled to hear, that there is folklore about a boy so dear, a legend the fairies readily discern, of a good King’s rule upon his return. A boy, a boy is in front of me, I know not who this human could be. I will just become a part of this tree! Unless he cries a desperate plea, I shall then be allowed to reach out to thee.” Deetkatu, Meet the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Being in our secret place brings much peace and the more we go there, the more it will increase. Now we let it all go by, have faith in what we see and it IS what will be.” Gramma Tenanye, Meet the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

You are so enchanting when you’re upset.” “Enchanting?” How dare he laugh at her! How dare he toy with her feelings in such an insidious way?

A boy was regarded King to be, in a land only a child could see. We admit it could be a difficult task, just in case you are inclined to ask, for those who would even vaguely begin, to remember the child that comes from within, of a modern world still hardened by past and rules that can make you grow up fast. Yet into the imagination, we hope you escape, from beliefs that your life may potentially shape; try to let go of what you normally resist, while exploring the way nature and a boy co-exist.” See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Bad in good and good in bad, see the life you could have had? Your life is the keyhole, and you are the key, don’t look back, NOW choose to be happy!” Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

When I am happy and when I really focus, I can! Whatever I dream of with my thoughts becomes a part of my world, my plan.” Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Grampa says the grass is not greener on the other side. All grass changes with the seasons, it grows, it browns, and it can die if you do not nurture it. You must accept the changes, yet the grass is as green as you make it right here and now! Going from one meadow to another does not change the season! Or the meadow! Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Now Arthur, if humans could learn to gaze with their eyes or use their special sight, they would realize there is more to seeing than just what is in front of them!” Den the Wise Oak Tree, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Whatever ‘I AM,’ you are! You are, I AM, not me you see, but you are ‘I AM’ is what will be!” Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Our traditions teach us the past is not forgot, yet the past repeats the future believe it or not. If we dwell on the negative, we continue to make, an unhealthy life we must never forsake. Our fairy ring teaches us cause and effect, what we give to the world, returns to us direct!” Chepi, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

When you are open and aware, it allows for all magical possibilities! We, here in the forest, can see all that goes on in our environment on the surface; but we have true awareness that sees beyond the shallow! This belief comes from the depths of wisdom that there is more than meets the eyes!” Den the Wise Oak Tree, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

You mean to tell me that you have made a human friend? It could be dangerous and I must urge it to end! Deetkatu, where is your sense?” Grampa's tone was abruptly tense. Grampa Foster, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Being in our secret place brings much peace and the more we go there, the more it will increase. Now we let it all go by, have faith in what we see and it IS what will be.” Gramma Tenanye, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Be mindful of the thoughts and emotions you put out, they will only project back to you like a boomerang, no doubt!” Grampa Foster, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

come.

She wanted them to see the better world she could picture. She wanted to stuff it into their eyeballs until every HiveWing went, “YES! That world is WAY BETTER than this one! Let’s be like that instead!” Luna wished she had magic. Magic would be so useful for problems like this! Even if it was a magic like Clearsight’s, seeing the future — well, she’d find a way to make it useful! But proper magic, like spells and enchantments and brain changers, like in the old dragon fairy tales, that’s what she really wanted. Something to go, “POOF! Now you are all fair and kind and incapable of cruelty or injustice!” That’s what she needed, but apparently it didn’t exist — or if it had existed, once, in the Distant Kingdoms, now it didn’t work anymore. She traced her claw through the sand with a sigh. The sun was rising behind her, casting golden ripples across the ocean like trails of flamesilk. On the other side of that ocean was Pantala: her home, her mothers, her tribe, Blue, and Swordtail, and they were all in trouble, and it was all a mess, and she didn’t know how to begin untangling it. Before her Metamorphosis, Luna had dreamed of flying. She dreamed of scattering the clouds with her new pale green wings, and she imagined sunshine pouring through her scales the higher she flew. She

Daphne had ascended to an enchanted place where everything was handed to her, whereas Marina made it her life’s work to shamelessly scheme and haggle and grab as much as she could take. They were both beasts, but from wildly different animal kingdoms.

We are preparing our hearts to receive the hope that alone can be the anchor of our souls. One day soon you will step into a renewed earth ... Joy will be yours. How do we open our hearts to this after so much pain and disappointment? We have lost many things as we've passed through the battlefields of this war-torn world ... One of our greatest losses is the gift of wonder, the doorway into the kingdom heart. But each of us has special places and favorite stories that are still able to reawaken it. We love being taken into the homeliness of the hobbit's shire, but our hearts begin to race when Frodo learns he must flee and never return. Wonder grows as we push farther into the unknown realms -- the Old Forest ... Rivendell enchants...

I thought you were all living my dream," I said to the gowns, although in actuality I was speaking to the distant women they represented. "But you must have all been frightened and lonely and uncomfortable, just like me. And yet, you endured. You conquered the enchantments that threatened your lives and your kingdoms. And I will endure as well. No matter how many years I'm trapped here, I will one day shatter my enchantment and find my happy ending.

You're captivated by the Aledo bluffs, seeking a seamless commute from Aledo to Fort Worth, exploring the homes for sale in Clyde, TX, enchanted by Griffith lakes & Possum Kingdom Lake, or considering the houses for sale in Sweetwater, TX, there's no shortage of options to fulfill your vision of the perfect home. Discover the beauty and charm of these remarkable locations and embark on a journey to find your slice of paradise in the heart of Texas.

There were many empresses and queens in power throughout the world. It is said that these legendary women ruled judicially, and that they brought about a most remarkable amity among kingdoms and the nations that surrounded them. And as for subjects, well, you've never heard a single instance of revolt, have you? Indeed not, for these women were supreme leaders, and one of the greatest mysteries in history is that they lost their power. I suppose it had something to do with a male heir, somewhere or other, who bored by such a peaceful existence,thought it might be more interesting if the question of authority were decided by brute force.

Jasmine

The Story of the Volcano, An Aztec Myth Once upon a time there was a princess named Iztaccihuatl, more beautiful than any woman, and a handsome warrior Popocatepetl, who loved her. They were to be married, and all the kingdoms rejoiced...

I got human-made incendiary devices from the legendary South of the Border across the gates, three elf buttons ready to be keyed to your location of choice, a parakeet hybrid to insult your household when you’re not around to do so, some gems with unknown enchantments, and a ball of yarn.

Sometimes humans just don't listen, they ‘take’ to fill a space that’s missin’!" Deetkatu, Meet the Little People...An Enchanting Adventure

If there is a pattern to this baffling complexity, it may be best described as a never-ending Buddhist cycle of reincarnation. Both sides experience rapturous enchantment begetting hope, followed by disappointment, repulsion, and disgust, only to return to fascination once again.

The Enchanted Tiki Room was often said to have been Walt's favorite. Not bad for an attraction originally conceived as a restaurant-one with the show, of course!

This is my very own Composition in Poems in my publication YOUR TIME IS NOW. THE FUTURE WORLD DESCRIBED BY DANIEL [Daniel Chapter 2] Nebuchadnezzar had a dream which he was unable to cipher, A statue with a head made of fine gold, with chest and arms of silver. Belly and thighs of bronze, and legs of iron displayed, Its feet combined of iron and clay had Nebuchadnezzar amazed. A mighty rock smashed the statue’s feet causing it to sway And after shattering it to bits the wind blew the bits away. The rock covered the earth and Nebuchadnezzar awoke He pondered on this dream and his thoughts were provoked. Magicians, enchanters, sorcerers and astrologers were consulted. But all scratched their heads and Nebuchadnezzar felt insulted. Because the meaning of this dream was beyond their imagination And Nebuchadnezzar felt mad and ordered their execution. But Daniel a captive from Judah offered an explanation, That brought Nebuchadnezzar great jubilation. Daniel said that Nebuchadnezzar was the head of gold His kingdom was strong and he would be bold. But after his kingdom had reached its end. An inferior one would rule again. And yet another would rise after the second had fallen. A kingdom of bronze would be the third to have risen. Following that kingdom there would be a fourth, strong as iron, That kingdom would crush previous empires. It would be divided however as clay and iron cannot mix, But the kingdom of God would rise in its midst. The kingdom of God will be as solid as a rock. No one can crush it, whoever tries will be out of luck. The dream was true and its meaning was certain. The kingdom of God would stand forever unending

Such a combination—a rugged volcano remnant two thousand feet high rising from the middle of a lagoon and surrounded by a perfect circular reef with only one opening to the outside ocean—can be a magical place, none more so than Bora Bora, the most enchanting island in the world.

The moon bathed the castle grounds in an ethereal glow, casting an enchanting spell over the night.

Only the most skilled seamstresses could enchant their creations to respond to its wearer’s powers.

and a full scoop of alfalfa

Bigger, badder things than this have tried to take me down. This won’t be my end.” “I wish I had your confidence.” “You did when you first arrived here.” “Reality has a way of tarnishing the brightest hope.” Gytha laughed. “You’ll find a way, vicious princess mage. I know it.

Childhood is an enchanted kingdom. Once we leave it, we can never go back. We can never understand it again. No matter how we may yearn to.

But he couldn’t. He could as easily become his people’s greatest enemy as their savior.

Hold onto me and hold onto life. I cannot guarantee you I will not be the cause for more darkness in yours. But I can guarantee you that I will fight like hell to be there for as many of the good days as we can possibly have. Please just hold on.

So love him,” my mother urged, a lone tear trailing down her beautiful face. “Love him dangerously and recklessly. Because you never know when it will end. So love him now, without beating yourself up about it. Love him hard . . . while you can.

Obsession can be your own prison.

Golden feathers began to fly through the air, and the wedding guests could not at first make sense of it. The oíche sidhe kept whacking and whacking until the serving girl split apart like an overripe plum and became what she had been long ago, though neither she nor the mother who raised her had guessed it---a golden raven, one of the three enchanted birds that the prince had released to bring strife to the kingdom. The serving girl flitted out the window, free at last, while the oíche sidhe dusted their hands and went smilingly back into hiding. They stopped pomading chickens and turning pajamas into evening wear, which was ultimately a relief to the duchess, who had been down to her last nightgown. As for the prince, the serving girl's disappearance finally gave him a purpose in life. He retreated to the wilderness to learn magic from witches and any Folk who would teach him. Eventually he succeeded in turning himself into a raven, whereupon he flew off in search of his beloved. In the northeast of Ireland it is said that he is still searching for his golden bride to this day, and that if you listen closely, you can hear her name in the croaking of the ravens.

Child most dear to me, place your hand upon your heart and tell me your secrets.  How many times have you been unhappy, anguished, embittered, because you have done your own will?  Know that you cast out the Divine Will, and fell into a maze of evils. The Divine Will wants to make you pure and holy, happy and attractive, with an enchanting beauty; but you by doing your own will, have waged war and cast the Divine Will in sorrow from its beloved abode, which is your soul.  Listen child of my heart: it is painful for your Mother because l do not see in you, the Sun of the Divine Will, but rather the dense darkness of the night of your human will. But rise up and take heart!  lf you promise to place your will in my hands, I your heavenly Mother will take you in my arms, I will put you on my lap and re-order in you the life of the Divine Will.  And you, after so many of my tears, will form my smile, my joy, and the smile and rejoicing of the Holy Trinity as well. The Soul Heavenly Mother if you love me so much, I beg you: do not let me descend from your maternal knees.  And if you see that l am about to do my will, be watchful over my poor soul, enclose me in your heart so that the power of your burning love, may reduce my will to ashes.  In this way l will change your tears into smiles of pleasure. Instruction Today to honor me, you will come to me three times, give your will to me and say: my Mother, I want this will of mine to be yours, so that you may exchange it for the Divine Will. The Soul Sovereign Queen, cast down my will by your command - so that the seed of the Divine Will may spring up within me.