Ent Quotes

But suppose your dæmon settles in a shape you don't like? Well, then, you're discontented, en't you? There's plenty of folk as'd like to have a lion as a dæmon and they end up with a poodle. And till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they're going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is. But it didn't seem to Lyra that she would ever grow up.

There’s been terrible things we seen, en’t there? And more a coming, more’n likely. So I think I’d rather not know what’s in the future. I’ll stick to the present.

When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold, Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold; When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!

Together we will take the road that leads into the West, And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.

We hear a great deal about the rudeness of the ris- ing generation. I am an oldster myself and might be expected to take the oldsters' side, but in fact I have been far more impressed by the bad manners of par- ents to children than by those of children to parents. Who has not been the embarrassed guest at family meals where the father or mother treated their grown-up offspring with an incivility which, offered to any other young people, would simply have termi- nated the acquaintance? Dogmatic assertions on mat- ters which the children understand and their elders don't, ruthless interruptions, flat contradictions, ridicule of things the young take seriously some- times of their religion insulting references to their friends, all provide an easy answer to the question "Why are they always out? Why do they like every house better than their home?" Who does not prefer civility to barbarism?

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,' he said slowly, 'likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song.

Ig­nore how it feels when the on­ly re­al tal­ent you have is for hid­ing the truth.

But I spoke hastily. We must not be hasty. I have become too hot. I must cool myself and think; for it is easier to shout stop! than to do it.

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends," he said slowly, "likely enough that we are going to our dooms: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later.

This is what’ll happen,” she said, “and it’s true, perfectly true. When you go out of here, all the particles that make you up will loosen and float apart, just like your daemons did. If you’ve seen people dying, you know what that looks like. But your daemons en’t just nothing now; they’re part of everything. All the atoms that were them, they’ve gone into the air and the wind and the trees and the earth and all the living things. They’ll never vanish. They’re just part of everything. And that’s exactly what’ll happen to you, I swear to you, I promise on my honor. You’ll drift apart, it’s true, but you’ll be out in the open, part of everything alive again.

The other side’s got an energy that our side en’t got. Comes from their certainty about being right. If you got that certainty, you’ll be willing to do anything to bring about the end you want. It’s the oldest human problem, Lyra, an’ it’s the difference between good and evil. Evil can be unscrupulous, and good can’t. Evil has nothing to stop it doing what it wants, while good has one hand tied behind its back. To do the things it needs to do to win, it’d have to become evil to do ’em.

For a long time he watched her. When she was lost to sight, he was almost a little moved. But that's life, thought death.

© Eftos Ent. | Eftos-Epos, Eftos-Opus and Eftos-Design.

Time is like a river made up of the events which hap­pen, and a vi­ol­ent stream; for as soon as a thing has been seen, it is car­ried away, and an­other comes in its place, and this will be car­ried away too.

The oppressed grows weightless: doze/n th/rough c/and/or man/aged leg/ions stud/ents

The king was silent. "Ents!" he said at length. "Out of the shadows of legend I begin a little to understand the marvel of the trees, I think. I have lived to see strange days. Long we have tended our beasts and our fields, built our houses, wrought our tools, or ridden away to help in the wars of Minas Tirith. And that we called the life of Men, the way of the world. We cared little for what lay beyond the borders of our land. Songs we have that tell of these things, but we are forgetting them, teaching them only to children, as a careless custom. And now the songs have come down among us out of the strange places, and walk visible under the Sun." "You should be glad," Théoden King," said Gandalf. "For not only the little life of Men is now endangered, but the life also of those thing which you have deemed the matter of legend. You are not without allies, even if you know them not." "Yet also I should be sad," said Théoden. "For however the fortune of war shall go, may it not so end that much that was fair and wonderful shall pass for ever out of Middle-earth?

A thing is about to happen which has not happened since the Elder Days: the Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong.

There’s a ter­ri­ble dark joy when the on­ly per­son who knows all your se­crets is fi­nal­ly dead. Your par­ents. Your doc­tor. Your ther­apist. Your case­work­er. The sun’s out­side the bath­room win­dow try­ing to show us we’re all be­ing stupid. All you have to do is look around.

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,’ he said slowly, ‘likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later.

You en't gyptian, Lyra. You might pass for gyptian with practice, but there's more to us than gyptian language. There's deeps in us and strong currents. We're water people all through, and you en't, you're a fire person. What you're most like is marsh fire, that's the place you have in the gyptian scheme. You got witch oil in your soul. Deceptive, that's what you are child.

Ente tahu enggak, sungai Nil ane yang gali', kata si Mesir 'Ente juga tidak tahu. Laut merah ane yang sepuh', kata si Arab 'Ya, tapi lu juga nggak tahu, laut mati gue yang bunuh', kata Israel Lelucon-lelucon yang membuat dunia tetap segar.

His mouth came to hers suddenly, hovering above those thirsting lips as he drilled her with the intensity of his mercury gaze. “Neliss . . .” he murmured, reverting to the elegance of their ancient language. “Neliss ent desita.” Beauty of the ages.

he just clamps his lips over mine and sticks his tongue so far into my mouth I feel like I'm being examined by the ENT gynae

[He] [w]ent deep into the cave where wounded men go when they walk around not talking to anyone about what's happening to them on the inside. Also known as Terre Haute.

Ma rüüpan rõõmu,ent miski minus, see tahab kannatada nõnda, see kavalam kui mina ise: filtreerib õnnest vaid piina mõnda.

Grandiloquente, eu? O que eu sou é um grande e louco ente.

ENT is commonly known as Early Nights and Tennis - a good choice of specialty if you like a quiet Christmas. See also, dermaholiday.

Il libro non è un ente chiuso alla comunicazione: è una relazione, è un asse di innumerevoli relazioni.

There's been terrible things we seen, en't there? And more a-coming, more'n likely. So I think I'd rather not know what's in the future. I'll stick to the present.' 'Yeah,' said Lyra wearily. 'There's times I feel like that too.

A lot of folks look to non-profits as platforms to solve major societal scale problems. But the major capital allocators like banks, Hedge Funds, Venture Capital firms and so forth - these are the kinds of ent that have the capacity to affect real change.

Lo había dicho sin pensarlo, es decir que estaba más que pensado, venía de un territorio donde las palabras eran como los locos en la clínica, entes amenazadores o absurdos viviendo una vida propia y aislada, saltando de golpe sin que nada pudiera atajarlos.

Mitteolemine on Olemise mõõdupuu. See tundub paradoksaalne, ent Elu on võimeline väärtustama vaid Surm. Teadmine, et Olemine võib igal suvalisel hetkel Mitteolemiseks üle minna, on üks väheseid asju, mis meid Olles pingutama sunnib. Mitteolemine annab Olemisele väärtuse.

And you, fathers and mothers, loving par-ents, lower your eyes humbly. They are there, your dead children, stretching their frail arms towards you, and all the happiness you denied them, all the tortures you inflicted, weigh like lead on their sad, childish, unforgiving hearts.

He’s the opposite of cute. He’s like a cross between an Orc and Ent. He has the big, brutish body of an Orc but he got some Ent genes, probably from his mother’s side. Basically a tree-trunk with good hair.” Peyton’s nose twitched. Lord of the Ring references were not her jam. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.

El hombre no conoce la dignidad de la desesperación definitiva sino es con el indigno motivo de haber de morir; con sus juguetes de la ciencia, del arte, del progreso (la más estúpida de sus ideas), de la reforma social, que le parecen tan graves y que adula y realza utilizando el contraste con la frivolidad de las preocupaciones femeninas puestas en el bello vestir, lo que solamente pide él es no morir nunca. Es un entretenido y un longevista y por lo tanto un ente sin pasión.

St. John,” I said, “I think you are al­most wicked to talk so. I am dis­posed to be as con­tent as a queen, and you try to stir me up to rest­less­ness! To what end?” “To the end of turn­ing to profit the tal­ents which God has committed to your keep­ing; and of which He will surely one day de­mand a strict ac­count. Jane, I shall watch you closely and anx­iously—I warn you of that. And try to re­strain the dis­pro­por­tion­ate fervour with which you throw your­self into com­mon­place home pleasures. Don’t cling so tena­ciously to ties of the flesh; save your con­stancy and ar­dour for an ad­e­quate cause; for­bear to waste them on trite tran­sient ob­jects. Do you hear, Jane?” “Yes; just as if you were speak­ing Greek. I feel I have ad­e­quate cause to be happy, and I will be happy. Good­bye!

Uma tarde de abril suave e pura Visitava eu somente ao derradeiro Lar; tinha ido ver a sepultura De um ente caro, amigo verdadeiro. Lá encontrei um pálido coveiro Com a cabeça para o chão pendida; Eu senti a minh'alma entristecida E interroguei-o: "Eterno companheiro Da morte, quem matou-te o coração?" Ele apontou para uma cruz no chão, Ali jazia o seu amor primeiro! Depois, tomando a enxada, gravemente, Balbuciou, sorrindo tristemente: - "Ai, foi por isso que me fiz coveiro!

en’t never been worth a fart in a high wind.

P’raps that wall ent solid.” Lizzie and Maggie stared at one another, wide-eyed.

Inimese kõlbeline elu on osa kunstniku ainevallast, ent kunsti kõlbelisus seisneb ebatäiusliku objekti täiuslikus kujutamises.

Que seja uma só a sua vontade: a de algo realizar, ou se abster, segundo determina a sua razão de ente integrado à sociedade.

Järgmisel päeval ei tõstnud ta jalgagi majast välja ja veetis suurema osa ajast oma toas, halvatuna meeletust hirmust surma ees, ent samal ajal elu enese vastu vähimatki huvi tundmata.

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends, that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later.

Claro que ya sé que Dios no existe. Pero hay belleza en la idea de que un ser omnipotente te ame. Que te ame quien sea, pero que te ame alguien. Es mejor que te ame un ente de ficción a que no te ame nadie.

ent. When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough; When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow; When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair! entwife. When Spring is come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade; When blossom like a shining snow is on the orchard laid; When shower and Sun upon the Earth with fragrance fill the air, I’ll linger here, and will not come, because my land is fair. ent. When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold; When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best! entwife. When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown; 622 the two towers When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town; When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West, I’ll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best! ent. When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay; When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day; When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain I’ll look for thee, and call to thee; I’ll come to thee again! entwife. When Winter comes, and singing ends; when darkness falls at last; When broken is the barren bough, and light and labour past; I’ll look for thee, and wait for thee, until we meet again: Together we will take the road beneath the bitter rain! both. Together we will take the road that leads into the West, And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.

Knowing, then, begins with the shattering of illusions, with disillusionment (Ent-täuschung). Knowing means to penetrate through the surface, in order to arrive at the roots, and hence the causes; knowing means to “see” reality in its nakedness. Knowing does not mean to be in possession of the truth; it means to penetrate the surface and to strive critically and actively in order to approach truth ever more closely.

And that was how sin came into the world," he said, "sin and shame and death. It came the moment their daemons became fixed." "But..." Lyra struggled to find the words she wanted: "but it en't true, is it? Not true like chemistry or engineering, not that kind of true? There wasn't really an Adam and Eve? The Cassington Scholar told me it was just a kind of fairy tale." "The Cassington Scholarship is traditionally given to a freethinker; it's his function to challenge the faith of the Scholars. Naturally he'd say that. But think of Adam and Eve like an imaginary number, like the square root of minus one: you can never see any concrete proof that it exists, but if you include it in your equations, you can calculate all manner of things that couldn't be imagined without it. "Anyway, it's what the Church has taught for thousands of years. And when Rusakov discovered Dust, at last there was a physical proof that something happened when innocence changed into experience. "Incidentally, the Bible gave us the name Dust as well. At first they were called Rusakov Particles, but soon someone pointed out a curious verse toward the end of the Third Chapter of Genesis, where God's cursing Adam for eating the fruit." He opened the Bible again and pointed it out to Lyra. She read: "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return...." Lord Asriel said, "Church scholars have always puzzled over the translation of that verse. Some say it should read not 'unto dust shalt thou return' but 'thou shalt be subject to dust,' and others say the whole verse is a kind of pun on the words 'ground' and 'dust,' and it really means that God's admitting his own nature to be partly sinful. No one agrees. No one can, because the text is corrupt. But it was too good a word to waste, and that's why the particles became known as Dust.

Creio na existência dos mundos superiores ao nosso e de habitantes desses mundos, em experiências de diversos graus de espiritualidade, subtilizando-se até chegar a um Ente supremo, que presumivelmente criou este mundo.

Daisy kõhkles. Ta vaatas Jordanile ja minule otsa ja ta silmis oli kummaline palve, just nagu oleks ta alles nüüd taibanud, mida teeb, just nagu ei oleks ta algusest peale mitte midagi teha kavatsenudki. Ent taganeda oli juba liiga hilja.

Well, then, you’re discontented, en’t you? There’s plenty of folk as’d like to have a lion as a dæmon and they end up with a poodle. And till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they’re going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is.

Recordó que en su infancia había alcanzado a comprobar la extinción de una especie tras otra. Los periódicos anunciaban un día la desaparición de los zorros, el siguiente la de los tejones, hasta que la g ente dejó por último de leer aquellos perpetuos obituarios.

In via Belgrano presi un tassì; insonne, invasato, quasi felice, pensai che nulla è meno materiale del denaro, giacché qualsiasi momenta (una moneta da venti centesimi, ad esempio) è, a rigore, un repertorio di futuri possibili. Il denaro è un ente astratto, ripetei, è tempo futuro. Può essere un pomeriggio in campagna, può essere musica di Brahms, può essere carte geografiche, può essere giuoco di scacchi, può essere caffé, può essere le parole di Epitteto, che insegnano il disprezzo dell'oro; è un Proteo più versatile di quello dell'isola Pharos.

And do not try to be so brave. I am your lifemate.You cannot hide from me something as powerful as fear." "Trepidation," she corrected, nibbling at the pad of his thumb. "Is there a difference?" His pale eyes had warmed to molten mercury. Just that fast, her body ent liquid in answer. "You know very well there is." She laughed again, and the sound traveled down from his heart to pool in his groin, a heavy,familiar ache. "Slight, perhaps, but very important." "I will try to make you happy, Savannah," he promised gravely. Her fingers went up to brush at the thick mane of hair falling around his face. "You are my lifemate, Gregori. I have no doubt you will make me happy." He had to look away,out the window into the night. She was so good, with so much beauty in her, while he was so dark, his goodness drained into the ground with the blood of all the lives he had taken while he waited for her. But now,faced with the reality of her, Gregori could not bear her to witness the blackness within him, the hideous stain across his soul. For beyond his killing and law-breaking, he had committed the gravest crime of all. And he deserved the ultimate penalty, the forfeit of his life. He had deliberately tempered with nature.He knew he was powerful enough, knew his knowledge exeeded the boundaries of Carpathian law. He had taken Savannah's free will, manipulated the chemistry between them so that she would believe he was her true lifemate. And so she was with him-less than a quarter of a century of innocence pitted against his thousand years of hard study.Perhaps that was his punishment, he mused-being sentenced to an eternity of knowing Savannah could never really love him, never really accept his black soul.That she would be ever near yet so far away. If she ever found out the extent of his manipulation, she would despise him. Yet he could never,ever, allow her to leave him. Not if mortals and immortals alike were to be safe. His jaw hardened, and he stared out the window, turning slightly away from her. His mind firmly left hers, not wanting to alert her to the grave crime he had committed.He could bear torture and centuries of isolation, he could bear his own great sins, but he could not endure her loathing him. Unconsciously, he took her hand in his and tightened his grip until it threatened to crush her fragile bones. Savannah glanced at him, let out a breath slowly to keep from wincing, and kept her hand passively in his.He thought his mind closed to her.Didn't believe she was his true lifemate. He truly believed he had manipulated the outcome of their joining unfairly and that somewhere another Carpathian male with the chemistry to match hers might be waiting.Though he had offered her free access to his mind, had himself given her the power,to meld her mind with his,both as her wolf and as her healer before she was born,he likely didn't think a woman,a fledging, and one who was not his true lifemate, could possibly have the skill to read his innermost secrets.But Savannah could. And completing the ancient ritual of lifemates had only strengthened the bond.

Religiões são, por definição, metáforas, apesar de tudo: Deus é um sonho, uma esperança, uma mulher, um escritor irônico, um pai, uma cidade, uma casa com muitos quartos, um relojoeiro que deixou seu cronômetro premiado no deserto, alguém que ama você – talvez até, contra todas as evidências, um ente celestial cujo único interesse é assegurar-se que o seu time de futebol, o seu exército, o seu negócio ou o seu casamento floresça, prospere e triunfe sobre qualquer oposição. Religiões são lugares para ficar, olhar e agir, pontos vantajosos a partir dos quais se observa o mundo.

Many introver- ted kids grow up to have excellent so- cial skills, although they tend to join groups in their own way—waiting a while before they plunge in, or particip- ating only for short periods. That’s OK. Your child needs to acquire social skills and make friends, not turn into the most gregarious student in school. This doesn’t mean that popularity isn’t a lot of fun. You’ll probably wish it for him, just as you might wish that he have good looks, a quick wit, or athletic tal- ent. But make sure you’re not imposing your own longings, and remember that there are many paths to a satisfying life.

Interminável é assim o ciúme, pois mesmo se o ente amado, tendo morrido por exemplo, não o pode mais provocar pelos seus atos, acontece que reminiscências posteriores a qualquer fato se comportam de repente em nossa memória como outros tantos fatos, reminiscências que não havíamos esclarecido até então, que nos tinham parecido insignificantes e às quais basta que reflitamos sobre elas, sem nenhum evento exterior, para lhes darmos um sentido novo e terrível. Não é preciso sermos dois, basta estarmos só no quarto, a pensar, para que novas traições de nossa amante aconteçam, embora ela esteja morta. Por isso não se deve temer no amor, como na vida habitual, tão somente o futuro, mas também o passado, o qual não se realiza para nós muitas vezes senão depois do futuro, e não falamos apenas do passado que só se nos revela mais tarde, mas daquele que conservamos há muito tempo em nós e que de repente aprendemos a ler.

Ent meie ei saa oma noorust kunagi tagasi. Rõõmutuige, mis lööb meis kahekümneselt, loidub. Meie liikmed muutuvad jõuetuks, meie meeled nürinevad. Me mandume võikaiks nukkudeks, keda kummitavad mälestused kirgedest, mille ees me liigset hirmu tundsime, ja haruldased kiusatused, millele me ei julgenud anduda.

Eu pensava que as pessoas queriam segurança. Não suportavam a ideia de a morte ser um grande nada negro, não suportavam a ideia de os deus entes queridos não existirem e nem sequer conseguiam imaginar-se a não existir. Por fim, concluí que as pessoas acreditavam numa vida após a morte porque não suportavam a ideia de não acreditar.

Tahtsin ära minna ja sumedas õhtuhämaruses pargi poole jalutada, aga iga kord, kui ma lahkumist üritasin, mässiti mind lärmakasse, pöörasesse vaidlusse, mis kiskus mu nagu köitega toolile tagasi. Ent küllap vaatas samal ajal mõni juhuslik möödamineja pimenevalt tänavalt üles, uudistades inimsaladusi, mida varjas meie kollaste akende rida.

Its composure thoroughly disrupted, the little treelet, the picture of arboreal distress, let its branches droop a little, and its green birch leaves fluttered anxiously.

And the smell of the air! I used to spend a week just breathing.

European civilisation finds it easier to tolerate differ- ent ways of life precisely on account of what its critics usually denounce as its weakness and failure, namely the alienation of social life. One of the things alienation means is that distance is woven into the very social texture of everyday life. Even if I live side by side with others, in my normal state I ignore them. I am allowed not to get too close to others. I move in a social space where I interact with others obeying certain external "mechanical" rules, without sharing their inner world. Perhaps the lesson to be learned is that sometimes a dose of alienation is indispensable for peaceful coexistence. Sometimes alienation is not a problem but a solution.

For one thing it would take a long while: my name is growing all the time, and I've lived a very long, long time; so my name is like a story. Real names tell you the story of things they belong to in my language, but it takes a very long time to say anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to.

Nii kaua kui me sõjaväljal peame olema, vajuvad rindepäevad, kui nad on möödas, justkui kivid meisse, sest nad on liiga rasked, et nende üle otsemaid järele mõelda. Kui me seda teeksime, tapaksid nad meid tagantjärele, sest nii palju olen ma juba tähele pannud: õudust saab taluda senikaua, kuni sa olukorrale lihtsalt allud, ent see tapab, kui sa hakkad selle üle järele mõtlema.

But when the Ents all gathered round Treebeard, bowing their heads slightly, murmuring in their slow musical voices, and looking long and intently at the strangers, then the hobbits saw that they were all of the same kindred, and all had the same eyes: not all so old or so deep as Treebeard’s, but all with the same slow, steady, thoughtful expression, and the same green flicker.

O modo inquisitivo, ansioso, exigente com que olhamos para a pessoa amada, nossa expectativa da palavra que nos vai dar ou tirar a esperança de um encontro para o dia seguinte, e, até que essa palavra seja dita, a nossa imaginação alternada, se não simultânea, da alegria e do desespero, tudo isso torna a nossa atenção em face do ente querido muito trêmula para que se possa obter uma imagem sua devidamente nítida.

was a walk that Larry Underwood never forgot. He found himself thinking that she hadn’t been so wrong to quote Tolkien at that, Tolkien with his mythic lands seen through the lens of time and half-mad, half-exalted imaginings, peopled with elves and ents and trolls and orcs. There were none of those in New York, but so much had changed, so much was out of joint, that it was impossible not to think of it in terms of fantasy.

This is what’ll happen,” she said, “and it’s true, perfectly true. When you go out of here, all the particles that make you up will loosen and float apart, just like your dæmons did. If you’ve seen people dying, you know what that looks like. But your dæmons en’t just nothing now; they’re part of everything. All the atoms that were them, they’ve gone into the air and the wind and the trees and the earth and all the living things. They’ll never vanish. They’re just part of everything. And that’s exactly what’ll happen to you, I swear to you, I promise on my honor. You’ll drift apart, it’s true, but you’ll be out in the open, part of everything alive again.

La letteratura non è esauribile, per la sufficiente e semplice ragione che un solo libro non lo è. Il libro non è un ente chiuso alla comunicazione: è una relazione, è un asse di innumerevoli relazioni. Una letteratura differisce da un'altra, successiva o precedente, meno per il testo che per il modo in cui è letta: se mi fosse dato leggere una qualsiasi pagina attuale - questa, per esempio - come la leggeranno nell'anno duemila, saprei come sarà la letteratura nell'anno duemila.

Quando Laurel era criança, neste quarto e nesta cama onde se encontrava agora, fechava os olhos assim e o rítmico som nocturno das vozes dos dois entes queridos, a lerem alternadamente, subia as escadas para ir ter com ela. (...) Pela noite fora, as vozes deles a lerem um para o outro (...) sem deixar que nenhum silêncio as interrompesse, uniam-se numa voz única e ininterrupta que a envolvia (...) Adormecia sob um manto aveludado de palavras, (...), enquanto eles prosseguiam a leitura no interior dos seus sonhos".

We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom! We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-rūna rūna rūna rom! To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone; Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone, We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door; For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars-we go to war! To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come; To Isengard with doom we come! With doom we come, with doom we come!

Habituados às atenções que inspira uma bela mocidade, felizes com essa egoísta proteção que o mundo concede a um ente que lhe é agradável, como dá esmola ao mendigo que desperta um sentimento e lhe dá uma emoção, muitas dessas crianças grandes gozam esse favor em lugar de o explorar. Enganados sobre o sentido e o móvel das relações sociais, pensam que hão de encontrar sempre falazes sorrisos, mas chegam nus, calvos, despojados, sem valor nem fortuna, ao momento em que, como velhas coquetes e velhos farrapos, o mundo os abandona à porta de um salão ou ao canto de uma esquina.

A forma é anterior à matéria. A matéria é o ente em potência, e a forma é o acto dela. Ora, o acto naturalmente é anterior à potência. Simplesmente falando, o acto é anterior à potência no tempo, porque a potência não pode ser movida ao acto a não ser pelo ente em acto. Entretanto, em uma e mesma coisa, a qual às vezes está em potência e às vezes está em acto, a potência precede ao acto no tempo. Desta maneira, fica claro que a forma é anterior à matéria, e é mais ente do que a matéria. E isto porque a matéria não se torna ente em acto a não ser pela forma. Logo, a forma é mais ente do que a matéria.

Como é mágica a roupa, na forma como nos recebe e guarda os nossos cheiros e a nossa forma. Como quando os nossos familiares, amigos e amantes morrem e as roupas se quedam em armários e gavetas, retendo os seus gestos e providenciando conforto e repulsa, a vida tocada pela morte. As roupas recebem a marca humana.

A ingratidão da natureza. A natureza, como já dissemos, "olha para diante". Divide as criaturas animadas em entes que chegam e entes que partem. Os que partem estão voltados para a sombra, os que chegam estão voltados para a luz. Daqui um afastamento, que, do lado dos velhos, é fatal e, pelo que diz respeito aos jovens, é involuntário. Esse afastamento, a princípio insensível vai gradualmente aumentando, como o afastamento de dois ramos. Estes desviam-se do tronco, sem, contudo, dele se desprenderem. Não têm culpa. A mocidade caminha para a mansão da alegria, dos esplendores, das festas, dos amores. A velhice caminha para o fim.

Compartir el gusto de la lectura, uno de los placeres más cómplices, rituales, gozosos, fecundos de la amistad, se realiza noblemente,con frecuencia, a través del préstamo de libros. Con pareja frecuencia, la devolución de los libros demora demasiado, si es que llega a cumplirse. Como si estos entes impresos, empastados, que pueden abrir los caminos de la amistad y el conocimiento como cerrar los del domicilio y procrear el horror a las mudanzas, siguieran un destino propio, eligieran estante, librero,destinatario final; como si estuviéramos destinados nosotros mismos a perder algunos libros en manos amigas o a perderlos ellas en las nuestras. DE LOS LIBROS PRESTADOS

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,’ he said slowly, ‘likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song. Aye,’ he sighed, ‘we may help the other peoples before we pass away. Still, I should have liked to see the songs come true about the Entwives. I should dearly have liked to see Fimbrethil again. But there, my friends, songs like trees bear fruit only in their own time and their own way: and sometimes they are withered untimely.

L'innalzamento del minimo si opera con la graduale estensione del campo dei servizi pubblici gratuiti. L'ente pubblico dovrà, fra l'altro, gradualmente provvedere a fornire ai ragazzi istruzione elementare, refezione scolastica, vestiti e calzature convenienti, libri e quaderni ed ai giovani volenterosi, i quali diano prova di una bastevole attitudine allo studio, la possibilità di frequentare scuole medie ed università a loro scelta senza spesa o con quella sola spesa la quale possa essere sostenuta dal giovane disposto a lavorare senza nocumento degli studi; e le scuole dovranno essere varie e adatte, per numero e per attrezzatura, alle occupazioni diverse manuali od intellettuali ai quali i giovani si sentiranno chiamati.

I love him so much, Will!" she managed to whisper shakily. "And he looked old! He looked hungry and old and sad... Is it all coming on to us now, Will? We can't rely on anyone else now, can we... It's just us. But we en't old enough yet. We're only young... We're too young... If poor Mr Scoresby's dead and Iorek's old... It's all coming on to us, what's got to be done.

Ükski väärt asi siin elus ei ole lihtne, Daniel. Noorena olin arvanud, et kui tahad oma elust mõnusasti läbi purjetada, on tarvis osata kolme asja. Esiteks: korralikult kingapaelu kinni siduda. Teiseks: naitserahvast korralikult lahti riietada. Ja kolmandaks: lugeda iga päev lõbu pärast paar lehekülge säärasid sõnu, mis on kirja pandud oskuslikult ja sisemise põlemisega. Arvasin, et mees, kellel on kindel samm, kes oskab kallistada ja mõistab kuulata sõnade muusikat, elab kauem, ja mis peamine, paremini. Ent aeg on mulle õpetanud, et sellest jääb väheks ning et vahel pakub elu meile võimaluse püüelda sihi poole, et meist saaks midagi enamat, kui kahel jalal kõndiv karvane elukas, kes üksnes sööb, roojab ja võtab sel planeedil ajutiselt ruumi...

They have confirmed my belief that the ideas people choose to have about themselves largely determine the quality of the lives they lead. We can choose to believe in ourselves, and thus to strive, to risk, to perse- vere, and to achieve. Or we can choose to cling to security and medi- ocrity. We can choose to set no limits on ourselves, to set high goals and dream big dreams. We can use those dreams to fuel our spirits with pas- sion. Or we can become philosophers of the worst kind, inventing ways to rationalize our failures, inventing excuses for mediocrity. We can fall in love with our own abilities and our own potential, then choose to maximize those abilities. Or we can decide that we have no special tal- ents or abilities and try to be happy being safe and comfortable.

Lo que menos odio es la parte mecánica, rutinaria, de mi trabajo: el volver a pasar un asiento que ya redacté miles de veces, el efectuar un balance de saldos y encontrar que todo está en orden, que no hay diferencias a buscar. Ese tipo de labor no me cansa, porque me permite pensar en otras cosas y hasta (¿por qué no decírmelo a mí mismo?) también soñar. Es como si me dividiera en dos entes dispares, contradictorios, independientes, uno que sabe de memoria su trabajo, que domina al máximo sus variantes y recovecos, que está seguro siempre de dónde pisa, y otro soñador y febril, frustradamente apasionado, un tipo triste que, sin embargo, tuvo, tiene y tendrá vocación de alegría, un distraído a quien no le importa por dónde corre la pluma ni qué cosas escribe la tinta azul que a los ocho meses quedará negra

Cuando Lila me refirió aquello, dijo también que lo que ella llamaba desbordamiento, pese a habérsele manifestado de forma clara únicamente en esa ocasión, no le resultaba del todo nuevo. Por ejemplo, a menudo había tenido la sensación de instalarse por unas pocas fracciones de segundo en una persona, una cosa, un número o una sílaba, violando sus contornos. Y el día en que su padre la había lanzado por la ventana, mientras volaba en dirección al asfalto, había tenido la certeza absoluta de que unos animalitos rojizos, muy amistosos, se dedicaban a disolver la composición de la calle para transformarla en una materia lisa y blanda. Pero aquella noche de año nuevo fue la primera vez en que notó que unos entes desconocidos rompían el perfil del mundo para revelar su naturaleza espantosa. Aquello la había conmocionado.

Eu, na verdade, não sabia mais como eram as feições de Gilberte, salvo nos momentos divinos em que elas se abriam para mim; só me lembrava do seu sorriso. E como não podia ver, por mais esforços que fizesse para recordá-lo, aquele rosto querido, irritava-me ao encontrar na memória, com definitiva exatidão, as caras inúteis e incisivas do homem do carrossel e da vendedora de pirulitos, como acontece com essas pessoas que perderam um ente querido e não conseguem vê-lo em sonhos, e exasperam-se por encontrar continuamente em seus sonhos tantas criaturas insuportáveis a quem já é demais ter visto em estado de vigília. Na impotência de figurar o objeto da sua dor, quase se acusam de não sentir mais dor. E eu não estava longe de acreditar que, como não podia recordar as feições de Gilberte, esquecera-a também e não mais a amava.

Jamais vemos os entes queridos a não ser no sistema animado, no movimento perpétuo de nossa incessante ternura, a qual, antes de deixar que cheguem até nós as imagens que nos apresentam a sua face, arrebata-as no seu vórtice, lança-as sobre a ideia que fazemos deles desde sempre, fá-las aderir a ela, coincidir com ela. Como, já que eu fazia a fronte, as faces de minha avó representarem o que havia de mais delicado e de mais permanente no seu espírito, como, já que todo olhar habitual é uma necromancia e cada olhar que se ama, o espelho do passado, como não omitiria eu o que nela pudera ter-se tornado pesado e diferente, quando até nos espetáculos mais indiferentes da vida, a nossa vista, carregada de pensamento, despreza, como o faria uma tragédia clássica, todas as imagens que não concorrem para a ação e retém exclusivamente as que lhe podem tornar inteligível o desfecho?

E esse medo a um futuro em que já não nos seja dado ver e falar aos entes queridos, cujo convívio constitui hoje a nossa mais íntima alegria, ainda aumenta em vez de dissipar-se quando pensamos que, à dor de tal separação, virá juntar-se outra coisa que atualmente nos parece mais terrível ainda: é que não a sentiremos como uma dor, e nos deixará indiferentes; pois então o nosso eu terá mudado e esqueceremos não só o encanto de nossos pais, de nossa amada, de nossos amigos, mas também o afeto que lhes tínhamos; e esse afeto, que hoje constitui parte importantíssima de nosso coração, se desenraizará tão perfeitamente que poderemos folgar com uma vida que agora, só de a imaginar, nos horroriza; será, pois, uma verdadeira morte de nós mesmos, morte após a qual virá uma ressurreição, mas já de um ser diferente e que não pode inspirar afeto a essas partes do antigo eu condenadas à morte.

The other side's got an energy that our side en't got. Comes from their certainty about being right. If you got that certainty, you'll be willing to do anything to bring about the end you want. It's the oldest human problem, Lyra, an' it's the difference between good and evil. Evil has nothing to stop it doing what it wants, while good has one hand tied behind its back. To do the things it needs to do to win, it'd have to become evil to do 'em.

Will sat down and looked at Lyra. “What am I doing wrong?” he said. He was bloodstained, trembling, wild-eyed. He was living on the edge of his nerves: clenching his jaw, tapping his foot, breathing fast. “It’s your wound,” she said. “You en’t wrong at all. You’re doing it right, but your hand won’t let you concentrate on it. I don’t know an easy way of getting around that, except maybe if you didn’t try to shut it out.” “What d’you mean?” “Well, you’re trying to do two things with your mind, both at once. You’re trying to ignore the pain and close that window. I remember when I was reading the alethiometer once when I was frightened, and maybe I was used to it by that time, I don’t know, but I was still frightened all the time I was reading it. Just sort of relax your mind and say yes, it does hurt, I know. Don’t try and shut it out.” His eyes closed briefly. His breathing slowed a little. “All right,” he said. “I’ll try that.” And this time it was much easier.

To be sure, there’s a warm passion behind what you say. But if you give in to that passion, friends, you’re a doing what I always warned you agin: you’re a placing the satisfaction of your own feelings above the work you have to do. Our work here is first rescue, then punishment. It en’t gratification for upset feelings. Our feelings don’t matter. If we rescue the kids but we can’t punish the Gobblers, we’ve done the main task. But if we aim to punish the Gobblers first and by doing so lose the chance of rescuing the kids, we’ve failed. “But be assured of this, Margaret. When the time comes to punish, we shall strike such a blow as’ll make their hearts faint and fearful. We shall strike the strength out of ’em. We shall leave them ruined and wasted, broken and shattered, torn in a thousand pieces and scattered to the four winds. Don’t you worry that John Faa’s heart is too soft to strike a blow when the time comes. And the time will come under judgment. Not under passion.

micel walcan wolde we do from that daeg micel walcan in the great holt the brunnesweald but though we walced for wices months years though this holt becum ham to me for so long still we did not see efen a small part of it so great was this deop eald wud. so great was it that many things dwelt there what was not cnawan to man but only in tales and in dreams. wihts for sure the boar the wulf the fox efen the bera it was saed by sum made this holt their ham. col beorners and out laws was in here as they was in all wuds but deop deoper efen than this was the eald wihts what was in angland before men here i is meanan the aelfs and the dweorgs and ents who is of the holt who is the treows them selfs. my grandfather he telt me he had seen an aelf at dusc one daeg he seen it flittan betweon stoccs of treows thynne it was and grene and its eages was great and blaec and had no loc of man in them. well he was blithe to lif after that for oft it is saed that to see an aelf is to die for they sceots their aelf straels at thu and aelfscot is a slow death

Que as meditações dos teólogos e dos filósofos conhecidos por escolásticos não são inteiramente desprezíveis Sei que enuncio um grande paradoxo ao pretender reabilitar de certo modo a antiga filosofia, e recordar postlimino as formas substanciais já quase banidas; mas, talvez não me condenem levianamente quando se souber que meditei bastante sobre a filosofia moderna, que dediquei muito tempo às experiências da física e às demonstrações da geometria, que estive muito tempo persuadido da fragilidade desses entes, que fui, enfim, obrigado a retomar contra a própria vontade e como que à força, depois de eu próprio ter feito investigações que me levaram a reconhecer que os nossos modernos não fazem suficientemente justiça a S. Tomás de Aquino e a outros grandes homens desse tempo, e que há, nas opiniões dos filósofos e teólogos escolásticos, muito mais solidez do que se imagina, contando que delas nos sirvamos a propósito e no seu lugar. Estou mesmo persuadido de que, se algum espírito exacto e meditativo se desse ao trabalho de esclarecer e digerir o pensamento deles à maneira dos geómetras analíticos, encontraria aí um tesouro de grande quantidade de verdades importantíssimas e absolutamente demonstrativas.

I’ll tell you if you tell me something,' she said. 'You’re my father, en’t you?' 'Yes. So what?' 'So you should have told me before, that’s what. You shouldn’t hide things like that from people, because they feel stupid when they find out, and that’s cruel. What difference would it make if I knew I was your daughter? You could have said it years ago. You could’ve told me and asked me to keep it secret, and I would, no matter how young I was, I’d have done that if you asked me. I’d have been so proud nothing would’ve torn it out of me, if you asked me to keep it secret. But you never. You let other people know, but you never told me.

I been thinking,” she said, “how you saved me, and how you promised to guide all the other ghosts that’ll come through the world of the dead to that land we slept in last night. And I thought, if you en’t got a name, that can’t be right, not for the future. So I thought I’d give you a name, like King Iorek Byrnison gave me my name Silvertongue. I’m going to call you Gracious Wings. So that’s your name now, and that’s what you’ll be for evermore: Gracious Wings.” “One day,” said the harpy, “I will see you again, Lyra Silvertongue.” “And if I know you’re here, I shan’t be afraid,” Lyra said. “Good-bye, Gracious Wings, till I die.” She embraced the harpy, hugging her tightly and kissing her on both cheeks.

A partir de un determinado momento, advirtió Paul vagamente, la tecnología había pasado a señalarle únicamente el carácter ineludible y próximo de la nada. En vez de liberar nanobots en el torrente sanguíneo para reparar las cosas más rápidamente de lo que se deterioraban, implantar pequeños computadores en el cerebro de la gente o aplicar otros métodos que Paul había descubierto en la Wikipedia con intención de aplazar la muerte hasta convertirla en ese ente lejano y menguante y casi inexistente que entonces era la vida- y para que la vida, para los humanos inmortales, se convirtiera en la diversión preponderante que entonces era la muerte-, la tecnología parecía abocada a eliminar la vida para siempre cumpliendo incontroladamente su única función: convertir la materia, animada o inanimada, en materia computerizada con el único objeto, al parecer, de aumentar su funcionamiento hasta que el universo fuera un único ordenador. La tecnología, una abstracción indetectable en la realidad concreta, estaba llevando a cabo su tarea concreta, intuyó Paul débilmente mientras le acariciaba el pelo a Erin, gracias a una mano de obra humana, creciente y cada vez más entregada que, en el transcurso de cientos de generaciones, iba recibiendo lo que parecían anticipos (desde los pies a los coches pasando por las bicicletas, desde la cara a Internet hasta los tablones de anuncios) a cambio de convertir una cantidad suficiente de materia en materia computerizada para que los ordenadores pudieran ir construyéndose a sí mismos.

—¿No te das cuenta aún de que esto es una historia? Buenos o malos, cada día que vivimos es un capítulo y cada año una nueva parte para una obra completa que es nuestra vida, interconectada con las novelas que son las vidas de los demás y con el gran libro del que cada uno de nosotros formamos parte: la vida y los misterios que encierra. ››Sin duda, ahora mismo un lector recorre estas palabras esperando hallar sentido a los desvaríos de tus días. Existe un creador inmisericorde y un lector esperanzado; a lo mejor ambos son escritos por otros entes sin que lo sepan. Tal vez, pertenecemos a una gran historia compuesta de muchas otras que se escriben entre sí, sin cesar, hasta el fin del tiempo, más allá del punto final. Puede que todas nuestras historias sean solo puntos y aparte de algo más. Yo lo imagino así, por eso hay días en los que meneo la mano y digo: “hola, lector. Sé que me lees. ¿Alguien te estará leyendo a ti?”. Me gustan las dudas, porque me gusta imaginar las respuestas, por eso escribo. Sé que tú también lo sientes, que tú también deseas, ambicionas con toda tu alma ser un pequeño dios de la pluma que guarda la fantasía en papel. ››Cada vez que alguien nace es un nuevo personaje de un magnum opus cuyo final queda lejos. Somos una historia interminable. Desde que respiras por primera vez, eres un relato que espera alguna vez ser contado. Por eso, debemos representar a grandes e inolvidables personajes a la par que concebimos con nuestro arte otros que seguirán aumentando la ficción de la realidad. Créeme, por algo me llamaban Tinta y a ti el Hijo de Tinta. ¿Por qué renegar de nuestra esencia?

Sei, divino Cesar, que me esperas com impaciencia e que, victima da fidelidade do teu coração, gemes com saudades minhas noite e dia. Sei que me accumularias de favores, que me offerecias ser prefeito da tua guarda e que nomearias Tigellino guardador de mulas, em qualquer das propriedades que herdaste, depois do envenenamento de Domicia - cargo para o qual parece ter sido creado pelos deuses. Mas, ai! tens de me desculpar. Pelo Hades e, em particular, pelos manes de tua mãe, de tua mulher, de teu irmão e de Seneca, juro-te que me é impossivel estar ao pé de ti. A vida é um thesoiro, meu amigo, e lisonjeio-me de ter sabido extrahir d'esse thesoiro as joias mais preciosas. Mas ha coisas na vida que sou incapaz de supportar durante mais tempo. Não vás pensar, conjuro-te, que me melindrou o assassinio de tua mãe, de tua mulher, de teu irmão, que me indignei com o incendio de Roma, que fiquei magoado com o processo que consiste em mandar para Erebo toda a gente honesta do teu Imperio... Não, meu caro neto de Chronos! A morte é a herança commum dos entes sublunares, e, demais, não havia maneira de procederes d'outra forma. Mas supportar, durante muitos annos ainda, o teu canto que me fere os ouvidos, vêr as tuas pernas domicianas - as tuas tibias descarnadas - saracotearem-se na dança pirrhyca, vêr-te representar, ouvir-te declamar, ouvir-te recitar poemas escriptos por ti, pobre poeta de feira!... ah! na verdade, semelhante perspectiva era superior ás minhas fôrças. E senti em mim a incoercivel necessidade de ir ter com os meus paes. Roma tapa os ouvidos, o universo cobre-te de gargalhadas. Não quero tornar a córar por tua causa. Não quero, não posso mais! O uivar de Cerbero, se se pudesse comparar com o teu modo de cantar, meu amigo, affligir-me-hia menos, porque nunca fui amigo de Cerbero e não tinha por dever envergonhar-me da sua voz. Tem saúde, mas deixa-te de canto; mata, mas não faças versos; envenena, mas não dances; incendeia cidades, mas abandona a cithara. Tal é o ultimo voto e o amigavel conselho que te dá o Arbitro das Elegancias.

You’re my death, en’t you?” she said. “Yes, my dear,” he said. “You en’t going to take me yet, are you?” “You wanted me. I am always here.” “Yes, but… I did, yes, but… I want to go to the land of the dead, that’s true. But not to die. I don’t want to die. I love being alive, and I love my dæmon, and… Dæmons don’t go down there, do they? I seen ’em vanish and just go out like candles when people die. Do they have dæmons in the land of the dead?” “No,” he said. “Your dæmon vanishes into the air, and you vanish under the ground.” “Then I want to take my dæmon with me when I go to the land of the dead,” she said firmly. “And I want to come back again. Has it ever been known, for people to do that?” “Not for many, many ages. Eventually, child, you will come to the land of the dead with no effort, no risk, a safe, calm journey, in the company of your own death, your special, devoted friend, who’s been beside you every moment of your life, who knows you better than yourself—” “But Pantalaimon is my special and devoted friend! I don’t know you, Death, I know Pan and I love Pan and if he ever—if we ever—” The death was nodding. He seemed interested and kindly, but she couldn’t for a moment forget what he was: her very own death, and so close. “I know it’ll be an effort to go on now,” she said more steadily, “and dangerous, but I want to, Death, I do truly. And so does Will. We both had people taken away too soon, and we need to make amends, at least I do.” “Everyone wishes they could speak again to those who’ve gone to the land of the dead. Why should there be an exception for you?” “Because,” she began, lying, “because there’s something I’ve got to do there, not just seeing my friend Roger, something else. It was a task put on me by an angel, and no one else can do it, only me. It’s too important to wait till I die in the natural way, it’s got to be done now. See, the angel commanded me. That’s why we came here, me and Will. We got to.” Behind her, Tialys put away his instrument and sat watching the child plead with her own death to be taken where no one should go. The death scratched his head and held up his hands, but nothing could stop Lyra’s words, nothing could deflect her desire, not even fear: she’d seen worse than death, she claimed, and she had, too.

Lyra stood shivering in the fo’c’sle and laughed with delight as her beloved Pantalaimon, sleek and powerful, leaped from the water with half a dozen other swift gray shapes. He had to stay close to the ship, of course, for he could never go far from her; but she sensed his desire to speed as far and as fast as he could, for pure exhilaration. She shared his pleasure, but for her it wasn’t simple pleasure, for there was pain and fear in it too. Suppose he loved being a dolphin more than he loved being with her on land? What would she do then? Her friend the able seaman was nearby, and he paused as he adjusted the canvas cover of the forward hatch to look out at the little girl’s dæmon skimming and leaping with the dolphins. His own dæmon, a seagull, had her head tucked under her wing on the capstan. He knew what Lyra was feeling. “I remember when I first went to sea, my Belisaria hadn’t settled on one form, I was that young, and she loved being a porpoise. I was afraid she’d settle like that. There was one old sailorman on my first vessel who could never go ashore at all, because his dæmon had settled as a dolphin, and he could never leave the water. He was a wonderful sailor, best navigator you ever knew; could have made a fortune at the fishing, but he wasn’t happy at it. He was never quite happy till he died and he could be buried at sea.” “Why do dæmons have to settle?” Lyra said. “I want Pantalaimon to be able to change forever. So does he.” “Ah, they always have settled, and they always will. That’s part of growing up. There’ll come a time when you’ll be tired of his changing about, and you’ll want a settled kind of form for him.” “I never will!” “Oh, you will. You’ll want to grow up like all the other girls. Anyway, there’s compensations for a settled form.” “What are they?” “Knowing what kind of person you are. Take old Belisaria. She’s a seagull, and that means I’m a kind of seagull too. I’m not grand and splendid nor beautiful, but I’m a tough old thing and I can survive anywhere and always find a bit of food and company. That’s worth knowing, that is. And when your dæmon settles, you’ll know the sort of person you are.” “But suppose your dæmon settles in a shape you don’t like?” “Well, then, you’re discontented, en’t you? There’s plenty of folk as’d like to have a lion as a dæmon and they end up with a poodle. And till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they’re going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is.” But it didn’t seem to Lyra that she would ever grow up.

I know when to stop asking,' she said. 'See, the alethiometer’s like a person, almost. I sort of know when it’s going to be cross or when there’s things it doesn’t want me to know. I kind of feel it. But when you come out of nowhere yesterday, I had to ask it who you were, or I might not have been safe. I had to. And it said …' She lowered her voice even more. 'It said you was a murderer, and I thought, Good, that’s all right, he’s someone I can trust. But I didn’t ask more than that till just now, and if you don’t want me to ask any more, I promise I won’t. This en’t like a private peep show. If I done nothing but spy on people, it’d stop working. I know that as well as I know my own Oxford.' 'You could have asked me instead of that thing. Did it say whether my father was alive or dead?' 'No, because I didn’t ask.' They were both sitting by this time. Will put his head in his hands with weariness. 'Well,' he said finally, 'I suppose we’ll have to trust each other.' 'That’s all right. I trust you.' Will nodded grimly. He was so tired, and there was not the slightest possibility of sleep in this world. Lyra wasn’t usually so perceptive, but something in his manner made her think: He’s afraid, but he’s mastering his fear, like Iorek Byrnison said we had to do; like I did by the fish house at the frozen lake. 'And, Will,' she added, 'I won’t give you away, not to anyone. I promise.' 'Good.' 'I done that before. I betrayed someone. And it was the worst thing I ever did. I thought I was saving his life actually, only I was taking him right to the most dangerous place there could be. I hated myself for that, for being so stupid. So I’ll try very hard not to be careless or forget and betray you.

Dear Jon, A real Dear Jon let­ter, how per­fect is that?! Who knew you’d get dumped twice in the same amount of months. See, I’m one para­graph in and I’ve al­ready fucked this. I’m writ­ing this be­cause I can’t say any of this to you face-to-face. I’ve spent the last few months ques­tion­ing a lot of my friend­ships and won­der­ing what their pur­pose is, if not to work through big emo­tional things to­gether. But I now re­al­ize: I don’t want that. And I know you’ve all been there for me in other ways. Maybe not in the lit­eral sense, but I know you all would have done any­thing to fix me other than lis­ten­ing to me talk and al­low­ing me to be sad with­out so­lu­tions. And now I am writ­ing this let­ter rather than pick­ing up the phone and talk­ing to you be­cause, de­spite every thing I know, I just don’t want to, and I don’t think you want me to ei­ther. I lost my mind when Jen broke up with me. I’m pretty sure it’s been the sub­ject of a few of your What­sApp con­ver­sa­tions and more power to you, be­cause I would need to vent about me if I’d been friends with me for the last six months. I don’t want it to have been in vain, and I wanted to tell you what I’ve learnt. If you do a high-fat, high-pro­tein, low-carb diet and join a gym, it will be a good dis­trac­tion for a while and you will lose fat and gain mus­cle, but you will run out of steam and eat nor­mally again and put all the weight back on. So maybe don’t bother. Drunk­en­ness is an­other idea. I was in black­out for most of the first two months and I think that’s fine, it got me through the evenings (and the oc­ca­sional af­ter­noon). You’ll have to do a lot of it on your own, though, be­cause no one is free to meet up any more. I think that’s fine for a bit. It was for me un­til some­one walked past me drink­ing from a whisky minia­ture while I waited for a night bus, put five quid in my hand and told me to keep warm. You’re the only per­son I’ve ever told this story. None of your mates will be ex­cited that you’re sin­gle again. I’m prob­a­bly your only sin­gle mate and even I’m not that ex­cited. Gen­er­ally the ex­pe­ri­ence of be­ing sin­gle at thirty-five will feel dif­fer­ent to any other time you’ve been sin­gle and that’s no bad thing. When your ex moves on, you might be­come ob­sessed with the bloke in a way that is al­most sex­ual. Don’t worry, you don’t want to fuck him, even though it will feel a bit like you do some­times. If you open up to me or one of the other boys, it will feel good in the mo­ment and then you’ll get an emo­tional hang­over the next day. You’ll wish you could take it all back. You may even feel like we’ve en­joyed see­ing you so low. Or that we feel smug be­cause we’re win­ning at some­thing and you’re los­ing. Re­member that none of us feel that. You may be­come ob­sessed with work­ing out why ex­actly she broke up with you and you are likely to go fully, fully nuts in your bid to find a sat­is­fy­ing an­swer. I can save you a lot of time by let­ting you know that you may well never work it out. And even if you did work it out, what’s the pur­pose of it? Soon enough, some girl is go­ing to be crazy about you for some un­de­fin­able rea­son and you’re not go­ing to be in­ter­ested in her for some un­de­fin­able rea­son. It’s all so ran­dom and un­fair – the peo­ple we want to be with don’t want to be with us and the peo­ple who want to be with us are not the peo­ple we want to be with. Re­ally, the thing that’s go­ing to hurt a lot is the fact that some­one doesn’t want to be with you any more. Feel­ing the ab­sence of some­one’s com­pany and the ab­sence of their love are two dif­fer­ent things. I wish I’d known that ear­lier. I wish I’d known that it isn’t any­body’s job to stay in a re­la­tion­ship they don’t want to be in just so some­one else doesn’t feel bad about them­selves. Any­way. That’s all. You’re go­ing to be okay, mate. Andy