Garnet Quotes

After the keen still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth...The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her...In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.

I know what you are. I've always known from the beginning, Kushiel's Chosen. It is folly, to make claim on one whom the gods have marked for their own. And unlike the others, I am no fool, to grasp at that which burns to the touch. What you have given..." she raised one hand, palm upward, the garnet seal dangling at her wrist, "... I hold in an open hand.

The garnets,' Sniff moaned. 'I didn't get a single one.' Snufkin sat down beside him and said kindly: 'I know. But that's how it is when you start wanting to have things. Now I just look at them, and when I go away I carry them in my head. Then my hands are always free, because I don't have to carry a suitcase.

The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her. The dried brown leaves crackled beneath her feet and gave off a delicious smoky fragrance. No one had ever told her about autumn in New England. The excitement of it beat in her blood. Every morning she woke with a new confidence and buoyancy she could not explain. In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.

Her palace shimered with onyx, garnet, and gold, but was richer still in political and sexual intrigue.

I waited a long time for you, love. I’ll wait as long as you need. You are mine.” And he was here in Quincy to claim me.

Yet, the quest for knowledge will overcome us and we must know. And, at last, we must see where the road ends, even if it be the cliff.

Humility is an essential quality in writers who want to write well.

H. H. GARNET. We need a thousand such representative

He's such a dear, Mr. Garnet. A beautiful, pure, bred Persian. He has taken prizes." "He's always taking something - generally food.

GARNET CITY LIMIT POPULATION 3145 “There’s bullet holes in that sign,” Tino observed drily. “There are,” Romeo agreed, starting at the dents and holes in the green metal. “Those are bullet holes, no question.” “They shot their own friggin’ sign.” Tino turned to arch an eyebrow at Romeo. “What the hell are they gonna do to us.

I have never stopped loving you … And I never will.

Melisande blinked rapidly, then looked back to the little box with garnet earrings. Her ears weren't even pierced. She touched one of the garnets with a fingertip and wondered if he'd ever looked-really looked- at her at all.

He was a prince. There was no hope in saying yes to the boy with the garnet eyes who left me reckless and confused at every turn. There was no future with him. None. Darren had duty. To the Crown. Gods only knew Priscilla and Blayne had spent enough time reminding me of that.

A blond vampire in a garnet-red frock. She was lovely, and pale as new snow: Cordelia thought of the mundane women who paid to have their faces enameled white to preserve their youth and keep their fashionable pallor. They ought to just become vampires, she thought. It would be less expensive.

Enchantment and fulfillment were on the gold and garnet horizon - autumn's breath, a dormant dream reawakened, a yearning nearly satiated, a tender thank you with a brush of the lips, and a connection as fingers touch and go hand in hand.

The gardens were brilliant with summer magic, with plump cushions of forget-me-nots, lemon balm, and vibrant yellow daylilies, surrounding plots of roses shot through with garnet clematis. Long rows of silvery lamb's-ear stretched between large stone urns filled with rainbow Oriental poppies.

Let me get this straight. I can't take the vampire with me because if I remove the stake, he can kill us all. Now I can't take the girl because she's what? some kind of ninja witch?

Your dreams were my dreams, Tally. I lost them when I lost you.

I am shocked both that I hurt him and that my shoe hit him, because I do throw like the proverbial girl. I hurl stuff around secure in the knowledge I’ll miss my target.

Why is it tattooed on your body?” “As a reminder.” “Of what?” He gave me a sad smile. “Of what I lost.

Will you break my heart again?” “Never.” I’d die first. “Will you leave me?” “Never.” Not willingly. Not until the end. “Will you stop loving me?” “Never.” My love for her had no end. I’d love her in this world and the next. “Never, Tally. Never.

Then the violet coffin moved again and went in feet first. And behold! The feet burst miraculously into streaming ribbons of garnet coloured lovely flame, smokeless and eager, like pentecostal tongues, and as the whole coffin passed in it sprang into flame all over; and my mother became that beautiful fire.

You learned a lot by playing RPGs, although not all of it was useful, or real for that matter – unless you really believed that wolves normally carry seven gold pieces, a flawed garnet, a scroll of ice storm, and a lock pick somewhere about their person.

It is possible for a writer to make, or remake at least, for a reader, the primary pleasures of eating, or drinking, or looking on, or sex. Novels have their obligatory tour-de-force, the green-flecked gold omelette aux fines herbes, melting into buttery formlessness and tasting of summer, or the creamy human haunch, firm and warm, curved back to reveal a hot hollow, a crisping hair or two, the glimpsed sex. They do not habitually elaborate on the equally intense pleasure of reading. There are obvious reasons for this, the most obvious being the regressive nature of the pleasure, a mise-en-abîme even, where words draw attention to the power and delight of words, and so ad infinitum, thus making the imagination experience something papery and dry, narcissistic and yet disagreeably distanced, without the immediacy of sexual moisture or the scented garnet glow of a good burgundy. And yet, natures such as Roland's are at their most alert and heady when reading is violently yet steadily alive. (What an amazing word "heady" is, en passant, suggesting both acute sensuous alertness and its opposite, the pleasure of the brain as opposed to the viscera—though each is implicated in the other, as we know very well, with both, when they are working.)

I waited a long time for you, love. I’ll wait as long as you need. You are mine.

I feel like I'm seeing a sparrow in a cage, something young and innocent trapped by grasping hands. And I think that perhaps my own cage is simply larger than hers, so large I have never been fully aware of its edges.

The skanky vamp biting for bucks on the dark end of state street is your ex boyfriend?" William asked. The look on William's face implied he hoped I washed after interacting with Parrish

Like a sparrow in its flitting, like a swallow in its flying, a curse that is causeless does not alight.

What?" I demand, too tired and frazzled to be polite. "Did you think I didn't care? Do you think I'm not human?" "No," he replies. "I think you are royal.

I’m mad at you because I love you, not because I want you dead.

Garnet was very happy. She was so happy, for no especial reason, that she felt as if she must move carefully so she wouldn't jar or shake the feeling of happiness.

The garnets would have gone in the rucksack," said Sniff miserably. "You don't need hands for that. It's not the same thing at all just looking at them. I want to touch them and know they're mine.

[To find a kiss of yours] translated by Sarah Arvio. To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love My lips taste the dirt of shadows To gaze at your dark eyes what would I give Dawns of rainbow garnet fanning open before God— The stars blinded them one morning in May And to kiss your pure thighs what would I give Raw rose crystal sediment of the sun

The dishes," [Garnet] said. "Oh, let them stand for once!" cried Mrs. Linden grandly, "we can do them when we come home. This is an important day." "You're nice," said Garnet, and gave her mother a hug.

A guy who was lucky to have twenty bucks in his pocket and knew he’d never be able to give you the world.” She pulled her knees into her chest. “I never needed the world.” “But I wanted to give it to you anyway.

Humans are curious creatures. What we cannot see, our logical minds will try to deny.

for the first time in a long time, I was beginning a year as my own man. Unless Talia would have me. Then I’d be hers until the end of my days.

Just let me go, Foster.” “I haven’t let you go in seven years. I’m not starting tonight.

There are three things in the world that are unclear to me, and a fourth one I do not comprehend: the path of an eagle in the sky, a snake on a rock, a ship at sea, and the path of a man to the heart of a woman.

It was strange to see that no matter what color the clothing first appeared—and they were all hues, from earthy copper and garnet to the blue of sky and shadow—in different light all turned to some shade of green, as if there were a third plane to the cloth’s weaving beyond the warp and weft.

Brother Luca Pacioli. It took him thirty years to write.” The book is bound in deepest green with a tooled border of gold, and its pages are edged in gilt, so that it blazes in the light. Its clasps are studded with blackish garnets, smooth, translucent. “I hardly dare open it,” the boy says. “Please. You will like it.” It is Summa de Arithmetica. He unclasps it to find a woodcut of the author with a book before him, and a pair of compasses.

Of course she is. Because she’s eight kinds of wonderful, and that’s just her legs.” Jeb furrows his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Taelor has all the diplomacy of a black widow spider. Garnet’s her birthstone. You’re wearing her birthday on your lip. Talk about spinning you up in her web.

The enormous vermilion sun was dropping toward the sea, its reflected glow making a blazing path across the water to the very beach, where the last ripple was spangled with garnets. Otherwise, the sea was periwinkle purple, spilling and whispering and sidling with an easy going prattle of foam round the steeper rocks.

Madame was in her room upstairs. She wore an open dressing gown that showed between the shawl facings of her bodice a pleated chamisette with three gold buttons. Her belt was a corded girdle with great tassels, and her small garnet coloured slippers had a large knot of ribbon that fell over her instep. She had bought herself a blotting book, writing case, pen-holder, and envelopes, although she had no one to write to; she dusted her what-not, looked at herself in the glass, picked up a book, and then, dreaming between the lines, let it drop on her knees. She longed to travel or to go back to her convent. She wished at the same time to die and to live in Paris.

The Hermit I’d gladly climb the highest steeple To escape those middle minded people Jet Set Wedding I wake up screaming clutching my wedding band The garnet ring is still a constant companion on my finger But what happened to the marriage? Fruitland Ave He taught her not to love nor hate And he my friend was double gate The Closing (On Death and Acceptance) When he died the funeral took place at her bank And sadly enough she’s down to her very last frank The Misogynist He sits on his throne a hilltop alone For women’s neurosis cause men’s psychosis Home Sweet Home The neurotic builds the dreamhouse The psychotic becomes his spouse Monogamy I’d rather be someone’s concubine, smell the honeysuckle Taste the wine, than end up being a clinging vine The Gour Maid I like champagne, and french brie, and camembert And men that don’t get in my hair

Your dreams were my dreams, Tally. I lost them when I lost you.” He hooked a finger under my chin. “Did I lose you?

You loved those jeans. I loved those jeans. They made your ass look fantastic.

I never needed the world.” “But I wanted to give it to you anyway.

As so many deaf people, he passionately loved opera,

In the pale illumination from the single flame, her breasts were so beautiful that Brody’s breath caught and he whispered, “God, Garnet.

The singer could hardly have been drowned in a hip bath, but Mr. Garnet hoped for the best.

We passed Columbia, the state furnace, inhaling hot garnet air as if straight from Aunt Bea's oven.

O, is de jacht op de surrogaten weer geopend?... Pas maar op, nieuw meisje. Dit jaar wordt ongetwijfeld gevaarlijk nu het om de hand van de lieve, kleine Exetor gaat. - Garnet

He taught me how to eat avocados by melting grape jelly and french dressing together in a saucepan and filling the cup of the pear with the garnet sauce.

My first order of business was to look in the side pocket where I had hidden my garnet and gold necklace.

you have to have the right sort of stone. Peridot for mothers, girasol for lovers, sapphire for sadness, and garnet for joy.

(when Sabastain asks for a mandake root harvested by the the new moon at crossroads, Garnet responds)...... Why not just ask for it grown under a gallows?

Garnet could feel that he himself was not looking his best. He knew in a vague, impersonal way that his eyebrows were still somewhere in the middle of his forehead, whither they had sprung in the first moment of surprise, and that his jaw, which ad dropped, had not yet resumed its normal posture. Before committing himself to speech he made a determined effort to revise his facial expression.

Garnet woke up early. Before she was quite wide awake she lay with her eyes closed, half afraid to look for fear it might be raining. But even with them closed she knew it was going to be all right because the color behind her lids was clear and rosy and she knew the sunlight lay upon them. And she heard crickets in the meadow, and a fly buzzing against the screen, and somebody whistling outside. So it was all right and she opened her eyes. Oh what a day! She held up her arm in the sunlight; all the little hairs on it glittered like fine gold, and her closed fingers were ember-colored as if there were a light inside them.

The rock I'd seen in my life looked dull because in all ignorance I'd never thought to knock it open. People have cracked ordinary New England pegmatite - big, coarse granite - and laid bare clusters of red garnets, or topaz crystals, chrysoberyl, spodumene, emerald. They held in their hands crystals that had hung in a hole in the dark for a billion years unseen. I was all for it. I would lay about me right and left with a hammer, and bash the landscape to bits. I would crack the earth's crust like a piñata and spread to the light the vivid prizes in chunks within. Rock collecting was opening the mountains. It was like diving through my own interior blank blackness to remember the startling pieces of a dream: there was a blue lake, a witch, a lighthouse, a yellow path. It was like poking about in a grimy alley and finding an old, old coin. Nothing was at it seemed. The earth was like a shut eye. Mother's not dead, dear - she's only sleeping. Pry open the thin lid and find a crystalline intelligence inside, a rayed and sidereal beauty. Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetical flowers. They lengthened and spread, adding plane to plane in awed and perfect obedience to an absolute geometry that even the stones - maybe only the stones - understood.

Inside the carriage, Cardan slumps. I stare at him, at the blood drying in tide lines over his body and crusting in his curls like tiny garnets. I force myself to look out the window instead. 'How long have I-' he hesitates. 'Not even three days,' I tell him. 'Barely any time at all.' I do not mention how long it has seemed. Nor do I say how he might have been trapped as a serpent for all time, bridled and bound. Or dead.

Have you read MK Arrowood's Garnet series? They're my favourite books. Though I've become really fond of this work-in-progress called "The Collected Letters from Hermione Granger." It's all I have to read. I have sections memorized.

Everyone is afraid. But one person falls to pieces from fear, and another person keeps it together. You see: fear remains the same for everyone, but the ability to bear it increases with practice; that is where brave men and heroes come from.

Summer, in pursuit of greener pastures, packed its bags and left New Hampshire, ushering autumn to Red Grove. Overnight, the trees grew bolder personalities, dressing in garnet and persimmon and welcoming my Jeep home with an increasing number of free-spirited leaves.

Bouchalka was not a reflective person. He had his own idea of what a great prima donna should be like, and he took it for granted that Mme. Garnet corresponded to his conception. The curious thing was that he managed to impress his idea upon Cressida herself. She began to see herself as he saw her, to try to be like the notion of her that he carried everywhere in that pointed head of his. She was exalted quite beyond herself. Things that had been chilled under the grind came to life in her that winter, with the breath of Bouchalka’s adoration. Then, if ever in her life, she heard the bird sing on the branch outside her window; and she wished she were younger, lovelier, freer. She wished there were no Poppas, no Horace, no Garnets. She longed to be only the bewitching creature Bouchalka imagined her.

How do you always know about a birth?" Ruby asked with a mystified smile. "Wait a minute. Did Lorenzo call you?" "Nope." Hawke winked, the thick fan of his silver-gold lashes coming down over an eye of a blue so pale, it was immediately clear that Hawke was a changeling, was wolf. "It's an alpha thing." [...] "Garnet." Turning the screen in her direction, Garnet raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" She had a good idea of what was coming. Wolf-blue eyes gleamed. "Where's your mate?" Kenji shifted so he could scowl at Hawke. "Now you're just showing off.

In Nina Kimbereley's garden the scabiosa flowers were dark as garnet brooches; the nicotiana a veil of tossing crimson stars. Nothing was usual, or a dull color. All was exceptional, designed to be exceptional since it had been planned as the background for a beauty by the beauty.

It's Also Tradition to Wear White,I Study Myself in The Mirror Now,as Annabelle Curls My Hair. My Dress is Strapless,Layers of ivory chiffon Floating to The Floor.a Necklace of Diamonds and Rubies Sparkles at My Throat Garnet Leans Against The Newel Post and Whistles As I Come Down The Stairs. My Cheeks Flush. Have You Been To The Royal Palace Yet? Garnet Asks Me.I Stare at Him for a Second Wondering if He's Joking. Yes, I Say Slowly. You Bumped Into Me at The Exetor's Ball. Did I? Garnet's Eyebrows Pinch Together. Huh Well,You Haven't Seen Anytging Until You've Seen The Winter Ball Decorations. We are Escorted to a Extension Made Entirely of Glass. It is Lit with Thousands of Candles. Giving The Room a Beautiful Golden Glow. The Floor is Made Out Of Blue Glass and Enormous Ice Sculptures Glitter in The Flickering Light. I See What Garnet Meant-The Whole Effect is Magnificent.

It's Also Tradition to Wear White,I Study Myself in The Mirror Now,as Annabelle Curls My Hair. My Dress is Strapless,Layers of ivory chiffon Floating to The Floor.a Necklace of Diamonds and Rubies Sparkles at My Throat Garnet Leans Against The Newel Post and Whistles As I Come Down The Stairs. My Cheeks Flush.  Have You Been To The Royal Palace Yet? Garnet Asks Me.I Stare at Him for a Second Wondering if He's Joking. Yes, I Say Slowly. You Bumped Into Me at The Exetor's Ball. Did I? Garnet's Eyebrows Pinch Together. Huh Well,You Haven't Seen Anything Until You've Seen The Winter Ball Decorations. We are Escorted to a Extension Made Entirely of Glass. It is Lit with Thousands of Candles. Giving The Room a Beautiful Golden Glow. The Floor is Made Out Of Blue Glass and Enormous Ice Sculptures Glitter in The Flickering Light. I See What Garnet Meant-The Whole Effect is Magnificent.” 

Title divine — is mine! The Wife — without the Sign! Acute Degree — conferred on me — Empress of Calvary! Royal — all but the Crown! Betrothed - without the swoon God sends us Women — When you — hold — Garnet to Garnet - Gold — to Gold — Born — Bridalled — Shrouded - In a Day — Tri Victory «My Husband» - women say — Stroking the Melody — Is this - the way?

All I have to say is, people no longer know how to love nowadays.

It is not her fault that among other people love has taken on such shallow form and has been reduced to some basic convenience, to a mere entertainment.

An emotional shell? How could she say that? I laughed and smiled and joked all the time. I was happy. I was a blissfully content person.

I don't know where we are, but we'll soon find our way home!" Le avventure di Pinocchio

For with all that is grand, grander is the expansion of the mind.

The wind blowing through the cracks in the walls was fitting for this isolated and lonely place.

The heavy smell of incense gave me an uneasy feeling as if I had walked into a tomb

As my body recalled my soul, I began to quiver with pain and gasp for air.

Nobody’s going to be safe until everybody’s armed.  You’d think the world would learn from the carnage in gun free zones. 

This project was part of my penance. For Talia, I’d bear every ache and pain.

There were far worse things in a human body to break than bones.

I have never been, and never will be, in love with Vivienne,” he said. “I have never stopped loving you.” “Foster—” “And I never will.

The man I’d dated for one year, two months and eleven days. The man I’d loved with my whole heart. The man I’d vowed to forget.

When did you buy this ring?” She held up the pouch again. “Was it hers?

I waited a long time for you, love. I’ll wait as long as you need. You are mine.” And he was here in Quincy to claim me.

I grabbed the bottle of wine to refill my glass because I’d most definitely be drinking it. “The bubble.” “What bubble?” “Our bubble. It’s about to burst.

Maybe if he said it over and over, I’d stop worrying that love wasn’t enough.

You were a coward. Do not say you were protecting me.

So many apologies. They were getting heavy.

Love must be like a great tragedy. … Like the greatest mystery in the world! None of mundane comforts, calculations and compromises must touch it.

And never believe those who say bad things about animals.

People say: a donkey is stupid. When a man is told that he is not very intelligent, stubborn and lazy he is politely called an ass.

I’d like to know, who is more stupid and stubborn in this case – the donkey or the man?

A word is a spark in the movement of the heart,

in great wisdom there was great sadness, and that he who multiplied knowledge also multiplied grief.

A rock is heavy and sand is weighty too, but the anger of a fool is heavier than both.

Each woman who loves is a queen, because love is beautiful!

It is a well-known fact that kings and clowns frequently call each other cousin.

The wish of a beautiful woman is a law for the rest of the world.

My dear papa! I much prefer a smart man of small height than a big dumb idiot!

Do you usually show so little self restraint, special agent? Or do you ask all the girls to marry you?

He was married once, but it was so long ago that he forgot about it. Before the war, his wife ran away with an actor, having fallen for his velvet jacket and lace cuffs.

All I have to say is, people no longer know how to love nowadays. I do not see true love. I didn’t see it in my time either!

You transferred your own unfortunate experience onto the entire humankind.

Makeup peeled off her like plaster from an old Moscow building.

People, these strange animals who walk on their rear paws and are naturally naked, so they have to wear other animal's skins to keep warm, are ridiculously clumsy and helpless.

If we are to dream of things impossible, let's dream big.

Do not ever believe anyone who tells you that he is not afraid of anything, and that whistling bullets is the sweetest music for him. That man is either a madman or a liar.

Love is the best language tutor.

Nothing is always, no one is forever.

Intentions are deep waters in a human heart,

Then it was she saw him again. On the upper reaches of the scaffolding, a sheerness of presence, no more. It was as if he took the space from the air about him and against the darkness was etched, like the brightness which seeps through a door ajar, hinting at nameless, fathomless brilliances beyond, the slightest margin of light. Impossible to look too closely, but some way below, beneath where the long feet might have rested, she made out the girl's huddled shape, her arms folded over her head like some small broken-winged, storm-tossed bird.

She thought of his eyes, red like spilled garnets, red as poppies, red as the bright embers of a fire. She thought of what they taught in school: cold hands, dead heart. Plenty of vampires had forgotten how to feel anything but hunger. He’d helped her, sure, but that didn’t mean she could trust him not to turn on her now that they were out of danger. Vampires were unpredictable.

I am endlessly grateful to you for the mere fact of your existence. I tested myself – this is not an illness, not an obsessive idea – this is love, with which God rewarded me for some reason.

According to the storyteller, the wedding very nearly took place, but at the most important moment, a group of perjurers participating in the case suddenly went on strike, demanding a pay increase.

I know to-night how an outlaw feels when the posse's at his heels and he rides with murder in his heart," the girl went on with hardness in her young voice. "I know to-night why he makes them pay dear for his life when he takes his last stand behind a rock." "Oh, Essie, don't!" Mrs. Terriberry wrung her garnet and moonstone-ringed fingers together in distress. "You mustn't get reckless!" "What

Avocados are my favorite fruit. Every Sunday my grandfather used to bring me an avocado pear hidden at the bottom of his briefcase under six soiled shirts and the Sunday comics. He taught me how to eat avocados by melting grape jelly and french dressing together in a saucepan and filling the cup of the pear with the garnet sauce. I felt homesick for that sauce. The crabmeat tasted bland in comparison.

In 1913, George Bernard Shaw described witnessing the cremation of his mother. Her body was placed in a violet coffin and loaded feet-first into the flames. “And behold!” he wrote. “The feet burst miraculously into streaming ribbons of garnet coloured lovely flame, smokeless and eager, like Pentecostal tongues, and as the whole coffin passed in it sprang into flame all over; and my mother became that beautiful fire.

Tana,” Aidan said as soon as he saw her. “Tana, they’re going to come in as soon as it’s dark. They told us.” He looked pale and frantic, worse than she remembered him looking when she’d left. “We’re going to die, Tana.” “Condamné à mort,” a voice rasped from the other side of the door. She could hear the creatures whispering to one another in the hall, shifting hungrily, waiting for the sun to set. Her hands shook. She whirled on Gavriel, who was watching her with those eerie garnet eyes, huddled in the corner like a black crow. “What does that mean?” “There are so many odd dappled patches of sunlight here,” he called to them from his pile of blankets and jackets, ignoring her. “Come in. I long to watch your skin blister. I long to—” “Don’t say that!” she cut him off, panicked. If the vampires pushed their way in, she had no idea what she would do.

He discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels. In Alphonso's Clericalis Disciplina a serpent was mentioned with eyes of real jacinth, and in the romantic history of Alexander, the Conqueror of Emathia was said to have found in the vale of Jordan snakes 'with collars of real emeralds growing on their backs.' There was a gem in the brain of the dragon, Philostratus told us, and 'by the exhibition of golden letters and a scarlet robe' the monster could be thrown into a magical sleep and slain. According to the great alchemist, Pierre de Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth provoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine. The garnet cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her color. The selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus, that discovers thieves, could be affected only by the blood of kids. Leonardus Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain of a newly killed toad, that was a certain antidote against poison. The bezoar, that was found in the heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm that could cure the plague. In the nests of Arabian birds was the aspirates, that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from any danger by fire.

I hate you for being so fucking hard to forget.” A tear dripped down my cheek as I threw the next punch. My eyes flooded and Foster was blurry but I just kept on swinging. “Ashamed of you? I would have done anything for you.

Surprises are lovely, dear. But when you surprise someone you do all the work by yourself for the enjoyment of the one moment when they see what you did. When you plan something together, you get to enjoy the whole thing with them.

-Wouldn’t everyone like to only do things they enjoy if they could? -Uh, no. Only children, the ultrarich, and total narcissists think doing only what you want is any kind of life. The rest of us have, like, ambitions and empathy and obligations to other living things.

A young man with goat feet and horns, wearing a shirt of golden scale mail and holding a thing-bladed rapier, steps in the pool of light near a building. His face is expressionless, like someone in a dream. I note the curls of his tawny blond hair tucked behind his pointed ears, the garnet-coloured cloak tossed over wide shoulders, the scar along one side of his throat, a circlet at his brow. He moves as though he expects the world to bend to his will. ... His amber eyes are bright, like those of a fox, but there is nothing warm in them.

He always clothed his thoughts in elegant expressions, for a word said well was akin to a gold apple in a goblet of transparent sardonyx, and that was why the words of the wise were as sharp as needles, and as strong as nails, and their creators were all from the same stock.

Julius explained that the palace rooms where they stood were called Wunderkammers, or wonder rooms. Souvenirs of nature, of travels across continents and seas; jewels and skulls. A show of wealth, intellect, power. The first room had rose-colored glass walls, with rubies and garnets and bloodred drapes of damask. Bowls of blush quartz; semiprecious stone roses running the spectrum of red down to pink, a hard, glittering garden. The vaulted ceiling, a feature of all the ten rooms Julius and Cymbeline visited, was a trompe l'oeil of a rosy sky at down, golden light edging the morning clouds. The next room was of sapphire and sea and sky; lapis lazuli, turquoise and gold and silver. A silver mermaid lounged on the edge of a lapis lazuli bowl fashioned in the shape of an ocean. Venus stood aloft on the waves draped in pearls. There were gold fish and diamond fish and faceted sterling silver starfish. Silvered mirrors edged in silvered mirror. There were opals and aquamarines and tanzanite and amethyst. Seaweed bloomed in shades of blue-green marble. The ceiling was a dome of endless, pale blue. A jungle room of mica and marble followed, with its rain forest of cats made from tiger's-eye, yellow topaz birds, tortoiseshell giraffes with stubby horns of spun gold. Carved clouds of smoky quartz hovered over a herd of obsidian and ivory zebras. Javelinas of spotted pony hide charged tiny, life-sized dik-diks with velvet hides, and dazzling diamond antlers mingled with miniature stuffed sable minks. Agate columns painted a medley of dark greens were strung with faceted ropes of green gold. A room of ivory: bone, teeth, skulls, and velvet. A room crowded with columns all sheathed in mirrors, reflecting world maps and globes and atlases inlaid with silver, platinum, and white gold; the rubies and diamonds that were sometimes set to mark the location of a city or a town of conquest resembled blood and tears. A room dominated by a fireplace large enough to hold several people, upholstered in velvets and silks the colors of flame. Snakes of gold with orange sapphire and yellow topaz eyes coiled around the room's columns. Statues of smiling black men in turbans offering trays of every gem imaginable-emerald, sapphire, ruby, topaz, diamond-stood at the entrance to a room upholstered in pistachio velvet, accented with malachite, called the Green Vault. Peridot wood nymphs attended to a Diana carved from a single pure crystal of quartz studded with tiny tourmalines. Jade tables, and jade lanterns. The royal jewels, blinding in their sparkling excess: crowns, tiaras, coronets, diadems, heavy ceremonial necklaces, rings, and bracelets that could span a forearm, surrounding the world's largest and most perfect green diamond. Above it all was a night sky of painted stars, with inlaid cut crystal set in a serious of constellations.

Doors are magical things. Always. It doesn't matter whether they connect two familiar, well-known rooms or two entirely undiscovered spaces: to travel from one distinct location into another simply by passing through a portal, whether bound in wood or carved from stone, is a magical act.

It is the pomegranate that gives 'fesenjoon' its healing capabilities. The original apple of sin, the fruit of a long gone Eden, the pomegranate shields itself in a leathery crimson shell, which in Roman times was used as a form of protective hide. Once the pomegranate's bitter skin is peeled back, though, a juicy garnet flesh is revealed to the lucky eater, popping and bursting in the mouth like the final succumber of lovemaking. Long ago, when the earth remained still, content with the fecundity of perpetual spring, and Demeter was the mother of all that was natural and flowering, it was this tempting fruit that finally set the seasons spinning. Having eaten six pomegranate seeds in the underworld, Persephone, the Goddess of Spring's high-spirited daughter, had been forced to spend six months of the year in the eternal halls of death. Without her beautiful daughter by her side, a mournful Demeter retreated to the dark corners of the universe, allowing for the icy gates of winter to finally creak open. A round crimson herald of frost, the pomegranate comes to harvest in October and November, so 'fesenjoon' is best made with its concentrate during other times of the year.

Stretching forth his sword, Martin picked the crown from Ublaz's head with his bladetip. The thick, garnet-studded circlet slid down the hilt; Martin looked down at Ublaz, who was staring back at him in disbelief, his lips moving. “Nobeast was mightier than me... Emperor... I was... Emp..." Martin looped the crown onto his belt and squatted facing the dying pine marten. "So, yours wasn't the last name I heard, but here's the last name you'll ever hear. I say it for a friend whose kin you had murdered for a half-dozen pearls." Martin brought his face closer to Ublaz and roared aloud, "Holt Lutraaaaaaa!

Remember, that on the contrary a donkey is not only an intelligent animal, but also an obedient, polite and hard-working one. But if it’s overloaded beyond its capacity or expected to be a race horse, it will stop and say, “I cannot do this. Do whatever you want.” And you can beat it all you want – it won’t move.

How much happier the wide-awake indolents, the monarchs among men, the rich monstrous brains deriving intense enjoyment and rapturous pangs from the balustrade of a terrace at nightfall, from the lights and the lake below, from the distant mountain shapes melting into the dark apricot of the afterglow, from the black conifers outlined against the pale ink of the zenith, and from the garnet and green flounces of the water along the silent, sad, forbidden shoreline. Oh my sweet Boscobel! And the tender and terrible memories, and the shame, and the glory, and the maddening intimations, and the star that no party member can ever reach.

I hate you for choosing Vivienne.” Another punch. “I hate you for not loving me the way I loved you.” Then another punch. “I hate you for being so fucking hard to forget.” A tear dripped down my cheek as I threw the next punch. My eyes flooded and Foster was blurry but I just kept on swinging. “Ashamed of you? I would have done anything for you.

No one had ever called him tough before. Told him to toughen up? Yes. To tough it out? Definitely. The thing was that he knew he was tough. He'd never told anyone, but sometimes at the end of the day, when he closed the door on the world and pulled a blanket over his head, he thought: You are so fucking tough. You just did hard shit all day. You are so brave for doing that.

Be at peace, darling, be at peace, be at peace. Do you remember me? Do you remember? You are, indeed, my only and my last love. Be at peace, I am with you. Think of me, I will be with you, because you and I did not love each other only for one moment, but forever. Do you remember me? Do you remember? Do you remember? And now I feel your tears. Be at peace. It is sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet for me to sleep.

What is it?” I hissed at Kamala. “I thought you were going to talk right then and there and then we would’ve been thrown out.” Kamala wouldn’t look at me. “It’s the Dharma Raja.” I froze. “What about him?” “I can sense him.” The blue veins that once stood out so prominently on her skin had begun to sink beneath pearlescent hair. Even the garnet gaze of her eyes had receded into something bright and black. Thoroughly animal. “And?” “He was here, but only for a moment.” “Where did he go?” “I couldn’t tell you that, not for all the salk-skin in the world.” Kamala sighed. “Do you know where he was?” “That’s the thing I was trying to tell you, maybe-queen!” exclaimed Kamala, pawing at the ground. “He was at the Chakara Forest. You were right.” I was right. There was a soft glow of warmth in that knowledge, even if knowing that I had just missed him rent through me like a new wound. I had trusted my instinct and it had been right.

While he digs he is free to let his mind wander, and he dreams his kingdom of pear trees in the orchard across to his left, growing skywards, gnarling, putting forth fat green soft fruits with ease each year. The trees that already grow in the orchards he loves almost as women in his life; the Catherine pear, the Chesil or pear Nouglas, the great Kentish pear, the Ruddick, the Red Garnet, the Norwich, the Windsor, the little green pear ripe at Kingsdon Feast; all thriving where they were planted in his father's ground at Lytes Cary before the management of the estate became his own responsibility as the eldest son. So much has happened these last six years since his father handed over and left for his house in Sherborne: there have been births and deaths - Anys herself was taken from him only last year. But the pear trees live on, reliably flowering and yielding variable quantities as an annual crop that defines the estate, and he has plans to add more.

Drop your shield, love. Put your hands down. All the way.” “I’m scared.” “Voice your fears. Let’s put them out there. Face them, together.” It took her a moment to meet my gaze. “Will you break my heart again?” “Never.” I’d die first. “Will you leave me?” “Never.” Not willingly. Not until the end. “Will you stop loving me?” “Never.” My love for her had no end. I’d love her in this world and the next. “Never, Tally. Never.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I love you. Only you. Always you.” Victory This fight was over. “I love you, Talia Eden

slavery is rarely taught in schools, and our understanding of its scope is barely rudimentary. The mainstream of American thought still does not contain a shared body of information on slavery even though the facts about American enslavement are widely available. Several years after that first spring, when I began to speak publicly about the book that had come forward from a newspaper project on slavery in the North (Complicity), I was asked the same question over and over, by audiences around the country: “Why don’t we know about this?

Garnet was very happy. She was so happy, for no especial reason, that she felt as if she must move carefully so she wouldn’t jar or shake the feeling of happiness. She descended from the roof cautiously, and walked with even steps down through the vegetable garden and across the pasture to the slough. A green light, tranquil and diffused, glowed among the willow saplings. The water was clear and motionless. Garnet leaned against a tree. She was so quiet that a great blue heron, fancying itself alone, flew down between the branches and paused at the water’s edge. She watched the handsome creature, with his blue crest and slender long legs, wading and darting his bill into the water. She was so near that she could see the jewel color of his little eye. He stood for a contemplative moment on one foot, still as a bird of carven stone; and in that moment it seemed to Garnet that he had become her companion; a creature who understood and shared her mood of happiness. For a second or two they stood like that in perfect stillness: and then the heron spread his heavy wings and flew away.

If the human race survives, a group of archeologists will someday discover a circle of the tools I’ve launched into the air in frustration. They’ll conclude that a small cult called "the Tool Hurlers" once occupied this ground. I've learned to leave skilled work to young men. Muscular types with tool belts and tattoos, and a barely concealed disdain for the tottering old fool who doesn't realize a simple clockwise twist of an 11/16ths deep socket wrench would have fixed the problem. I do actually own that wrench, but I use it for slide guitar.

I worked on a new dish while you were away. A pudding." She ties her apron tight around her waist. "Milk, cream, vanilla, eggs, and sugar." "Oh," I say, slightly unsettled at the jauntiness of her tone, at its certainty. "A custard? Did it curdle?" She ignores my question and tells me that she garnished her pudding with branches of preserved barberries. She asks if I would like to see it. But before I can answer she scuttles to the pantry, returning with a clean pudding cloth over one arm, and my best platter----on which wobbles a custard as large and pale as a harvest moon. Atop are woven branches of barberries that wink like garnets. For a second I am speechless. Her creation---for it is nothing less---is picture-perfect. She offers me an egg spoon and jabs at the platter. "Go on, Miss Eliza. I saved it for you to taste first." I dip the spoon into the custard's wrinkled rind and lift it swiftly, curiously, to my lips. As I do so, I'm aware of a sense of serenity washing through me. My anguish over dedications, the lurking accusatory voice that lives inside my head, all of it slips away. And there is only cream and vanilla. It occurs to me that although this glorious pudding is her creation, Ann is partly my creation, and I am partly her creation. Cooking and tasting have provided their own stage and we are performing on it at this very moment.

Did you want to be buried there?” Fitzroy shook his head convulsively. “No. I want to be cremated and my ashes scattered. You’ll see that done, if I die before you?” “Of course,” Cliopher said, forbearing any protests or the grief that rose up in his throat at the mere thought. “Of course.” “Of course,” Fitzroy repeated, not quite sarcastically, and stared, dry-eyed, at the bones of his distant relative. “I suppose you’d want to be taken to the Island of the Dead? Someone pointed it out—To lie with your ancestors? In the manner of your people?” Cliopher was about to say of course, but there was a note in Fitzroy’s voice— And he recalled the stories that the Sea-Witch sent her birds down to fetch the spirits of those lost at sea, to return them home. The Sea-Witch had given him the garnet that still rattled in the efela the Grandmother (The Old Woman Who Lives in the Deeps, the in-gatherer of all life, in the end) had named Kiofa’a. Cliopher carried the mirimiri of Ani, to give to Vou’a to take to his fanoa. Vou’a was his great-uncle’s husband. He would not be lost, though he did not follow the traditions of his people. “If I die first,” he said, “cremate me and keep the ashes until—until—until they can be scattered with yours. So you can be free but you don’t have to be—alone—we can sail with the Ancestors together—” Fitzroy said, “Kip.” His voice was not the serene one, but fighting for equanimity. “I will not be lost, and neither will you,” Cliopher replied fiercely. “The Sea-Witch likes me. The Old Woman Who Lives in the Deeps likes me. Your ancestors have not forgotten you.

onyx, hematite, tiger’s eye and garnet.

gemstones for protection, healing, and extra motivation: ruby, bloodstone, smoky quartz, obsidian, tourmaline, garnet, red jasper and red quartz. Naturally, the colors that you have to look for are red and black.

Before, when he lived with his parents, even though he’d had his own room, it hadn’t felt like home either. He’d still contorted himself—only those had been psychic contortions. The kind that made you smaller and smaller until you threatened to disappear if you didn’t get out. So he had.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.

Time hasn’t eroded my essential Persianness. Instead, it has distilled it to a deep garnet glaze that drips an indelible pomegranate stain, with a trace of rose water that emanates from my pores, marked by the steady tone of the zarb played by the grandfather I never knew that tracks my sometimes stuttering heartbeat.

The wedge of cake, sheathed in its tight plastic wrap, beckoned. I sat down and gave thanks for women like Beth Anne, who practiced the endangered art of baking (one day "baked from scratch" may sound as archaic and faraway as "alchemy"). I ate the cream cheese frosting first, and then as I tucked into the garnet sponge of the cake, DWH asked me whether Baby Harper had sent me the photographs. I concentrated on the moist crumb of the cake. I thought about how its flavors- butter, cocoa, and vanilla- had no relationship to its flamboyant color. Red was a decoy, a red herring, and with each bite there was a disconnect between expectation and reality. That was the main source of the cake's charm.

Anderson.

Of my own free will, I give the garnet-eyed dragonfly to you, Lara of Blackbrook. It is a sign of my protection—and you would be wise not to take it off.

What I loved most about my parents’ house was that the lock on the front door hadn’t been turned in decades. They didn’t expect phone calls before we showed up. They were used to unannounced visitors and not once had they made me feel like I was interrupting. This was our home, no matter how old we got.

The girl in red—Garnet, she was called—takes in Hazel and Gray’s disheveled appearance. And she scrunches her nose. “Jesus.” Hazel clears her throat. “Sorry to interrupt your—” “Party’s downstairs. The door’s at the end of the hall.” And she steps out of the house and walks around them. “Don’t let the Grande Dame see you, though. Y’all are mad underdressed.” Her shoes click down the steps.

The maples had adorned themselves with garnet, the tall oaks wore burnished oranges and deep bronze, and the birches gleamed with yellow as warm as amber. Brightly hued leaves danced all around the fox, swirling to finally join a carpet of bold colors all woven together in a masterpiece only nature could work.

As long as they’re not hurting you or doing something really shady, you just have to accept that people are all different and that whatever shit your roommate does that you think is weird, you probably do things that are totally normal to you that they think are just as weird. [...] trying to get people to change stuff that’s about them is pointless. All you can do is have clear boundaries about stuff that’s actually a problem for you. Other than that, she’s just being herself. [...] So learn from my many, many roommate situations. Annoyance: waste of energy. Trying to change shit that has nothing to do with you: waste of time. You: just as annoying as everyone else.

How could I resist such horned alien hotness?” Garnet quipped. I couldn’t refute they were sexy as hell. Handsomeness seemed coded into their DNA because I’d never seen an ugly Dakonian. Or a short one. They were all over seven feet, with bronzed skin and the cutest damn horns poking out of their near-black hair.

I won’t be the half-heard,’ said Marr, making his way down a carpeted hallway in the upper levels of the villa, a passageway replete with portraits that bore unmistakable genetic links. Only the most recent picture had no date of death beneath it. A woman shawled with rich fabrics and draped in expensive jewellery stared back at him, handsome with rich living and what looked like subtle flesh sculpting. ‘Did you own this fine dwelling?’ he asked the portrait. ‘How did it feel to have it taken from you? To have your dreams crushed under the boots of the Sons of Horus?’ The portrait was, of course, silent. ‘Are you even still alive? Perhaps you fled to the interior countryside to wait out the war. Maybe you took refuge in another of your holdings, or in the household of a friend.’ Marr stepped away from the portrait and hurled the amphora at the wall. It shattered and soaked the picture, drenching it in wine that dripped in garnet droplets from its gilt frame. ‘It doesn’t matter!’ he roared. ‘Whatever became of you, you are nothing now. Whatever your achievements, they are as dust in the wind. All your labours, all your dedication, blood, sweat and tears… all shed for nothing.

Where is the wine that ever forged its glass? None ever, oh, none ever, For garnet contradiction holds it fast. The cup is but a spill belied, And wine englassed is flow denied. Where is the glass that ever made man fall? None ever, oh, none ever, For trampled grape, disordered dream, and all, Drain down his throat like whispered lies, The glass left empty as his eyes. Where is the poison that was in the wine? Forever, oh, forever It claims his veins to be its vine, Its fruit cold stones, its scent stopped breath, For wine’s true form wreathes through his death.

I knew that gesture. It meant I was giving him a headache. I’d seen this expression a lot.

A body is a very, very bad thing,” Sebastian was saying almost to himself. “Never leave a body where they can find it. Never.

She never had my heart. She had seven years. And I'll give you seventy.

My dad says this is what happens when sadness and saltwater meet. It creates ‘ocean tears.’ He’s called them that since I was young.” I dropped a nickel-sized piece of garnet-colored glass into Cece’s open bag. “He says the ocean is the only place big enough to hold all the sorrow in our world.

My dad says this is what happens when sadness and saltwater meet. It creates ‘ocean tears.’ He’s called them that since I was young.” I dropped a nickel-sized piece of garnet-colored glass into Cece’s open bag. “He says the ocean is the only place big enough to hold all the sorrow in our world.” I’d expected Cece to smile at the nickname and then continue on around the bend, but instead, her brilliant blue eyes misted, her voice cracking as she spoke over the soundtrack of rolling waves. “My mom always says God sees every tear we cry—that He collects them in a bottle. And I guess, when I think about it, it makes sense that God would use the ocean as His bottles.” She faced the water then and waved her hand over it like a magician setting up their final act. “What if all our tears are out there somewhere, tumbling around in the surf, just waiting for their chance to become something beautiful?” I hadn’t answered her then, but I never stopped hoping she might be right.

When I woke the next morning and peeked out the window, our snow angels were gone. Erased by the storm and the inches of snow that had fallen overnight. Erased, like they had never been. I cried for an hour before I went to work. I wanted the angels back.

Charlie hadn’t thought it was possible for love to double, but he felt it, in his gut. And lo and behold, he had space for it. He had all the space in the world for loving Rye.

I sat down again, picking up the slender stem of my glass between shaking fingers. When I lifted the glass to my lips, I saw a tiny droplet of blood suspended in the wine, dark as garnet against the amber-colored Riesling. My father was watching, so I had to drink it down.

God wasn’t ready, and the devil didn't want you,” Dad said with a gentle smile.

It’s Jesús,” I ground out in frustration. “It’s pronounced Hay-soos!” “Yes, dear. But on his nametag it was spelled Jesus, you know,” my mother said.

I met the glance of each of them, from the garnet eyes beaming down at me to the amber ones of my wolf, the crystal blues of my demon, and the emerald stare of the newest king of vampires. They were all mine. And somehow, we’d all become these new versions of ourselves together. Like it was always meant to be this way. Like our love and our little family had brought out the best in each of us.

I want to start over, Tally.” It sounded so easy. So simple. Foster and me, starting fresh. “Do you really think that’s possible?” He shrugged. “Why not? Unless you’re afraid to try.” “Are you baiting me?” Foster smiled, arrogant and assured. “Is it working?” I fought a smile and took a drink of my wine. Maybe. Maybe it was.

The leaves dangled like jewels—tiny droplets of ruby, pearl, topaz, amethyst, emerald, and garnet; and a carpet of such riches coated the forest floor around them.

For all his faults, my dad is always a gentleman.” Even though I’d always insisted on doing the little things for her, I’d never told her why. “Even when he is furious with my mom for losing two grand in a night, he treats her with respect. Opens doors. Holds out her coat. Pulls out her chair.” I hadn’t learned much from Dad—mostly what not to do—but that had been one of the good lessons.

She had a beautiful garnet-and-gold chain lying on her part and resting on her forehead.

For a moment even the great carved garnet on his right hand seemed like the jewel of a barrow king.

It had been a week since I’d gone to Talia’s house with Mexican food and wine. A week since she’d yelled and slammed the door in my face. A week since I’d seen just how much pain I’d caused her.

I was Foster Madden, the Iron Fist, middleweight champion of the world. That title, something I’d worked for my entire life, was a motherfucking joke. I’d give it up in a heartbeat to go back in time. To make better decisions.

His lips moved over mine as our tongues tangled in perfect unison. He groaned against my mouth, the vibration sexy and deep in his chest. His hold grew tighter. Foster kissed me like our lives depended on it.

Was it short? Long? No clue. Even the few times I’d bumped into her outside of work, Rachel’s hair had looked the same. Was that why she was so sour? Was that bun giving her a headache? Her frown was as ever present as her hairstyle. Did she ever smile?

Seven years I’d waited for this chance. Seven goddamn years and I couldn’t risk fucking it up.

Fuck, she was beautiful. I would have sworn she couldn’t get more breathtaking, yet she had managed the impossible.

When did you buy this ring?” She held up the pouch again. “Was it hers?” “No, that was never Vivienne’s.” That ring had always been for Talia.

In Zombie Media with Garnet Hertz we address the wider context and impact of the “dead media” devices refusing to disappear from planetary existence.[12] Building on Sterling’s work, we argue that there is a need to account for the undead nature of obsolete media technologies and devices in at least two ways: to be able to remember that media never dies, but remains as toxic waste residue, and also that we should be able to repurpose and reuse solutions in new ways, as circuit bending and hardware hacking practices imply.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle Garnet Five. Just be your usual charming self.” Ekaterin’s vision of him, he reminded himself, was not exactly objective. Thank God. “I’ve been trying to charm quaddies all day, with no noticeable success.” “If you make it plain you like people, it’s hard for them to resist liking you back. And Nicol will be playing in the orchestra tonight.

It shimmered where the candlelight danced across its surface, its rich crimson and sumptuous garnet hues swirling in the cascading lengths.

There’s a kind of joy on Garnet’s face, and seeing it shifts everything inside my head. By gradual stages, like sailing out of a fog, the obstruction cleared, my confusion lightened, my shame thinned and lifted; I understood. Garnet needed no refuge, no hidden isle moated all around by impassable sea. Inside himself, where no one else could touch him, he had learned how to be free. How not to be ashamed.

I am going to tell a story: Once Upon A Time there was a man and a woman. The man and the woman were dreaming. The man and the woman dreamed each other and when they finished dreaming they had invented each other. So I am going to tell the story of a dream: Once upon a time there was a couple: the ideal couple, the perfect couple, the archetypal couple, who would combine in their two faces the features of all the lovers of history, all those who might have been able to fall in love with each other, all those ever imagined by the poets, and all those unimagined yet. They were (or would be) Abelard and Héloïse, Venus and Tannhäuser, Hamlet and Ophelia, Agathe and Ulrich, Solomon and the Shulamite maiden, the Consul and Yvonne, Daphnis and Chloe, Percy and Mary Shelley, the narrator and Albertine, Jocasta and Oedipus, Hans Castorp and Clavdia Chauchat, Pygmalion and Galatea, Othello and Desdemona, Penelope and Ulysses, Baudelaire and Jeanne Duval, Laura and Petrarch, Humbert Humbert and Lolita, Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning, Alonso Quijano and Dulcinea, Leda and the Swan, Adam and Eve, Wagner and Cosima, Pelléas and Mélisande, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Calisto and Melibea, Faust and Gretchen, Orpheus and Eurydice, Romeo and Juliet, Heathcliff and Cathy, Tristan and Isolde, Rilke and Lou Andreas-Salome, Jason and Medea, Miranda and Ferdinand, Kafka and Milena, Electra and Agamemnon, Don Juan and Thisbe, von Aschenbach and Tadzio, Poe and Annabel Lee, Borges and Matilde Urbach. As the curtain rises they are kissing each other passionately in the middle of a steamy, shadowed park, underneath the pines. Is this not perhaps the ideal beginning of any love story? Not to forget that there is also a unicorn, a tree laden with garnet-colored fruit, and a large neon sign hanging above them both that reads: A Mon Suel Desir. If we look carefully we will notice that the park is surrounded by water on all sides—that is, this is an island. The story might well begin at any moment.

Danica’s eyes fluttered open the instant I stepped through the door, and she smiled softly. “I was starting to wonder if you were planning on obeying Betsy after all.” “Never,” I assured her. “Though I’ve promised I will let you get some sleep. How do you feel?” I went to her side, and Danica hooked and arm across my shoulders to steady herself as she sat up. Danica winced. “I hurt.” She rolled her shoulders, as if the muscles were sore. “I’m sure,” I responded sympathetically. Offering the Ahnleh A’isha had given to me, I went on, “This is a congratulatory gift from sha’Mehay.” I explained the significance of the ancient coin and repeated A’isha’s words regarding why she was giving it to Danica. She took the coin reverently, closing it in her hand for a moment before tying the cord into place. “Thank you,” she said softly, as she snuggled closer. I knew the words were not for me, but for the nest around us. I began to massage her shoulders, and she closed her eyes and leaned back toward my touch. My fingertips brushed the feathers growing under her hair at the nape of her neck. There was still a moment of hesitation in my mind every time I felt those feathers, a moment when my thoughts protested, remembering so many years of war when this beautiful woman had been my enemy, so hated that when fate crossed our paths there had been no choice but for me to love her. She met my gaze now without any hint of the fear that had once been there. Cobriana eyes had once been for Danica what her feathers were for me. Avian legend said that a royal cobra’s garnet eyes possessed demonic power, and it had taken a long time for Danica to trust me enough to look into mine. Most avians still shuddered and avoided my gaze. “I feel…tired, but wonderful. Betsy tells me--” She broke off, words failing her, and then gave up on speech and kissed me. “I love you,” she whispered--then yawned widely. “Take a nap with me?” The request, as always, made me smile. When we had first met, the idea of resting with another person was as foreign to the lovely but reserved hawk as the idea of flying was to me. I was happy that Danica had not yet taken me into the air, but she had grown used to a second heartbeat while she rested. That blessing pleased me almost as much as any could. I wrapped my arms around milady; Danica sighed, tucking her head down against my chest like a chick in the nest. Having her there calmed my fears and let me drift into sleep.

Gemstones are often produced naturally and quickly too when a volcano erupts. This is due to the rapid heat and pressure. At Mount St. Helens, which blew its top in 1980 and went off again in 1982, a magnificent array of gemstones was produced! The Mount St. Helens Gift shop website openly states: Volcanoes are an incubator for many of the World’s treasures. Other gems commonly associated with volcanic origins include Emerald, Diamond, Garnet, Peridot, and Topaz.

One has to be firm with inanimate objects or they get uppity. “Is

Nay, adding a meanness which approaches atrocity, they tax the hard earnings of the colored man to support schools and build school-houses for white children, from the doors of which the poor black youth are rudely driven. Henry Highland Garnet, A memorial discourse; delivered in the hall of the House of Representatives, Washington City, D.C. on Sabbath, February 12, 1865. With an introduction by James McCune Smith, M.D. (Philadelphia: Joseph M. Wilson, 1865, p. 27 [The quote is from McCune's biographical sketch of Garnet].

[…] Under such auspices, in 1835, he went to Canaan Academy, at Canaan, New Hampshire, Rev. William Scales, principal; he was kindly received into the family of George Kimball, Esq. There he first met Miss Julia Williams, formerly a pupil of Miss Prudence Crandall, Canterbury, Connecticut, who was imprisoned for teaching colored girls; Miss Williams subsequently became his wife. Among the pupils at the Academy were his old schoolmates, Alexander Crummell and Thomas S. Sydney. They joyfully entered upon their studies, penetrated with the hopes of a race to whom the higher branches of human learning had hitherto been a sealed book. But the spirit of caste, which we have already spoken of, as being, in the rural districts, still stronger against the education of colored youth than in the cities, soon concentrated its malign influence upon this Academy. In August of the same year (1835) a mob assembled in Canaan, and with the aid of ninety-five yoke of oxen and two days’ hard labor, finally succeeded in removing the Academy from its site and afterwards they destroyed it by fire. The same mob surrounded the house of Mr Kimball and fired shot into the room occupied by Garnet: to add to the mean atrocity of the act, he was at that time, in consequence of increasing lameness, obliged to use a crutch in walking, and was confined to his room by a fever. But neither sickness, nor infirmity, nor the howling of the mob could subdue his fiery spirit; he spent most of the day in casting bullets in anticipation of the attack, and when the mob finally came he replied to their fire with a double-barrelled shot-gun, blazing from his window, and soon drove the cowards away. Henry Highland Garnet, A memorial discourse; delivered in the hall of the House of Representatives, Washington City, D.C. on Sabbath, February 12, 1865. With an introduction by James McCune Smith, M.D. (Philadelphia: Joseph M. Wilson, 1865), pp 29-30 [The quote is from Smith's biographical sketch of Garnet]

Like the servants, we, his children, were beneath him, and so we were left oftentimes standing with his lies in our hands like baffling presents, not knowing what we were to do with this collection of things, his words, whether they should be used or displayed or hidden like a broken toy in a corner of the nursery armoire." -- Emma Garnet on describing her father, page 2

The mainsail is now to be taken in; and as the method of performing this evolution has long been a subject of hot controversy at sea, I take the opportunity of saying, that Falconer's couplet,— "For he who strives the tempest to disarm Will never first embrail the lee yard-arm," has, in my opinion, done a world of mischief, and split many thousands of sails. I, at least, plead guilty to having been sadly misled by this authority for many years, since it was only in the last ship I commanded that I learned the true way to take in the mainsail when it blows hard. The best practice certainly is, to man both buntlines and the lee leechline well, and then to haul the LEE clew-garnet close up, before starting the tack or slacking the bowline. By attending to these directions, the spar is not only instantaneously relieved, but the leeward half of the sail walks sweetly and quietly up to the yard, without giving a single flap. After which the weather-clew comes up almost of itself, and without risk or trouble. Meanwhile

Dance with me.

The carbuncle (cabochon garnet) served to furnish light to certain great serpents or dragons when old age had enfeebled their eyes. They constantly carried these magical stones between their teeth, only dropping them when it was necessary to eat or drink.

if you learn to create joy, and cling to the people and things that make you smile, then we taught you the greatest thing in life. To live for what matters. Because in the end, you’ll wish you’d been happy.

Today is a dark day. We returned to the tundra to discover that Diamond went into labor earlier than we anticipated. She is dead. Two pups are also dead, but one survived. Somehow. Ames is missing. We suspect he left when things took a turn for the worse during the birthing, hoping to find us. I cannot fully express the pain of discovering such a grisly scene in a place that has also brought me so much joy over the last decade. We will continue looking for Ames and introduce the surviving pup to the taiga pack in a few weeks when he is stable and can eat meat. His eyes are open already. They are a beautiful rust brown. We’ve named him Garnet.

Didn’t garnet seem warm and happy to all fae? Didn’t most know that turquoise helped you heal? That peridot could ease stress?

At the last market of the season I still had produce to sell. My pumpkin vines had flourished, so I could lay out eighteen small, golden sugar pumpkins, perfect for pies. I also had potatoes and carrots and a dozen jars of blackberry preserves. Charlotte and I were especially proud of those. The glass jars with their felt-topped lids glowed like garnets in the autumn sun.

He’d never thought of sex as anything but physical pleasure, or sometimes, with certain people, as an expression of intimacy. The depth of Charlie’s feeling was moving. It was...humbling. It said: I am letting you affect me. I am letting you into the parts of me that I have never shared with anyone—not even myself.