Gryphon Quotes

That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon remarked: "because they lessen from day to day.

No," Frank said. "I'm only a centurion." Jason cursed in Latin. "He means he can't control a whole legion. He's not of high enough rank." Nico swung back his black sword at another gryphon. "Well, then, promote him!

And how many hours a day did you do lessons?' said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject. Ten hours the first day,' said the Mock Turtle: 'nine the next, and so on.' What a curious plan!' exclaimed Alice. That's the reason they're called lessons,' the Gryphon remarked: 'because they lessen from day to day.

Inexperience can be overcome, ignorance can be enlightened, but prejudice will destroy you.

You are human and mortal; we are the sum of our weak moments and our strong.

The gruff gryphon’s voice turned gentle. “What am I, chopped liver? You beat the crap out of me this afternoon. That pretty much makes us pals in my book.

In a calm, clear voice, she suggested that the wyrsa in question could do several highly improbable, athletically difficult and possibly biologically impractical things involving its own mother, a few household implements, and a dead fish.

His massive head tilted. He regarded her with a gaze made tranquil by the bright sun and the limitless sky. She said in wonder, "You are the riddle." "Of course I am," said the gryphon.

Savor the imminent weirdness of the day.

The master was an old Turtle--we used to call him Tortoise--' Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?' Alice asked. We called him Tortoise because he taught us,' said the Mock Turtle angrily; 'really you are very dull!' You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question,' added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth.

How was your day?” she whispered. “It went as expected,” he said. “Mostly. No one died. All of the sentinels went through to the next round, but then nobody believed anything different would occur. Graydon—” His gold eyes danced suddenly. “You know what a big motherfucker Graydon is. He turned into a gryphon, and then he just sat down and looked at his opponent, who forfeited. It was the fastest bout of the day.

the reason they’re called lessons,’ the Gryphon remarked: ‘because they lessen from day to day.

Except for the hydra in her swamp and the baby dragon, the exotics—the unicorn, the herd of centaurs, and the gryphon family—lived on an island meadow surrounded by an extension of the castle moat.

A gryphon does not shed tear when it's called a seraphim. It knows what it is. Only a seraphim in the mask of a gryphon would be upset -- for their truth has been revealed. Never show offense, or you reveal your truth to your enemies. Control what they see, and you control what they think.

I just got told off by a demon. Hello, rock-bottom. We meet at last.

I don't think I am scared of intimacy, but I am frightened of making a mistake. offering more than I have, or expecting more than you can give. - Matt Sedon

Uh, did you run this by Alaina?" "I tried." Keni gave a little shrug. "But I don't think she heard me. She was busy trying to figure out the "mystical forces" that make the microwave work.

At certain moments in life, reflection is mandatory. I found being squeezed in the scaly claw of a three story dragon to be one of them.

It's all her fancy: she never executes nobody, you know.

Keni's eyes widened. "You purred at a guy? Really? Why?" "Because he scratched me behind the ears, and I liked it." "Huh?

What is his sorrow?' She asked the Gryphon. And the Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before, 'It's all his fancy, that: he hasn't got no sorrow, you know'.

Internally I marveled at what a blathering idiot I'd become.

Purring wasn't going to be an issue if he kept looking at me like that. I was going to have a stroke.

Only in stillness the wind Only from ice the flame. When all were Nameless, the wise will tell It was only by knowing the other That they came to know themselves.

From our few days together, I have only one regret. Why did I not love you harder, stronger? If I could have you Love, now, I'd hold you so closely that our particles would absorb into one another. - Isabella de Reims

When the last guy you dated turned evil for reasons you can't explain it makes the prospect of even a casual coffee date seem far from appealing.

He was a gorgeous testament to the male gender, and I was an average looking gal that could bench press a Volkswagen. Nothing good could come of this.

There are no excuses,” he said at last. “But there are reasons. Reasons why we are what we are. Reasons why we do not have to stay that way.

Every day became an epic of endurance.

said the Gryphon, half to itself, half to Alice.

You fall in love with someone not because he's nice to you or can read your mind but because, when he kisses you, your knees weaken, or because you can't stop looking at his skin or at the way his legs, inside his jeans, shape the fabric.

WelcometoNeighborhoodCafewhatcanIgetforyou?" Nerves made my voice alternately squeaky and hoarse as I rambled at top speed. Oh, to sound normal...

In his experience, true leaders seldom had or needed flamboyant titles.

I felt as though I were in the presence of one of God's more complicated pranks.

In the frozen stone of the cathedrals of Europe there co-exist the Apostles, Christ and Mary, lambs, fish, gryphons, dragons, sea-serpents and the faces of men with leaves for hair. I approve of that liberality of mind.

The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on the slates. "What are they doing?" Alice whispered to the Gryphon. "They can't have anything to put down yet, before the trial's begun." "They're putting down their names," the Gryphon whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.

With an easy grin he peered up at me. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to stare slack-jawed into his eyes. They gleamed like freshly polished emeralds, speckled with tiny flecks of gold. They were so pretty. Almost hypnotic... That's right about the time when I realized he had said something. I missed it because I was too busy gawking at him. Oh, crap! Did he order? Introduce himself? Ask me to marry him? Request a restraining order? I have no idea! How do I fix this and not come off like a total loser? "Huh?" Yeah, no. That wasn't it.

Truth be known, I found it right flatterin'. And, it gives me the confidence tah ask ya out for Saturday." My head snapped up and my cheeks burned. "Wha...?!" Picture of eloquence. That's me. "Saturday. A date. You, me, dinner? Yah've heard of this concept, yeah?

Sympathy can be addictive and can kill strong men as surely as a diet of nothing but sugar.

It seemed a fair gauge: the crazier the hair, the smarter the head beneath it.

Civil is overrated,” Andarna notes, flexing her claws in the grass. “I’ve never tasted gryphon—” “We do not eat our allies,” Tairn lectures. “Find another snack.

He glances at the Tenniel illustration of a gryphon over the bar and wonders if anyone ever names bars after the Mock Turtle.

That’s the reason they’re called lessons,” the Gryphon remarked: “because they lessen from day to day.

In a world of dragon riders, gryphon fliers, and dark wielders…” “It’s the scribes who hold all the power.” They put out the public announcements. They keep the records. They write our history.

Manticor in Arabia (The manticors of the montaines Mighte feed them on thy braines.--Skelton.) Thick and scented daisies spread Where with surface dull like lead Arabian pools of slime invite Manticors down from neighbouring height To dip heads, to cool fiery blood In oozy depths of sucking mud. Sing then of ringstraked manticor, Man-visaged tiger who of yore Held whole Arabian waste in fee With raging pride from sea to sea, That every lesser tribe would fly Those armed feet, that hooded eye; Till preying on himself at last Manticor dwindled, sank, was passed By gryphon flocks he did disdain. Ay, wyverns and rude dragons reign In ancient keep of manticor Agreed old foe can rise no more. Only here from lakes of slime Drinks manticor and bides due time: Six times Fowl Phoenix in yon tree Must mount his pyre and burn and be Renewed again, till in such hour As seventh Phoenix flames to power And lifts young feathers, overnice From scented pool of steamy spice Shall manticor his sway restore And rule Arabian plains once more.

Duchess's knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it--once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard's slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the

Experience and disappointments had made us methodical.

I believe that I shall become a curmudgeon. Then at least I can complain, and it will be expected of me.

Kings of the land and the sky we are; proud gryphons.” Stalker stands, the epitome of pride. Naked and muscular, his wings widen and his feet dig in as if he alone holds down the earth and supports the heavens, keeping the two ever separate.

Then her words have no weight. Lyriana, no one ever takes offense at a falsehood. Only at truth. Know your truth and own it, and if you do, no circumstances, no event, no person can take that away from you. A gryphon does not shed tears when it’s called a seraphim. It knows what it is. Only a seraphim in the mask of a gryphon would be upset—for their truth has been revealed. Never show offense, or you reveal your truth to your enemies. Control what they see, and you control what they think.

We're the Dark Army Glee Club!" I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples hard. "The Dark Army what?" "Glee Club!" Answered Boil Face. "You know, like the TV show? We love it! That's where we got the idea." "I even shaved my head to look just like Puck!" Eddie tipped his head down and gestured to the mohawk. I held up a finger to interrupt him. "First of all, Puck is hot. You look nothing like him. Second, are you friggin' kidding me right now?!

Soph, I really don't think this is a good idea. I'm at a point in my life where dating is more hazardous than helpful." She held her hand up and made it move like a chattering puppet. "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Say what you want. We had a deal. I picked a guy for you to talk to. Now you're gonna sashay your fanny over there and be the very definition of charming and beguiling." "Shows what you know," I grumbled under my breath. "I don't even know what beguiling means.

I’ll be fine.” Gryphon pulls back to stare down at me and scoffs a little. “You won't be fine. I'm not fine. North isn't fine, and in a shocking turn of events, Nox is not fine, though I think he enjoys finding ways to horrify and enrage my father more than the last time that he had to be around him

AFTER A MOMENT, the dragon dived below the ridge, and the scene faded. I turned. Halina had disappeared. Breathing hard, I sat in the window seat. The mountains must have been the Eskerns, which were in the south, dividing New Lakti, where we lived now, from Old Lakti, our former home. The dragon must have been one of the monsters in Old Lakti, where ogres, gryphons, and specters also lived. Were they coming here? “Halina, come back!” I squeezed my eyes shut and thought, shouting in my mind, Tell me what this means! Why did you show it to me? I opened my eyes. Dust motes slanted in from the windows. A

Why? Why are you asking me out?" His expression was equal parts amusement and confusion. "Because if I don't ask ya the chance of ya actually showin' up on the date in highly unlikely, isn't it?" An abrupt--and incredibly loud--laugh erupted out of me. "True. But why? Why would you ask out the freaky purring girl?" "Yar laugh is amazin'." He grinned. Another wave of heat rushed through me. "And because from the moment I laid eyes on ya I knew there was somethin' different about ya. The purrin' just supported the theory. So, would ya like to go out with me?" "Yes, I'd like to. Go on a date. With you. Please." Smooth, huh?

Against the odds, they refuse to succeed.

Their imaginations put the scene on a film loop. Guiltily, they watched it until their mental screens began to wash the rest of the past away.

If the Dark Army wanted to come for us, let them come. But hands off the Grams.

change to tinkling sheep- bells, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy--and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all

We see them oiling their weapons to kill the gryphon they think is hiding in our hen coop. And we cannot help laughing.

often, one can be in love with who they think someone is, while being blinded by their own desires. And just as often, instead of being in love with a lover, one is in love with love.

The Gryphon protects treasures and priceless possessions. What more fitting name could I choose than one that fits my new mission in life. No child will ever suffer as we did if I can help it.

She is the perfect match for each of her Bonded. For North's desires to love and protect and covet, but also needing someone who can go toe to toe with him. For Gryphon’s desires to have someone who can keep up with him and stand with him against anything that might threaten the Bonded Group. For Gabe’s need to have companionship and a friend as much as a lover. And for whatever it is that Bassinger requires, she clearly fits that mold perfectly.

Not Grey ones! Gryphons! – No one likes the name Of something grey. Every word rings With what conditioned it: its origins: Grey, grievous, grumpy, gruesome, gravely, grimly, Similarly harmonious etymologically, Disharmonise us.

And the Gryphon added “Come, let’s hear some of your adventures.” “I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.

What! Never heard of uglifying!' it exclaimed. 'You know what to beautify is, I suppose?' 'Yes,' said Alice doubtfully: 'it means — to — make — anything — prettier.' 'Well, then,' the Gryphon went on, 'if you don't know what to uglify is, you are a simpleton.

The war in the heavens did not relent. Jets sent rockets into wyverns. Wyverns responded with bolts of electricity that ripped metal into flaming debris. Valkyries did battle with choppers and gryphons. And the catastrophic magics of the maddest of mages did not relent across the sky.

About six in the evening I came out of the moorland to a white ribbon of road which wound up the narrow vale of a lowland stream. As I followed it, fields gave place to bent, the glen became a plateau, and presently I had reached a kind of pass where a solitary house smoked in the twilight. The road swung over a bridge, and leaning on the parapet was a young man. He was smoking a long clay pipe and studying the water with spectacled eyes. In his left hand was a small book with a finger marking the place. Slowly he repeated— As when a Gryphon through the wilderness With winged step, o'er hill and moory dale Pursues the Arimaspian. He jumped round as my step rung on the keystone, and I saw a pleasant sunburnt boyish face. 'Good evening to you,' he said gravely. 'It's a fine night for the road.' The smell of peat smoke and of some savoury roast floated to me from the house.

She is the perfect match for each of her Bonded. For North's desires to love and protect and covet, but also needing someone who can go toe to toe with him. For Gryphon’s desires to have someone who can keep up with him and stand with him against anything that might threaten the Bonded Group. For Gabe’s need to have companionship and a friend as much as a lover. And for whatever it is that Bassinger requires, she clearly fits that mold perfectly. There's also a part of me that thinks that maybe if things had gone a little differently in my life, she might have been perfect for me too.

See her?" Sawyer says, and I swear I can feel him pointing at me. "She bonded not only one of the biggest fucking dragons on the Continent, but a second dragon, and then went into combat against the gryphons a couple of months ago and came out alive. You go through that kind of shit in your quadrant?

with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing. 'This here young lady,' said the Gryphon, 'she wants for to know your history, she do.' 'I'll tell it her,' said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone: 'sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished.' So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to herself, 'I don't see how he can even finish, if he doesn't begin.' But she waited patiently. 'Once,' said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, 'I was a real Turtle.' These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of 'Hjckrrh!' from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing

can't explain it,' said the Gryphon hastily. 'Go on with the next verse.' 'But about his toes?' the Mock Turtle persisted. 'How could he turn them out with his nose, you know?' 'It's the first position in dancing.' Alice said; but was dreadfully puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to change the subject. 'Go on with the next verse,' the

No matter what tears were shed or what trials were faced, some things would stay the same. There would always be day and night, stars and sky, hope and rest. There would always be love, always compassion, and there would always be Skandranon. And forever, in the hearts of all the Clans, there would be Urtho—and for his memory, a moment of silence.

Gwen accepted the explanation, moving onto the doll battle.  “Hey, what happened to Clarissa of the Clouds?” Trystan seemed eager not to discuss the gryphons’ language.  “She is now a dead decapitated zombie.”  He delivered the news with a pitiless smirk.  “Demonica Rex will soon eat her bones.” “Bitch.”  Gwen muttered, flashing Demonica Rex a glower.

The willpower to do anything would come, the songs and writings said, if the motive was pure.

you, you

To his great relief she recommended no course of action. She listened. She didn't believe in giving advice, even when asked.

The odds are not in our favor.

I looked down at my shoes. I hated it when I opened my mouth and my crazy fell out.

I didn't know if it was possible to kick someone hard enough to knock the cocky out of 'em, but for Rowan I was willing to try.

One never bothers to think about growing old as one is growing older. Then suddenly it is there, looming in your face.

Now then! Where the deuce did I leave that head?

I found serenity in the towers, especially the highest, even in the midst of winter. The crows also enjoyed the lofts, and I habitually fed them. Often I held conference with the grotesques lining the summit. The gryphon was perhaps my favourite. I’d regularly sat beside them when feeling pensive, even before James’s death, one leg dangling precariously over the edge

What kind of hellish punishment does Lev have planned if he needs the females’ crazy magic moon water? Nothing Talon has ever heard of but the gryphon is a recluse and stories about him keep children from sneaking out alone; a terribly convoluted mixture of the rogue army attack on his eyrie, death, and the name Lev, one of the few survivors mean enough to live through it.

A question like “How big is Faerie?” does not admit of a simple answer. Faerie, after all, is not one land, one principality or dominion. Maps of Faerie are unreliable, and may not be depended upon. We talk of the kings and queens of Faerie as we would speak of the kings and queens of England. But Faerie is bigger than England, as it is bigger than the world (for, since the dawn of time, each land that has been forced off the map by explorers and the brave going out and proving it wasn’t there has taken refuge in Faerie; so it is now, by the time that we come to write of it, a most huge place indeed, containing every manner of landscape and terrain). Here, truly, there be Dragons. Also gryphons, wyverns, hippogriffs, basilisks, and hydras.

What we are trying to do must seem foolish, I know, but whenever there is tension between peace and war, I believe that there is also a space in between these two extremes that we need to hold. We need to be the space between peace and war, between love and hate, between that which is called 'right' and 'wrong.'" --Nightsky the winged horse, from "The Gryphon" by Paula Grover.

I will bear Cloud through the portal,” Fury says as Soar ties the last knot on his armour. “Flay will carry you.” “Who?” Soar turns as the female nods. She’s carrying me? “Where are we going?” “Skyfall, Master Soar,” Fury stands. Cloud is small in his arms. “You shall be a guest of the Dragonkin.” “I hope our guest is delicious,” Flay comments as she looks Soar over. Is she flirting or does she plan on eating him? Maybe both.

Why, if a fish came to me, and told me he was going a journey, I should say ‘With what porpoise?’” “Don’t you mean ‘purpose’?” said Alice. “I mean what I say,” the Mock Turtle replied in an offended tone. And the Gryphon added “Come, let’s hear some of your adventures.” “I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.

London was littered with social clubs and houses of chance, but Malfeasance was not just any gaming hell. It was located in the most notorious part of London and, Graydon had heard, was run by a pariah Djinn named Malphas.

He had not become a sentinel by worrying about what he should or shouldn't do. He would live or die as he always had, by making decision he knew to be right... Graydon didn't hide from life. He flew at it with everything he had.

They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the sun. (IF you don't know what a Gryphon is, look at the picture.) 'Up, lazy thing!' said the Queen, 'and take this young lady to see the Mock Turtle, and to hear his history. I must go back and see after some executions I have ordered'; and she walked off, leaving Alice alone with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of the creature, but on the whole she thought it would be quite as safe to stay with it as to go after that savage Queen: so she waited.

them again, and all would change to dull reality--the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds--the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep- bells, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy--and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all thy other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard--while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's heavy sobs. Lastly, she pictured to herself

Almost as if speaking to herself, she continued, I would love to fly. I've always wondered what it be like to have that sense of freedom. A wistful note in her voice tugged at something deep inside him.He replied. I couldn't conceive of living without it. I can't imagine being forever grounded.

Why, what are your shoes done with?' said the Gryphon. 'I mean, what makes them so shiny?' Alice looked down at them, and considered a little before she gave her answer. 'They're done with blacking, I believe.' 'Boots and shoes under the sea,' the Gryphon went on in a deep voice, 'are done with a whiting. Now you know.' 'And what are they made of?' Alice asked in a tone of great curiosity. 'Soles and eels, of course,' the Gryphon replied rather impatiently: 'any shrimp could have told you that.' 'If I'd been the whiting,' said Alice, whose thoughts were still running on the song, 'I'd have said to the porpoise, "Keep back, please: we don't want you with us!

yet?' 'No,' said Alice. 'I don't even know what a Mock Turtle is.' 'It's the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from,' said the Queen. 'I never saw one, or heard of one,' said Alice. 'Come on, then,' said the Queen, 'and he shall tell you his history,' As they walked off together, Alice heard the King say in a low voice, to the company generally, 'You are all pardoned.' 'Come, that's a good thing!' she said to herself, for she had felt quite unhappy at the number of executions the Queen had ordered. They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the sun. (IF you don't know what a Gryphon is, look at the picture.) 'Up, lazy thing!' said the Queen, 'and take this young lady to see the Mock Turtle, and to hear his history. I must go back

Get your dagger,' he orders. 'What?' My eyes fly wide. He has me defenceless and in the kill position already. 'Get. Your. Dagger,' he repeats, taking my hand in his and retrieving the last blade I have. His fingers curl over mine, clasping the hilt. Fire races along my skin at the feel of his fingers lacing with mine. Toxic. Dangerous. Wants to kill you. Nope, doesn't matter. My pulse still skitters like a teenager. 'You're tiny.' He says it like an insult. 'Well aware.' My eyes narrow. 'So stop going for bigger moves that expose you.' He drags the tip of the dagger down his side. 'A rib shot would've worked just fine.' Then he guides our hands around his back, making himself vulnerable. 'Kidneys are a good fit from this angle, too.' I swallow, refusing to think of other things that are a good fit at this angle. He leads our hands to his waist, his gaze never leaving mine. 'Chances are, if your opponent is in armour, it's weak here. Those are three easy places you could have struck before your opponent would have had time to stop you.' They're also fatal wounds, and I've avoided them at all costs. 'Do you hear me?' I nod. 'Good. Because you can't poison every enemy you come across,' he whispers, and I blanche. 'You're not going to have time to offer tea to some Braevi gryphon rider when they come at you.' 'How did you know?' I finally ask. My muscles lock, including my thighs, which just happen to still be bracketing his hips. His eyes darken. 'Oh, Violence. You're good, but I've known better poison masters. The trick is to not make it quite so obvious.

Darwin’s Bestiary PROLOGUE Animals tame and animals feral prowled the Dark Ages in search of a moral: the canine was Loyal, the lion was Virile, rabbits were Potent and gryphons were Sterile. Sloth, Envy, Gluttony, Pride—every peril was fleshed into something phantasmic and rural, while Courage, Devotion, Thrift—every bright laurel crowned a creature in some mythological mural. Scientists think there is something immoral in singular brutes having meat that is plural: beasts are mere beasts, just as flowers are floral. Yet between the lines there’s an implicit demurral; the habit stays with us, albeit it’s puerile: when Darwin saw squirrels, he saw more than Squirrel. 1. THE ANT The ant, Darwin reminded us, defies all simple-mindedness: Take nothing (says the ant) on faith, and never trust a simple truth. The PR men of bestiaries eulogized for centuries this busy little paragon, nature’s proletarian— but look here, Darwin said: some ants make slaves of smaller ants, and end exploiting in their peonages the sweating brows of their tiny drudges. Thus the ant speaks out of both sides of its mealy little mouth: its example is extolled to the workers of the world, but its habits also preach the virtues of the idle rich. 2. THE WORM Eyeless in Gaza, earless in Britain, lower than a rattlesnake’s belly-button, deaf as a judge and dumb as an audit: nobody gave the worm much credit till Darwin looked a little closer at this spaghetti-torsoed loser. Look, he said, a worm can feel and taste and touch and learn and smell; and ounce for ounce, they’re tough as wrestlers, and love can turn them into hustlers, and as to work, their labors are mythic, small devotees of the Protestant Ethic: they’ll go anywhere, to mountains or grassland, south to the rain forests, north to Iceland, fifty thousand to every acre guzzling earth like a drunk on liquor, churning the soil and making it fertile, earning the thanks of every mortal: proud Homo sapiens, with legs and arms— his whole existence depends on worms. So, History, no longer let the worm’s be an ignoble lot unwept, unhonored, and unsung. Moral: even a worm can turn. 3. THE RABBIT a. Except in distress, the rabbit is silent, but social as teacups: no hare is an island. (Moral: silence is golden—or anyway harmless; rabbits may run, but never for Congress.) b. When a rabbit gets miffed, he bounds in an orbit, kicking and scratching like—well, like a rabbit. (Moral: to thine own self be true—or as true as you can; a wolf in sheep’s clothing fleeces his skin.) c. He populates prairies and mountains and moors, but in Sweden the rabbit can’t live out of doors. (Moral: to know your own strength, take a tug at your shackles; to understand purity, ponder your freckles.) d. Survival developed these small furry tutors; the morals of rabbits outnumber their litters. (Conclusion: you needn’t be brainy, benign, or bizarre to be thought a great prophet. Endure. Just endure.) 4. THE GOSSAMER Sixty miles from land the gentle trades that silk the Yankee clippers to Cathay sift a million gossamers, like tides of fluff above the menace of the sea. These tiny spiders spin their bits of webbing and ride the air as schooners ride the ocean; the Beagle trapped a thousand in its rigging, small aeronauts on some elusive mission. The Megatherium, done to extinction by its own bigness, makes a counterpoint to gossamers, who breathe us this small lesson: for survival, it’s the little things that count.

She paused and unexpectedly stroked her fingers down the feathers of his neck. He froze. She couldn't know how intimate that seemed, or how sensitive he was to her touch even through the sleek covering of eagle feathers. Pleasure at being petted ran down his spine. He should say something or step away. He did neither. Instead, ever so slightly, he leaned into her touch. It was wrong of him, but his wrong button seemed to be broken, and he didn't care.

As she listened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange creatures of her little sister’s dream. The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by—the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool—she could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution—once more the pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess’s knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it—once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard’s slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable Mock Turtle. So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds—the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen’s shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy—and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard—while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle’s heavy sobs.

IN THE SMALL Ohio town where I grew up, many homes had parlors that contained pianos, sideboards, and sofas, heavy objects signifying gentility. These pianos were rarely tuned. They went flat in summer around the Fourth of July and sharp in winter at Christmas. Ours was a Story and Clark. On its music stand were copies of Stephen Foster and Ethelbert Nevin favorites, along with one Chopin prelude that my mother would practice for twenty minutes every three years. She had no patience, but since she thought Ohio—all of it, every scrap—made sense, she was happy and did not need to practice anything. Happiness is not infectious, but somehow her happiness infected my father, a pharmacist, and then spread through the rest of the household. My whole family was obstinately cheerful. I think of my two sisters, my brother, and my parents as having artificial, pasted-on smiles, like circus clowns. They apparently thought cheer and good Christian words were universals, respected everywhere. The pianos were part of this cheer. They played for celebrations and moments of pleasant pain. Or rather, someone played them, but not too well, since excellent playing would have been faintly antisocial. “Chopin,” my mother said, shaking her head as she stumbled through the prelude. “Why is he famous?