Ino Quotes

Life must not be squandered. A person got from life what he put ino it.

There’s no meaning to a flower unless it blooms.

But then Klaudia's lips curled ino a conniving smile."Actually, Aria, I'm going to fuck your boyfriend. Tonight." Aria started at her. It felt like Klaudia had just punched her in the throat. "Excuse me?" Klaudia scooted closer to Aria. "I'm going to fuck your boyfried," she said again -in textbook-perfect English. "Tonight. And there's nothing you can do about it.

Miałeś, chamie, złoty róg, miałeś, chamie, czapkę z piór: czapkę wicher niesie, róg huka po lesie, ostał ci się ino sznur, ostał ci się ino sznur.

I never use the word renunciation at all. I say: "Rejoice in life,in love,in meditation,in the beauties of the world, in the ecstasy of existence--rejoice in everything!" Transform the mundane into the sacred. Transform this shore ino the other shore, transform the earth into paradise. And then indirectly a certain renunciation starts happening. But that happens,you don't do it. It is not a doing, it is a happening.

Ino the course of developing agents of chemical warfare, some of the chemicals created in the laboratory were found to be lethal to insects, The discovery did not come by chance: insects were widely used to test chemicals as agents of death for man.

The sensation of having already met someone, or what the French called deja vu, the feeling of having already seen something. There was probably a scientific explanation for it, but the older she got, the more she was inclined to give ino the the feeling that these moments were glimpses into a world greater than this physical one. It was as if there were cycles that repeated themselves over and over, but most people never saw the repetition; they were too deeply enmeshed in their own path to see.

Nic nie słysom, nic nie słysom, Ino granie, ino granie, Jakieś ich chyciło spanie...?

After the incident in the ER, Ino longer wanted to advertise my experience to anyone. You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground. There's a kind of show a kid can do, for a parent – a show of pain, to try to announce something, and in my crying, in the desperate, blabbering, awful mouth-clawing, I had hoped to get something across. Had it come across, any of it? Nope.

Se comprendere è impossibile, conoscere è necessario, perché ciò che è accaduto può ritornare, le coscienze possono nuovamente essere sedotte es oscurate: anche le nostre. Per questo, meditare su quanto è avvenuto è un dovere di tutti. Tutti devono sapere, o ricordare, che Hitler e Mussolini, quando parlavano pubblicamente, venivano creduti, applauditi, ammirati, adorati come dei. Erano “capi carismatici”, possedevano un segreto potere di seduzione che non procedeva dalla credibilità o dalla giustezza delle cose che dicevano, ma dal modo suggestivo con cui le dicevano, dalla loro eloquenza, dalla loro arte istrionica, forse istintiva, forse pazientemente esercitata e appresa. Le idee che proclamavano non erano sempre le stesse, e in generale erano aberranti, o sciocche, o crudeli; eppure vennero osannati, e seguiti ino alla loro morte da milioni di fedeli.

One last question, son,” he said to Felix. “Who were you expecting to see back there?” “I—no one,” Felix stammered. “You asked where he was from,” McGivney said. “Where did you think that would be?” “I don’t know,” Felix said, shifting unhappily from foot to foot.

Whenever women hold men accountable, we invoke a reality that stands outside the artificial, though powerful, dominance-relation of men as a group to women as a group. Whenever a woman holds a man responsible for his behavior, she defies patriarchy's claim to define reality, she calls the universe to witness, she says, "Power is power, but it is not truth. You are as human as I--no less, and no more. You cannot escape the work of being human even if you punish me or kill me for reminding you of that work.

mouth worked a little, but he shook his head. “I … no. Perhaps 

If only one existence listens to it and takes it into consideration, then you don't even have to tell the truth. In telling other things, you will invariably tell the truth as well, even if you or the truth wish otherwise.

Non mi pento di quello che ho fatto,” continuò Marshell con un sospiro e rilassandosi un po’. “Sono certo che Lawson ti ha detto che anni fa siamo stati amanti, e quindi sapevo che la gelosia nei miei confronti ti avrebbe spinto verso di lui, facendoti smettere di fuggire. Gli voglio bene come a un fratello, Heller, e non potevo guardarti andar via da lui senza… fare qualcosa.” “Perciò mi hai costretto a combattere per lui.” “Sì, ti ho fatto combattere per lui. Lawson merita la felicità. Merita un compagno. Merita te, Heller.” “Io… pensavo non mi ritenessi alla sua altezza,” replicò Heller. “Oh, santo cielo,” gemetti, con il cuore che rischiava di andare in pezzi. “Mi dispiace, ma ho fatto quello che ho fatto proprio perché sapevo che eri alla sua altezza, e volevo che anche tu lo capissi.” Quindi gli diede una pacca sulla schiena. “Benvenuto in famiglia, fratellino.” “Merda!” Heller osservò quelle braccia massicce. “Fratellino?” Marshell fece un sorrisetto. “Fidati, in me non c’è niente di ino

-Mi meta en la vida es llegar a ser un adjetivo -dijo-. Que la gente vaya por ahí diciendo: «Eso era tan bankheadiano», o «Un poco demasiado bankheadiano para mi gusto». -Bankheadiano suena bien -dijo Madeleine. -Es mejor que bankheadesco. -O bankheadino. -La terminación en «ino» es horrible la mires por donde la mires. Hay joyciano, shakesperiano, faulkneriano. Pero en «ino». ¿Quién hay por ahí que sea algo terminado en «ino»? -¿Thoma Mannino? -Kafesco -dijo-. ¡Pynchonesco! Mira, Pynchon es ya un adjetivo. Gaddis. ¿Cómo sería para Gaddis? ¿Gaddiesco? ¿Gaddisio? -No, con Gaddis no se puede hacer —dijo Madeleine. -No -dijo Leonard- Ha tenido mala suerte, Gaddis. ¿Te gusta Gaddis? -Leí un poco de Los reconocimientos -dijo Madeleine. Doblaron Planet Street y subieron por la pendiente. -Belloviano -dijo Leonard-. Es superbonito cuando se cambia alguna letra. Con nabokoviano no pasa: Nabokov ya tiene la «v». Y Chéjov también: chejoviano. Los rusos lo tienen fácil. ¡Tolstoiano! El tal Tolstói era un adjetivo a la espera de formarse. -No te olvides del tolstoianismo -dijo Madeleine. -¡Dios mío! -dijo Leonard-. ¡Un nombre! Jamás había soñado con llegar a ser un nombre. -¿Qué significaría bankheadiano? Leonard se quedó pensativo unos segundos. -De o relativo a Leonard Bankhead (norteamericano, nacido en 1959). Caracterizado por una introspección o inquietud excesiva. Sombrío, depresivo. Véase caso perdido. Madeleine reía. Leonard se detuvo y la cogió del brazo, mirándola con seriedad. -Te estoy llevando a mi casa -dijo. -¿Qué? -Todo este tiempo que llevamos andando. Te he estado llevando hacia mi casa. Eso es lo que hago normalmente, al parecer. Es vergonzoso. Vergonzoso. No quiero que sea así. No contigo. Así que te lo estoy diciendo. -Ya me lo había figurado, que íbamos a tu casa. -¿Sí? -Te lo iba a decir. Cuando estuviéramos más cerca. -Ya estamos cerca. -No puedo subir. -Por favor. -No. Esta noche no. -Hannaesco -dijo Leonard-. Testarudo. Dado a posturas inamovibles. -Hannaesco -dijo Madeleine-. Peligroso. Algo con lo que no se juega. -Quedo advertido. Se quedaron de pie, mirándose, en el frío y la oscuridad de Planet Street. Leonard sacó las manos de los bolsillos para encajarse la melena detrás de las orejas. -Puede que suba sólo un minuto -dijo Madeleine.

Once an opportunist like Mickey, who took the argument when she jumped on some devastated wretch's machine and jackpotted that it was the "cash-ino's money" she was winning, Moon returned after her six month break with the view that the separation had somehow sweetened the honeypot. The sad reality, she quickly learned, was that she was not irreplaceable; as such, the Casino felt no compunction to welcome her back with multi-jackpots. Instead, it took her money everyday and did not once give her a jackpot so that she could say, "Ah. They missed me." Instead, all she could keep saying was, "Verr-y bed. Verr-y bed. Suck-ah all my money!

He examined the shiny symmetrical snowflakes melting on his warm paws. As a child, he had always wanted to have a collection of these masterpieces of jewelry. These unique creations of art, however, would never stay for long. Would the other treasures of this world also perish without a trace, or is there a keeper who records brilliant but never-accomplished ideas and dear memories from childhood?

But the world I—no, not I, Fabienne and I—had given them: Was it real? How much of it was real? We cannot measure a world with a ruler or a scale, and conclude that it is two inches, or two ounces, short of being real. All worlds, fabricated or not, are equally real. And so they are equally unreal. If I told my parents that in Paris I was posing for the press to photograph, they would say I was making up stories no one would believe. Paris was not real to them. Neither was my fame. The world Fabienne and I made together: it was as real as our nonsense.

In his endless journeys of exploration, crawling on all fours around the Urals and the Amazon and the Australian archipelagos which the furniture of the house was to him, sometimes he no longer knew where he was. And he would be found under the sink in the kitchen, ecstatically observing a patrol of cockroaches as if they were wild colts on the prairie. He even recognized a ttar in a gob of spit. But nothing had the power to make him rejoice as much as Nino's presence. It seemed that, in his opinion, Nino concentrated in himself the total festivity of the world, which everywhere else was to be found scattered and divided. For in Giuseppe's eyes, Nino represented by himself all the myriad colors, and the glow of fireworks, and every species of fantastic and lovable animal, and carnival shows. Mysteriously, he could sense Nino's arrival from the moment when he began the ascent of the stairs! And he would hurry immediately, as fast as he could with his method, toward the entrance, repeating ino ino, in an almost dramatic rejoicing of all his limbs. At times, even, when Nino came home late at night, he, sleeping, would stir slightly at the sound of the key, and with a trusting little smile he would murmur in a faint voice: Ino.

The New Commandment 7Beloved, I am writing you  i no new commandment, but  j an old commandment  k that you had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word that you have heard. 8At the same time, it is  l a new commandment that I am writing to you, which is true in him and in you, because [1]  m the darkness is passing away and  n the true light is already shining. 9Whoever says he is in the light and  o hates his brother is still in darkness. 10Whoever loves his brother abides in the light, and in him [2] there is no  p cause for stumbling. 11But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and  q walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes.     12 I am writing to you, little children,         because  r your sins are forgiven for his name’s sake. 13    I am writing to you, fathers,         because you know  s him who is from the beginning.     I am writing to you, young men,         because  t you have overcome the evil one.     I write to you, children,         because  u you know the Father. 14    I write to you, fathers,         because you know  s him who is from the beginning.     I write to you, young men,         because  t you are strong,         and the word of God abides in you,         and you have overcome the evil one.

A nie dumaj aby, że ja z tych, co to ino skiń na nie, a one już gotowe spermiencje jakieś na sianie wyczyniać. Ale co wiem, to wiem. Jeśli się chłopa kocha, to całego, a nie we fragmentach.

He wiped one last fragment of bread around his bowl, popped it in his mouth, and simultaneously belched loudly. Inos winced. Such vulgarity was a compliment in Zark, she knew, but there were some local customs that she found harder to accept than others.

Carne de vísceras de animales alimentados con hierba o en pastoreo. Las vísceras, que una vez formaron parte habitual de la dieta humana, ahora son mucho menos comunes, especialmente en Estados Unidos; sin embargo, contienen algunas de las cantidades más altas de verdadera vitamina A, vitaminas B biodisponibles y minerales como el hierro. Las deficiencias de vitamina A están relacionadas con afecciones autoinmunes, y la carne de vísceras puede reponer estas deficiencias rápidamente. Aceite de hígado de bacalao virgen extra. Esta grasa extraordinariamente saludable es rica en vitaminas solubles en grasa, que el sistema inmunitario requiere para mantenerse sano y funcionar de forma adecuada. Aceite de emú. Obtenido del emú, un ave parecida al avestruz, es rico en vitamina K2, que ayuda a equilibrar la importante familia de enzimas llamadas sintasas de óxido nítrico inducibles (iNOS) para modular las vías inflamatorias. Brotes de brócoli. Estos brotes tienen algunos de los niveles más altos de sulforafano, que apoya la metilación y puede reducir radicalmente la inflamación y mantener la función adecuada de las células T.50 Saúco. Esta fruta ayuda a equilibrar el sistema inmunitario.51 La baya del saúco se encuentra normalmente en forma de suplemento líquido. Aceite de comino negro. Este suplemento aumenta las células T reguladoras para reequilibrar un sistema inmunitario fuera de control y reducir la inflamación.52 Suplementos de pterostilbeno. Este compuesto, que es parecido al resveratrol, disminuye las proteínas inflamatorias NF-ĸB y aumenta la vía antiinflamatoria Nrf2.53 Kéfir de agua o de coco. Estas bebidas fermentadas contienen de manera natural vitamina K2 como producto derivado del proceso de fermentación. También contienen kefiran, un azúcar único producido por los granos de kéfir que tiene la capacidad de disminuir la inflamación y calmar el sistema inmunitario.

Power is power, but it is not truth. You are as human as I—no less, and no more. You cannot escape the work of being human even if you punish me or kill me for reminding you of that work.

—iNo...! —noto que se me encienden las mejillas—. ¿Por qué tienes que ser tan directo siempre? —Porque me gusta que te ruborices.

Darling?” she remarked. “When have I ever been that?” “Are you stating an objection?” “I…No.” Heavens he was in the strangest of moods tonight. “It’s new, that’s all. Normally, I’m your whore, or your mistress, or Miss Rushdale.” “Or my nightingale.” “Only if you’re feeling poetic.” “Then obviously you’ve found a way to inveigle your way into my heart and I’m growing soft and foolish as a result.” “What heart?” She crossed her arms. “Vaughan, if this is a plan to drive me away by being nice, it won’t work.” His smile dazzled her as it stretched wide his lips and lit the centres of his eyes. “It’s not a ploy.

980. Laius recovers the Kingdom of Thebes. Athamas, the brother of Sisyphus and father of Phrixus and Helle, marries Ino the daughter of Cadmus. 979. Rehoboam Reigns. Thoas is sent from Crete to Lemnos, Reigns there in the city Hephœstia, and works in copper and iron.

I swear to God, it’s like I don’t know you these last few months! First you accuse my cousin of rape, then you meet and get engaged to a guy that you just met, and now you’re saying my cousin is breaking into our apartment when he doesn’t even know where we live? Classy, Rach. You’ve turned into a real bitch.” I bent forward and exhaled roughly, as if she’d actually punched me. “Candice.” “And you know what pisses me off more? The fact that throughout all of this, all of this lying to me, all of this acting like you’re so in love with Kash and like you’re some fucking victim . . . you’re still dating Blake!” “Whoa, what?! I—no! Where did you hear that?” “He hates that you treat him like crap at school and that you’re hiding your relationship with him. He showed me all of your texts to him.” I shook my head furiously and attempted to swallow past the dryness in my throat. “I haven’t texted him since our dates at the end of last school year, Candice, I swear to you.” “I’m so done with this, Rachel. I’ve been waiting for you to just come clean to me, but for whatever reason, our friendship doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. But if you’re actually going to go through with this marriage to Kash, at least be respectful to my cousin and break it off with him. Nicely.” “Our friendship doesn’t mean anything to me?! You’re the one who won’t believe me and you’re the only family I have left!” She snorted and whirled around with her hand on the door. “And another thing. I’d love to know how you’ve been going between school, work, Kash, and Blake without Kash or me noticing. Share your secrets sometime, it could really come in handy for me, seeing as I’m the slut and all.” The door to her bedroom slammed shut and I stood there unmoving, just staring as I tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. How had this happened? How had he not only hurt me but hurt my relationship with Candice as well? I hated Blake West with every fiber of my being, and I hated what he’d done to my life. When

Xander whispered, “How’s it going so far?” I shrugged. “He has a lot to say and I can’t tell him to be quiet without looking nuts.” Caleb laughed. “I’m sure he knows. He’s constantly reading your mind.” My head snapped up to Raphael. “Really? Like all the time?” Xander and Caleb nodded and I slumped in my seat. “Holy crap.” Xander sat up straight. “Something I should know?” Shifting, I knotted my hands. “I…no.” Lie. Complete and utter lie. “Is it Xander related?” His voice turned to a sexy rumble. He grinned when he saw my cheeks redden. Raphael chose this time to speak. “Yes, Alexander, quite often, in fact. Her thoughts of you are usually inappropriate.

You seem…calmer lately,” she ventured, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. “I mean, since we came back to the Mother ship. On Earth you were, well…” “I was out of control,” he admitted candidly. “My blood was burning and I had no way to quench the flames.” “Oh.” Sophie looked down at her hands. “That was my fault, I guess.” “Of course not.” He sounded almost fierce and she looked up again, wide-eyed. “Don’t ever take the blame for any of my actions on yourself,” he said sternly. “But I thought you were…that because I wouldn’t let you…you know…” “You weren’t ready.” Sylvan looked back at the controls. The red wound in space was growing closer. “You may never be, I see that now.” “I…I don’t understand,” Sophie faltered. He glanced at her again. “I saw the look on your face after I came back from dealing with your attacker.” “About that,” Sophie began haltingly. “I’m really sorry I freaked out on you. Seeing him again just…brought everything back.” “I thought it was probably something like that,” Sylvan said grimly. “I’m sorry I was the cause of your fear and pain.” “No, really. I—” “But that isn’t the only reason I spoke as I did. When I had to inject you with the translation bacteria, your fear and dread were almost overwhelming.” He shook his head. “Do you think I want to see those emotions in your eyes when I take you? When I make love to you, Sophia?” “I…no,” she whispered, twisting her fingers together nervously. “No, I guess not.” “I told you I didn’t want to cause you pain.” Sylvan looked back at the fold in space which was almost upon them now. “And I meant it. I’ll leave you alone from now on—I swear it.” Oh

Our words are similar to wells, and those wells can accommodate the most diverse waters: cataracts, drizzles of other times, oceans that were and will be of ashes, whirlpools of rivers, of human being, and of tears as well. Our words are like people, and sometimes much more, not simple carriers of only one meaning. They are not like those bored pots holding always the same water until their beings, their tongues, forget them, and then crack or get tired, and lean to one side, almost dead. No. You can put entire rivers in our pots, and if perchance they break, if the envelope of the words cracks, the water remain: vivid, intact, running, and renovating itself unceasingly. They are live beings who wander on their own, our words: animals that never repeat themselves and are never resigned to a single skin, to an unchanging temperature, to the same steps.

If you live only for yourself, you already have chosen to die. And since nothing will cure you, even though on the outside you may appear to have been born and continue living, you will die, you are already dead.

Some have the will of a language but lack a mouth.

I could tell you many things; you will listen to none of them. And if you listen t any of them, you will do so in your own way.

The most difficult problem is not that of wanting to learn. It is time. With enough time you might learn to listen and to walk. And with enough time I would listen to you, and walk your way without undoing mine. With sufficient time everything will again belong to everybody. We will be able to exist in our life, and at the same time in the life of all persons who were once things, and in the life of things that later are to be persons.

One of the several masks of this same reality.

The first man was not a man, Don Javier tells me, entangled in deep laughter. The first man was a woman...

Don’t you want to know what it’s like?” I didn’t know what he meant: swimming in starlight, or swimming with him. “I—no.

You ensured I knew I…no better than something scraped off your shoe. You, sir, are no mentalgem. Genmaltem.

The thought of ending up as a married straight man with a wife and kids felt so disconnected from my internal desires that I—no joke— convinced myself that I was probably going to die in an airplane crash at age 27. There was a certain sense of relief in setting an end point that came only a quarter of the way through life.

Se comprendere è impossibile, conoscere è necessario, perché ciò che è accaduto può ritornare, le coscienze possono nuovamente essere sedotte ed oscurate: anche le nostre. Per questo, meditare su quanto è avvenuto è un dovere di tutti. Tutti devono sapere, o ricordare, che Hitler e Mussolini, quando parlavano pubblicamente, venivano creduti, applauditi, ammirati, adorati come dei. Erano “capi carismatici”, possedevano un segreto potere di seduzione che non procedeva dalla credibilità o dalla giustezza delle cose che dicevano, ma dal modo suggestivo con cui le dicevano, dalla loro eloquenza,dalla loro arte istrionica, forse istintiva, forse pazientemente esercitata e appresa. Le idee che proclamavano non erano sempre le stesse, e in generale erano aberranti, o sciocche, o crudeli; eppure vennero osannati, e seguiti ino alla loro morte da milioni di fedeli.

Se comprendere è impossibile, conoscere è necessario, perché ciò che è accaduto può ritornare, le coscienze possono nuovamente essere sedotte es oscurate: anche le nostre. Per questo, meditare su quanto è avvenuto è un dovere di tutti. Tutti devono sapere, o ricordare, che Hitler e Mussolini, quando parlavano pubblicamente, venivano creduti, applauditi, ammirati, adorati come dei. Erano “capi carismatici”, possedevano un segreto potere di seduzione che non procedeva dalla credibilità o dalla giustezza delle cose che dicevano, ma dal modo suggestivo con cui le dicevano, dalla loro eloquenza, dalla loro arte istrionica, forse istintiva, forse pazientemente esercitata e appresa. Le idee che proclamavano non erano sempre le stesse, e in generale erano aberranti, o sciocche, o crudeli; eppure vennero osannati, e seguiti ino alla loro morte da milioni di fedeli.

Wszystko nudzi, wszystko mi się przykrzy już; koło serca mi się studzi, odleciał mnie Anioł stróż; ino mi się widzi las i te drzewa lecą precz: wszystko hula: has, has, has.

Kto mnie wołał, czego chciał — zebrałem się, w com ta miał: jestem, jestem na Wesele, przyjedzie tu gości wiele, żeby ino wicher wiał. Co się w duszy komu gra, co kto w swoich widzi snach: czy to grzech, czy to śmiech, czy to kapcan, czy to pan, na Wesele przyjdzie w tan.

I thought about beautiful bodies like Vera’s, if she were whole: white bones that shine under the light in forgotten graves, thin bones that sound like little party bells when they hit against each other, frolicking in the fields, doing dances of death. He has nothing to do with the ethereal beauty of those naked bones: his are covered with layers of fat and boredom. Vera and I will be beautiful and light, nocturnal and earthy; beautiful, the crusts of earth enfolding us. Hollow, dancing skeletons. Vera and I—no flesh over our bones.

- I co? - nie wytrzymał poeta. - Co jest na tym polu? - Ano - Dhun uniósł głowę, podrapał się za uchem. -Ano, grasuje tam diaboł. - Co? - parsknął Jaskier. - Co takiego? - Przecie mówię. Diaboł. - Jaki diaboł? - A jaki ma być? Diaboł i tyle. - Diabłów nie ma! - Nie wtrącaj się, Jaskier - rzekł Geralt spokojnym głosem. - A wy mówcie dalej, mości Dhun. - Przecie mówię: diaboł. - To już wiem. - Geralt, gdy chciał, potrafił być niesłychanie cierpliwy. - Powiedzcie, jak wygląda, skąd się wziął, w czym wam przeszkadza. Po kolei, jeśli łaska. - Ano - Dhun uniósł sękatą dłoń i jął wyliczać, po kolei odginając palce, z wielkim trudem. - Po kolei, jako żywo, mądry z was człek. Ano, tak. Wygląda to on, panie, jak diaboł, wypisz wymaluj diaboł. Skąd się wziął? Ano znikąd. Bęc, trzask, prask i patrzym: diaboł. A przeszkadzać to on nam po prawdzie nie zanadto przeszkadza. Bywa nawet, że pomaga. - Pomaga? - zarechotał Jaskier, usiłując wyciągnąć muchę z piwa. - Diabeł? - Nie wtrącaj się, Jaskier. Mówcie dalej, panie Dhun. W jaki to sposób pomaga wam ten, jak powiadacie... - Diaboł - powtórzył z naciskiem kmieć. - Ano, pomaga tak: grunt użyźnia, glebę wzrusza, krety tępi, ptaki płoszy, rzepy i buraków dogląda. A i liszkę, co się w kapuście lęgnie, zjada. Ale kapustę takoż po prawdzie zjada. Nic, ino by żarł. Jak to diaboł.

You are going to marry me,” he said, a fierce edge in his voice. “Are you aware that you are about to be arrested as a spy?” “I—no.” I sat down again, as abruptly as I’d stood up. “What … why?” “You would know that better than I would,” he said coldly.

Ino is an Austin,TX based fashion label that offers unique, handmade, elegant, silk scarves and ties. ino Scarf Boutique offers handmade unique silk scarves that are a timeless gift of softness and elegance. The ino scarf flows from the past with ancient art lacework to today's silk fabric for you to enjoy into the future.

Pon se ino serce ziębi   tym myśleniem, sumowaniem:   boby sie pon usroł na niem.

I can’t explain what I don’t understand. It’s never happened with any other Skill-healing I’ve witnessed. Only between you and me. Whatever injury I take from you appears on me.” He stood, his arms crossed on his chest. He wore his own face, and Amber’s painted lips and rouged cheeks looked peculiar now. His eyes seemed to bore into me. “No. Explain why you hid this from me! Why you couldn’t trust me with the simple truth. What did you imagine? That I would demand you blind yourself that I might see?” “I…no!” I braces my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. I could not recall when I had felt more drained. A steady pulse of pounding pain in my temples kept pace with my heartbeat. I felt a desperate need to recover my strength, but even sitting still was demanding more than I had to give. I wanted to topple over onto the floor and surrender to sleep. I tried to order my thoughts. “You were so desperate to regain your sight. I didn’t want to take that hope from you. My plan was that once you were strong enough the coterie could try to heal you, if you would let them. My fear was that if I told you I couldn’t heal you without losing my sight, you’d lose all hope.” The last piece of the truth was angular and sharp-edged in my mouth. “And I feared you would think me selfish that I did not heal you.” I let my head lower onto my folded arms. The Fool said something. “I didn’t hear that.” “You weren’t meant to,” he replied in a low voice. Then he admitted, “I called you a clodpoll.” “Oh.” I could barely keep my eyes open. He asked a cautious question. “After you’d taken on my hurts, did they heal?” “Yes. Mostly. But very slowly.” My back still bore the pinkish dimples in echo of the ulcers that had been on his back. “Or so it seemed to me. You know hun body has been since that runaway healing the coterie did on me years ago. I scarcely age and injuries heal overnight, leaving me exhausted. But they healed, Fool. Once I knew what was happening, I was more careful. When I worked on the bones around your eyes, I kept strict control.” I halted. It was a terrifying offer to make. But in our sort of friendship, it had to be made. “I could try to heal your eyes. Give you sight, lose mine, and see if my body could restore mine. It would take time. And I’m not sure this is the best place for us to make such an attempt. Perhaps in Bingtown, after we’ve sent the others home, we could take rooms somewhere and make the attempt.” “No. Don’t be stupid.” His tone forbade any response. In his long silence, sleep crept up on me, seeping into every part of my body. It was an engulfing demand the body makes, one that knows no refusal. “Fitz. Fitz? Look at me. What do you see?” I prised my eyelids open and looked at him. I thought I knew what he needed to hear. “I see my friend. My oldest, dearest friend. No matter what guise you wear.” “And you see me clearly?” Something in his voice made me lift up my head. I blinked blearily and stared at him. After a time, he swam into focus. “Yes.” He let out his pent up breath. “Good. Because when I touched you, I felt something happen, something more than I expected. I reached for you, to call you back, for I feared you were vanishing into the Skill-current. But when I touched you, it wasn’t as if I touched someone else. It was like folding my hands together. As if your blood suddenly ran through my veins. Fitz, I can see the shape of you, there in your chair. I fear I may have taken something from you.” “Oh. Good. I’m glad.” I closed my eyes, too weary for surprise. Too exhausted for fear. I thought of that day, long ago, when I had drawn him back from death and pushed him into his own body again. In that moment, as I had left the body I had repaired for him, as we had passed each other before resuming our own flesh again, I’d felt the same. A sense of oneness. Of completion. I recalled it but was too weary to put it into words. I put my head down on the table and slept.

I can’t explain what I don’t understand. It’s never happened with any other Skill-healing I’ve witnessed. Only between you and me. Whatever injury I take from you appears on me.” He stood, his arms crossed on his chest. He wore his own face, and Amber’s painted lips and rouged cheeks looked peculiar now. His eyes seemed to bore into me. “No. Explain why you hid this from me! Why you couldn’t trust me with the simple truth. What did you imagine? That I would demand you blind yourself that I might see?” “I…no!” I braces my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. I could not recall when I had felt more drained. A steady pulse of pounding pain in my temples kept pace with my heartbeat. I felt a desperate need to recover my strength, but even sitting still was demanding more than I had to give. I wanted to topple over onto the floor and surrender to sleep. I tried to order my thoughts. “You were so desperate to regain your sight. I didn’t want to take that hope from you. My plan was that once you were strong enough the coterie could try to heal you, if you would let them. My fear was that if I told you I couldn’t heal you without losing my sight, you’d lose all hope.” The last piece of the truth was angular and sharp-edged in my mouth. “And I feared you would think me selfish that I did not heal you.” I let my head lower onto my folded arms. The Fool said something. “I didn’t hear that.” “You weren’t meant to,” he replied in a low voice. Then he admitted, “I called you a clodpoll.” “Oh.” I could barely keep my eyes open. He asked a cautious question. “After you’d taken on my hurts, did they heal?” “Yes. Mostly. But very slowly.” My back still bore the pinkish dimples in echo of the ulcers that had been on his back. “Or so it seemed to me. You know how my body has been since that runaway healing the coterie did on me years ago. I scarcely age and injuries heal overnight, leaving me exhausted. But they healed, Fool. Once I knew what was happening, I was more careful. When I worked on the bones around your eyes, I kept strict control.” I halted. It was a terrifying offer to make. But in our sort of friendship, it had to be made. “I could try to heal your eyes. Give you sight, lose mine, and see if my body could restore mine. It would take time. And I’m not sure this is the best place for us to make such an attempt. Perhaps in Bingtown, after we’ve sent the others home, we could take rooms somewhere and make the attempt.” “No. Don’t be stupid.” His tone forbade any response. In his long silence, sleep crept up on me, seeping into every part of my body. It was an engulfing demand the body makes, one that knows no refusal. “Fitz. Fitz? Look at me. What do you see?” I prised my eyelids open and looked at him. I thought I knew what he needed to hear. “I see my friend. My oldest, dearest friend. No matter what guise you wear.” “And you see me clearly?” Something in his voice made me lift up my head. I blinked blearily and stared at him. After a time, he swam into focus. “Yes.” He let out his pent up breath. “Good. Because when I touched you, I felt something happen, something more than I expected. I reached for you, to call you back, for I feared you were vanishing into the Skill-current. But when I touched you, it wasn’t as if I touched someone else. It was like folding my hands together. As if your blood suddenly ran through my veins. Fitz, I can see the shape of you, there in your chair. I fear I may have taken something from you.” “Oh. Good. I’m glad.” I closed my eyes, too weary for surprise. Too exhausted for fear. I thought of that day, long ago, when I had drawn him back from death and pushed him into his own body again. In that moment, as I had left the body I had repaired for him, as we had passed each other before resuming our own flesh again, I’d felt the same. A sense of oneness. Of completion. I recalled it but was too weary to put it into words. I put my head down on the table and slept.