Isla And Oro Quotes

Oro turned to her, then. He looked her right in the eyes as he said, “Isla. You are my favorite everything.

Isla should have been scared, walking into a meeting with the other rulers of realm. But she wasn’t. She had Oro. Celeste. Grim.

Nada hay menos material que el dinero, ya que cualquier moneda (una moneda de veinte centavos, digamos) es, en rigor, un repertorio de futuros posibles. El dinero es abstracto, repetí, el dinero es tiempo futuro. Puede ser una tarde en las afueras, puede ser música de Brahms, puede ser mapas, puede ser ajedrez, puede ser café, puede ser las palabras de Epicteto, que enseñan el desprecio del oro; es un Proteo más versátil que el de la isla de Pharos. Es tiempo imprevisible, tiempo de Bergson, no duro tiempo del Islam o de Pórtico

To break the curses and fulfill the prophecy, the original offense had to be repeated again. You had to make Oro fall in love with you. But we were already in love. You would have refused. So, I had to take the memories of us together away.” Isla could barely breathe.

Isla clutched the heart of Lightlark with one hand, her own sputtering its last beats. With the other, she reached up and pulled on her necklace. Grim appeared from thin air before her fingers could uncurl from the diamond. His eyes widened at the sight of her covered in blood. She was in his arms in an instant. “Please,” Oro said from the cave, and Isla hardly recognized his voice. Why was he begging? Did he want her to leave the heart? Her hand went limp, and the yolk fell to the ground. The last thing she saw was Oro’s face, fragmented into a handful of emotions, each more surprising than the last. And then she was gone.

He narrowed his eyes at Isla and said, “So. You’re the reason Oro doesn’t see us anymore.” Enya gave him a look. “No, the reason he doesn’t see us anymore is because the last time we got together, you called him an uptight wretch and asked when the last time he bedded someone was.

Begrudgingly, he made the tiniest of flowers bloom in his hand. Then, Isla turned to Oro. It hurt to look at him. His eyes were not hollow, not lifeless, but full of pain. Fear. Determination. She remembered a time when they had only been filled with love. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers. Petals dripped from them, onto the floor, roses tipped in thorns.

like you, Isla, I really do,” she said, and Isla felt the same way. She wanted to tell her, but in the same breath, the Sunling said, “But I don’t like you for him.” For him. For Oro.

Oro pressed two fingers against her heart. Ran them lower, to the center of her chest. A vine snaked its way across the balcony and bloomed a red rose. Oro plucked it. Offered it to her. She stared down at the flower. A rose with thorns, just like her. It was beautiful. Vicious. Isla took it, then threw it over her shoulder, clean off the balcony. And stood on her toes so her forehead touched his. Oro stilled. His eyes were amber and burning, nothing like the emptiness she had glimpsed the first day of the Centennial. He looked at her like she was the thing they had torn apart the island for, the heart he had been desperately trying to find all these years, the needle that had finally threaded him together. Isla took a shaky breath.

Isla finally rose. Grim had done everything for the same reason she had tried to win the Centennial—to save those he loved and bring power back to his realm. On every level, she understood. The difference was Isla had been willing to give up everything for him. When, the entire time, he had used her as a pawn. She spat in Grim’s direction. Isla looked at Oro and hoped he read the apology in her eyes. Because of her, because he had been foolish enough to love a Wildling, his worst fear had been confirmed. He had lost his power. He had been right not to trust her. Not to trust anyone. She should have done the same.

When Oro had found Isla, shaking and raw skinned, he had looked like he wanted to bring the entire island down. The very ground beneath their feet had shaken as he had said, very calmly, “Who did this to you?

Oro frowned. His anger seemed to burn through his previous hesitance at giving compliments, because he said, “Love, you seem to be under some delusion that you are anything less than extraordinary. Who did that to you? Your guardians? Did they make you feel like nothing you did would ever be good enough? Or was it him?” Grim. The woods heated with his anger. “Tell me, Isla. Did someone else break the curses? Am I mistaken?

Sol de Mar Yo encontre en Isla Negra un dia, un sol acostado en la arena, un sol centrifugo y central cubierto de dedos de oro y ventosas como alfileres. Recogi el sol enarenado y levantandolo a la luz lo compare con el del cielo. No se miraron, ni se vieron.

Your heart decides the future of the world,” she said. “Your choice decides.” “What choice?” she practically screamed. “Oro and Grim.” Isla froze at their mention. “You will kill one of them. That much is certain. Which one lives, and which one dies . . . that has not yet been decided.

Holanda es un sueño, caballero, un sueño de oro y de humo, más humeante durante el día, y más dorado de noche; y noche y día su sueño está poblado por figuras de Lohengrin como éstos que se deslizan ensoñadoramente en sus negras bicicletas de altos manubrios, cisnes fúnebres que giran sin cesar por todo el país, por todos los mares, a lo largo de los canales. Sueñan con la cabeza en las nubes cobrizas, giran en círculo, rezan, sonámbulos, en el incienso dorado de la bruma, y ya no están aquí. Se han ido miles de kilómetros más allá, hacia Java, la isla lejana. Rezan a esas deidades gesticulantes de Indonesia que adornan todos sus escaparates, y que rondan en este momento por encima de nosotros, antes de agarrarse, como simios suntuosos, a los letreros y a los tejados en forma de escalera para recordar a estos colonos nostálgicos que Holanda no es solamente la Europa de los comerciantes, sino también el mar, el mar que lleva a Cipango y a esas islas donde los hombres mueren locos y felices.

In the mornings, she and Oro ran on the beaches below the Whitecliffs. He said it would help clear her mind, and it did. She practiced moving large and small objects. She practiced manipulating the dirt and rocks around her. Every day, he came up with new tests, new ways to sharpen her control. In the evenings, they had dinner together, just the two of them. Afterward, they would sit on the floor, drinking tea, trading stories about their childhoods, until Isla inevitably fell asleep. She always woke up in her bed, though, meticulously wrapped in blankets.

Esta crisis pasará, como pasará y se marchitará la memoria de los hombres: y también se olvidarán de que alguna vez desconfiaron de la ambición de los políticos, el pánico del 37 pasará a la Historia, igual que pasaremos nosotros y, como siempre, detrás de una gran crisis vendrá una gran guerra que servirá para que algunos hagan dinero de la industria de la destrucción, pero… —hizo una pausa, le sonrió con rabia—, no se preocupe, como le decía, porque el fin siempre justifica los medios: llegarán períodos de bonanza que sumirán a la población en un adormecimiento y un relax que los volverá confiados de nuevo, los bancos engordarán demasiado rápido, y la sensación de bienestar será tal, que un día las personas volverán a olvidarse de confirmar si sus monedas de oro y de plata siguen en sus cajas fuertes, y entonces, cuando el país parezca más invencible que nunca, ¡boom! —dio un palmada y Scraugh un brinco—, se desatará otra crisis que revelará que toda esa felicidad era humo, otro pánico, otra depresión y vuelta a empezar, la caída en dominó de todo un sistema que traerá otro. Pero no se preocupe, como le decía, porque la vida no le alcanzará para verlo. Espero haber contestado a su pregunta, señor Scraugh.