Lantern Wish Quotes

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there's nothing but light when I see you.

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there's nothing but light when I see you.

I look out into the water and up deep into the stars. I beg the sparkling lanterns of light to cure me of myself — my past and the kaleidoscope of mistakes, failures and wrong turns that have stacked unbearable regret upon my shoulders.

Hope is a helium balloon. It is a wish lantern set out into the dark sky of night.

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise,and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there's nothing but light when i see you.

Standing naked on the beach with all of my secrets between my legs, I look out into the water and up deep into the stars. I beg the sparkling lanterns of light to cure me of myself…

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there is nothing but light when I see you.

I wished to assassinate history’s version of me, put him to rest, let him soar into the clouds like a floating lantern. I wanted to be there, below him, with a single candle, crying for the last time.

Love’s Not The Way To Treat a Friend" Love’s not the way to treat a friend. I wouldn’t wish that on you. I don’t want to see your eyes forgotten on a rainy day, lost in the endless purse of those who can remember nothing. Love’s not the way to treat a friend. I don’t want to see you end up that way with your body being poured like wounded marble into the architecture of those who make bridges out of crippled birds. Love’s not the way to treat a friend. There are so many better things for you than to see your feelings sold as magic lanterns to somebody whose body casts no light.

She was radiant, her cheeks glowing with heat, her long locks shimmering in the lantern light like golden marmalade, swinging in rhythm with the zitaraes and flutes. I wished I could be her sometimes, jumping into every moment fully, her cheer covering the darkness that still lurked deep inside her.

He wished to be home in London, with its dark libraries and lantern-lit alleys, with his pipe and his brandy, surrounded by the Society’s flickering candles and devil-haunted shadows. There he would feel safe. Out here, in this briny, sun-wracked environment, he felt exposed and bewildered. A moth lost in a delirium of light.

Oh, my child, can you not see? You must let go of yourself. For if a seed wishes to live, it must sacrifice itself and grow outward, not inward.

There is magic on this sometimes wretched, unremarkable Earth. But often, you have to make your own wishes find the light.

Ha! Listen, this guy walks into a bar, with a shopping bag, right? He sits down, puts the bag on the bar. Something in the bag is moving, and the bartender says ‘Hey, buddy, no animals in here’. You with me, Jones?” “Yah.” “The guy is looking real unhappy, totally down in the dumps, he reaches in the bag. He pulls out a brass lantern, then a small piano, a little stool, and finally a little guy in a tuxedo, about a foot tall. The little guy sits on the stool and starts playing the piano. Playing the piano, right?” “Yah. Got, it.” “Bartender says,” Williams’ grasp on a handhold slipped for a heart-stopping moment before the suit gloves restored their sticky grip. He could see the problem was some sort of fluid leaking from the access hatch above had coated the handhold. He moved his hand to the left to avoid the slippery fluid, and continued climbing down. “Bartender says, ‘That’s amazing, where’d you get him?’ Guy points to the lamp. ‘Magic genie granted me a wish, But he don’t hear so well-’ Before the guy can stop him, the bartender grabs the lamp, rubs it and shouts ‘I want a million bucks!’. POOF! The bar is filled with ducks! Ducks everywhere, under the tables, in the street outside, feathers flying all over the place. The bartender says ‘What the hell?’ So the guy says ‘I told you the genie don’t hear so well. You really think I asked for a twelve inch pianist?

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you. — Shinji Moon, The Anatomy of Being (Lulu.com; Illustrated edition, March 24, 2013)

Spectre: Atrocitus? You wish to continue to fight? Atrocitus: If I must. You were chained to a human soul to understand humanity, but it is clear you understand it no more than the guardians. This man... This man lost his daughter. You have no emotional component to your judgement. For you, vengeance is simply eye-for-an-eye. But that convict's life did not equal the life of Kim's daughter. His "eye" is worth nothing compared to hers. Eye-for-an-eye is a fallacy. Spectre: You dare question my scripture? Atrocitus: You may be objective and calm in your judgments, Spectre, but once you pass them you are no longer haunted by their victims. But the victims are our families. And the hauntings never stop. No matter what blood has spilled, there will never be enough to balance the scales. So if you wish to judge James Kim, you must first judge me.

For a time Robert protected me, then was dependent on me, and then possessive of me. His transformation was the rose of Genet, and he was pierced deeply by his blooming. I too desired to feel more of the world. Yet sometimes that desire was nothing more than a wish to go backward where our mute light spread from hanging lanterns with mirrored panels. We had ventured out like Maeterlinck's children seeking the bluebird and were caught in the twisted briars of our new experiences.

show me your face i crave flowers and gardens open your lips i crave the taste of honey come out from behind the clouds i desire a sunny face your voice echoed saying "leave me alone" i wish to hear your voice again saying "leave me alone" i swear this city without you is a prison i am dying to get out to roam in deserts and mountains i am tired of flimsy friends and submissive companions i die to walk with the brave am blue hearing nagging voices and meek cries i desire loud music drunken parties and wild dance one hand holding a cup of wine one hand caressing your hair then dancing in orbital circle that is what i yearn for i can sing better than any nightingale but because of this city's freaks i seal my lips while my heart weeps yesterday the wisest man holding a lit lantern in daylight was searching around town saying i am tired of all these beasts and brutes i seek a true human we have all looked for one but no one could be found they said yes he replied but my search is for the one who cannot be found

What they sang had occurred to him before, but this thought had somehow sat behind other thoughts in his head and flashed timidly, like a distant lantern in misty weather. And he felt that this suicide and the peasant’s grievances lay in his conscience too; to be reconciled with the fact that these people, submissive to their lot, heaped on themselves what was heaviest and darkest in life — how terrible it was! To be reconciled with that, and to wish for oneself a bright, boisterous life among happy, contented people, and to dream constantly of such a life, meant to dream of new suicides by overworked, careworn people, or by weak neglected people, whom one sometimes talked about with vexation or mockery over dinner, but whom one did not go to help.

Suddenly I'd had Enough and this was no turn of phrase but a warm body, nervous, with a constitution I could count on like a younger brother. That's when I told my mother: on the other side it's really underdeveloped. We're going back. Really, I said: I want to go back, not possible unless Mummy who is part of me comes too. We wait in the empty street at the stop for Lethe, the only bus that runs both ways. My mother is losing patience. The bus doesn't come. It's not easy to wait for a bus you've heard is the only one that runs both ways. I check the guidebook. Neither Canto XIV of the Iliad nor Canto XI of the Odyssey mentions the place. Just what you'd expect for Lethe I tell myself. Naturally forgetfulness attracts attention to itself by means of absence and omission. But for my mother the bus not turning up is the theme of her nightmares. I explain that in this country one comes along every quarter of an hour...To signal to the vehicle that one wishes to board Oblivion Return one must fan open the grille by pressing a button and lighting up the small lantern on the top of the archway, which I did. It's the one gleam of hope in this world.

Your drawing!” Her lantern fell to the ground, the candle flame blowing out as she ran after the flying parchment and tackled it. “So fierce,” Falco murmured, holding out a hand to help Cass to her feet. “I’m beginning to enjoy picking you up off the ground.” Cass looked down at the paper in her hand, which had unrolled during its journey across the grass. The moonlight illuminated what he had drawn: a gorgeous reproduction of the gravestone with the doves on top. Cass flipped the parchment over. On the other side, Falco had sketched the rough outline of a woman’s body. Cass’s breath caught; she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the figure. She marveled at the sharpness of the knees and elbows, at the soft roundness of the figure’s breasts. The face was still a heart-shaped blank, but the hair looked familiar: it fell in thick, lustrous waves like Cass’s own. Falco laughed, leaning in close to Cass. “It almost looks like you’re blushing. Why? It’s not like you’ve never seen a woman’s body before.” “You’ve obviously seen more than I have,” Cass said sharply. Her fingers trembled as she handed the parchment back to Falco, trying to look everywhere but at the drawing, wishing he hadn’t seen her staring at it. Who is she? She wanted to ask, but the words held fast to her lips. “If I have, it’s a shame.” Even in the dark, his eyes were flashing. “If I had your body, I’d stare at it for hours. Days, maybe.” Cass sucked in a sharp breath. “You can’t just say things like that. It’s not, it’s not--” “Proper?” Falco finished. “Perhaps. I didn’t mean it to be offensive. A woman’s body is a beautiful thing.” He took ahold of Cass’s hand and twisted it from side to side, opening and closing her fingers. “The human form, it’s a symphony. Tiny interlocking movements that join together in song.” He slid his hands down over her knuckles until he was gripping the very tips of her fingers. “You play a more delicate tune than I do. Have you never noticed?

You’re disgusting,” she spat out. “Would you like help with that?” Falco reached toward her. “Don’t touch me.” Cass gave up on the bodice. She wrapped herself tightly in the woolen blanket. Falco laughed aloud. “You’re the one with the fiancé, and I’m disgusting?” He shook his head. “Women.” “You’re disgusting because it doesn’t bother you to have an affair with an almost-married woman.” Cass felt tears pushing at the back of her eyes. That was all he wanted from her: fun. “You could be thrown in prison for that. Executed, even!” Falco leaned in toward Cass. She stiffened, but didn’t pull back. “I know you want this as much as I do,” he said. “You aren’t going to report me. And even if you did, I’m inclined to think a night with you might well be worth imprisonment.” Cass looked away from him, fighting the urge to soften. He was just trying to flatter her to get what he wanted. Falco’s voice turned gentle. “I wish we could have more. I wish I could lie next to you every night. I wish I could parade you around on my arm in the daylight,” he said. “But if we can’t be together like that, then why can’t we be together like this?” He moved to kiss her again. A part of her wanted to let him, really wanted to, but she was still offended by his thinking she’d be so willing to have a tryst with him and then marry Luca as if no one would ever be the wiser. “Don’t,” she said, leaning against the side of the boat. She stared into the night, seeing nothing. No movement. No lanterns. It was as if Cass and Falco were the only two people in the world. Now it was his turn to look offended. “It can’t be wrong if we both feel the same way.” Cass didn’t know how she felt; that was the problem. She could feel Falco’s eyes burning into the back of her neck, and resisted the desire to turn and meet his gaze. She skimmed her fingers over the water. She wondered exactly how she had found herself in this place.

I know you want this as much as I do,” he said. “You aren’t going to report me. And even if you did, I’m inclined to think a night with you might well be worth imprisonment.” Cass looked away from him, fighting the urge to soften. He was just trying to flatter her to get what he wanted. Falco’s voice turned gentle. “I wish we could have more. I wish I could lie next to you every night. I wish I could parade you around on my arm in the daylight,” he said. “But if we can’t be together like that, then why can’t we be together like this?” He moved to kiss her again. A part of her wanted to let him, really wanted to, but she was still offended by his thinking she’d be so willing to have a tryst with him and then marry Luca as if no one would ever be the wiser. “Don’t,” she said, leaning against the side of the boat. She stared into the night, seeing nothing. No movement. No lanterns. It was as if Cass and Falco were the only two people in the world. Now it was his turn to look offended. “It can’t be wrong if we both feel the same way.

You can’t just abduct me and hold me for hostage! And hostage for what? Who do you think you are? My brother is one of the most powerful men in England! When he catches up to you, he’ll slit your belly and strangle you with your own entrails! Do you know what you’ve done?” The Irishman just shrugged, unconcerned, and shoved his other arm into his coat sleeve. “Does your sister Mrs. Lord know that I’m here? Does your brother-in-law, Captain Lord? The admiral, Sir Elliott?” “Don’t be stupid, of course not.” “Does anyone know?” “Not yet.” “Who are you? In actuality?” “Ruaidri O’ Devir, ma’m, just as ye thought.” He picked up a tricorne hat and headed for the door. “I wish to know why I am here!” He stopped then, his patience exhausted, and looked her straight in the eye. “Your brother developed an explosive which he’s about to sell to your country. My country needs it so we can win this miserable struggle with yours. Since I doubt England or your brother are going to just hand it over to us, ye’re my payment for it. A ransom, if ye will. Understand?” “What do you mean your country? Ireland is not at war with England… you are mad.” “No, Sunshine. I’m not mad. I’m a commissioned captain in America’s Continental Navy if ye must know, and because John Adams decided there’s nobody in the Navy as audacious, reckless or downright foolish as I am, he chose me to come and get that explosive. Ye’re my ransom. If yer family wants ye back, they’ll hand it over as well as the formula on how t’ create it. Now are ye finished? I’ve a ship to see to.” She stared at him, aghast. “Your sister is married to a captain in the Royal Navy… her brother-in-law is a famous admiral… you would dare do this right under all their noses?” He smiled then, his long lashes throwing shadow against his cheekbones in the dim orange glow of the lantern and in that moment, he looked almost handsome. Almost. “Indeed, I would.” The smile spread. “Indeed, I have.

I wished that old Diogenes, groping so patiently with his lantern, searching so zealously for one solitary honest man in all the world, might meander along and stumble on our party. I ought not to say it, may be, but still I suppose he would have put out his light." Mark Twain

Make a wish," she commanded jokingly as she handed over the white lotus lantern to him. "Do you believe that it'll come true?" he asked gently. Startled, Jufen did not expect a sincere tone from the fluctuating man. In a soft sigh, "We make a wish to bring comfort among ourselves. If it comes true, we praise and thank fate. If not, we blame them. If you want your wish to become a reality, then work for it. Don't rely on luck." Xu Jun stayed quiet as he thought about what she had said. True, to get to where he wants to be, he has to earn it. Food doesn't deliver itself on a silver plate. Seeing how he took her words so earnestly, Jufen lightly pushed him and smiled sincerely at him for the first time. In a faint voice, she jested, "Young General, don't take this so seriously. Set the lanterns, make a wish, and have some fun while you're young.

In the quiet of the graveyard, the couple knelt together in soul-stretching silence—wishing, waiting, hoping, praying.

Muffled voices filtered through the closed door as Edmund greeted his wife. When less than a minute later, a very male groan accompanied the rhythmic creaking of a piece of furniture, she gaped. Not much for preliminaries, sixteenth century Scotsmen. Ignoring the sharp grunts of a male engaged in intercourse and the unsurprising lack of happy female noises, she retreated to the farthest place in the cottage from that door, which happened to be the workbench and raised stone hearth that formed the kitchen. She wasn’t about to waste an opportunity to study a late-medieval Scottish cottage. Just as she held up to the lantern light a sharp cleaver with a wooden handle polished from years of regular use, Darcy ducked in the front door. At the same time, Edmund shouted, “Aye! Christ, Fran, take my seed, lass. Take it. Aaarrghhhhh!” Then barely audible, “Glorious, woman. Ye’re glorious.” Darcy paled as his wide eyes jumped from the closed bedroom door to her. “If I had to listen to them go at it for another second, I was going to put myself out of my misery,” she quipped, wagging the cleaver. When his eyes went even wider, she said, “Joking, Darcy. I was joking.” She put down the cleaver and raised her hands. His eyes relaxed and the corner of his mouth lifted. He came to the workbench and picked up the enormous blade. “Well, so long as ye arena using it, mayhap I’ll carve the roast.

A sudden insight teased him. What if she didn’t want to leave? What if she was just angry with him and acting impulsively? He left Rand to kneel at her feet. She eyed him suspiciously. He hated that he’d given her cause to look at him that way. “I will ask ye this but once. Do ye wish to forsake our bond and my offered protection? Do ye truly wish to return to your life of providing for yourself and working and raising your bairn alone? I would have ye stay here with me, and I would care for you your whole life. I would treat your bairn as my own. I have means, and I am a good man, though I ken I havena given ye cause to believe it. “Stay with me, Malina. Let me prove to you the man I am. I wouldna expect your love, and I dinna expect you to share my bed. But I wish ye to stay and be my wife. I wish to be your husband. Will you release me from the vow I made to help ye return home?” He made himself stop blathering and waited for her answer, drowning in the emerald pools of her eyes. Closing his hands around hers, around the box, he found some solace in the fact that she didn’t pull away. She appraised him with liquid eyes. Could that be tenderness he glimpsed? But it was gone too soon, replaced with suspicion. Och, he’d been so dishonest with her she likely would never be able to trust him. Mayhap it was for the best she was leaving. If she couldn’t trust him, he’d nay be able to make her happy. At last, she shook her head. “I suspect you’re a good man, even though you lied to me. I see goodness in you, and honor. Any woman would be lucky to have you as her husband.” His heart lifted with hope. “Any woman from your time,” she added gently. “I don’t belong here. I need to go back to my time. My being here is a mistake. This is all a huge mistake.” His heart crumbled as he released her hands and pulled the heavy velvet pouch from his sporran. “Then, take this. ’Tis my wedding gift to you. If I canna be with you to keep my marriage vows, I pray this will clear my name before the Lord.” She took the pouch and looked inside. Her eyes grew wide. “It’s gold. I can’t take this.” She tried to push it back into his hands, but he refused it. “You must. ’Tis the best I can do for you, Malina mine. I hope ye will remember me well when you use it. I hope this will provide for you and your bairn for many years.” Not giving her a chance to reject his gift as she’d rejected him, he rose and blew out the lantern. He led Rand from the stables, and said, “Come, Malina. ’Tis time to send you home.

Dom?” she asked, her cheeks flaming as she stood naked before him. She’d never stood naked before anyone, even a maid. But the way Dom was scouring her with his rough gaze felt like a caress. A very carnal caress, which loosed a bevy of butterflies in her belly. “I’ve spent years dreaming of you like this, sweeting,” he rasped. “Give me a moment to take it all in.” “If you wish,” she whispered. And that would give her a moment to take him in. Although, sweet Lord in heaven, it might require more than a moment. She’d seen men half-dressed in paintings and even less-dressed in sculptures. But those smooth-skinned bodies were insipid compared to Dom’s hard contours and scarred male beauty. How could she have guessed that such sheer virility lay beneath his subdued clothes? His deliciously muscular chest gleamed with sweat in the warm stable, and his powerful arms lay tense at his sides. Then there was his lean waist, which gave way to rangy hips sporting quite a bulge beneath his drawers. Lord help her. She couldn’t take her eyes from that impressive thickness. And the more she stared, the more it seemed to grow. “This is what you do to me, Jane,” he said in a voice raw with hunger. He grabbed her hand to press it against him there. “I’ve desired you from the day we first met.” As his flesh moved beneath the stockinette, she swallowed. “I don’t recall ever seeing you like this back then--all…big and thrusting. I think I would have noticed.” He choked back a laugh. “It’s the sort of thing a gentleman generally takes great pains to keep his lady from seeing. But tonight you’re making it difficult for me to behave.” “Good! I don’t want you to behave. I want you to be wicked.” She fondled him shamelessly. “With me.” A harsh breath escaped him. “You have no idea what being wicked entails.” “Then perhaps you should show me.” His eyes glinted in the lantern light and he growled, “Perhaps I should.

A man woke up at midnight and wanted to smoke. Therefore he looked for some fire, for which he went to a neighbor’s house and knocked at the door. The neighbor opened the door and asked him what he wanted. The man said, I wish to smoke. Can you give me a little fire? The neighbor replied, O.M.G.! What the heck is wrong with you? You have taken so much trouble to come and wake us up at the middle of the night, while in your own hand you have a lantern! The God that human beings so keenly seek, lives within the human biology, yet they wander hitherto searching for it.

The emergency services had not yet been organized. Rosine could go where she wished. Her high heels made her stumble in the darkness, over the stones, the frozen clods of soil, over the tussocks of grass, the countless obstacles of the rough earth. She was shivering with cold and thought she might be about to faint away amid the sinister din of the disaster. A fearful chaos was becoming apparent. Rude forms stood erect, the silhouette of a heap of rails. Lanterns, miserable yellow stars, circulated hither and thither. There were even household oil-lamps to be seen, with which the wind dealt harshly. And, all the time, people were running ...

So many terrible things happen every day and I often want to hide away, lose all hope. And somehow you come along and make me believe in the good of people again.

In the end, I left just two syllables on the lantern. Gyu-ho. My only wish.

He looked so damned beautiful—the lantern light playing over the bare panes of his body, marked by time and wounds and scars and a life well lived, flames reflecting in the lustful rust-red of his eyes, locked to me as if nothing else existed. Seeing, as always, more than I wished he did. Seeing, as always, me.

Travel Bucket List 1. Have a torrid affair with a foreigner. Country: TBD. 2. Stay for a night in Le Grotte della Civita. Matera, Italy. 3. Go scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef. Queensland, Australia. 4. Watch a burlesque show. Paris, France. 5. Toss a coin and make an epic wish at the Trevi Fountain. Rome, Italy. 6. Get a selfie with a guard at Buckingham Palace. London, England. 7. Go horseback riding in the mountains. Banff, Alberta, Canada. 8. Spend a day in the Grand Bazaar. Istanbul, Turkey. 9. Kiss the Blarney Stone. Cork, Ireland. 10. Tour vineyards on a bicycle. Bordeaux, France. 11. Sleep on a beach. Phuket, Thailand. 12. Take a picture of a Laundromat. Country: All. 13. Stare into Medusa’s eyes in the Basilica Cistern. Istanbul, Turkey. 14. Do NOT get eaten by a lion. The Serengeti, Tanzania. 15. Take a train through the Canadian Rockies. British Columbia, Canada. 16. Dress like a Bond Girl and play a round of poker at a casino. Montreal, Quebec, Canada. 17. Make a wish on a floating lantern. Thailand. 18. Cuddle a koala at Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Queensland, Australia. 19. Float through the grottos. Capri, Italy. 20. Pose with a stranger in front of the Eiffel Tower. Paris, France. 21. Buy Alex a bracelet. Country: All. 22. Pick sprigs of lavender from a lavender field. Provence, France. 23. Have afternoon tea in the real Downton Abbey. Newberry, England. 24. Spend a day on a nude beach. Athens, Greece. 25. Go to the opera. Prague, Czech Republic. 26. Skinny dip in the Rhine River. Cologne, Germany. 27. Take a selfie with sheep. Cotswolds, England. 28. Take a selfie in the Bone Church. Sedlec, Czech Republic. 29. Have a pint of beer in Dublin’s oldest bar. Dublin, Ireland. 30. Take a picture from the tallest building. Country: All. 31. Climb Mount Fuji. Japan. 32. Listen to an Irish storyteller. Ireland. 33. Hike through the Bohemian Paradise. Czech Republic. 34. Take a selfie with the snow monkeys. Yamanouchi, Japan. 35. Find the penis. Pompeii, Italy. 36. Walk through the war tunnels. Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam. 37. Sail around Ha long Bay on a junk boat. Vietnam. 38. Stay overnight in a trulli. Alberobello, Italy. 39. Take a Tai Chi lesson at Hoan Kiem Lake. Hanoi, Vietnam. 40. Zip line over Eagle Canyon. Thunderbay, Ontario, Canada.

Before, we were childhood best friends, constantly playing together in the alley shared by our family’s neighboring businesses. Then, more recently, he started becoming Kai, as in Kai with the infectious laugh and defined arms and delicious buns (I’m talking about the breads he bakes, okay?).

It started in fifth grade when Mrs. Hearn told the class that Stephanie Lee had won a spelling bee and I clapped enthusiastically, only to realize moments later that she had actually said, “Stephanie Lee was stung by a bee.

I’m making the outer pastry puff for egg tarts, one of her favorites, so it’s not that unusual for me to be thinking about her. And what’s my excuse for when I’m making all the other items in the bakery? Um, she has a sweet tooth?

Leads.” Oh. Goddammit. I should’ve known. That horse’s ass. Literally. Leads is short for Leads the Way, my father’s beloved racehorse. And when I say that, I do not mean it in the logical meaning of those words. He doesn’t own the horse. He bets on him. Drives around, sometimes a few states away, just to watch him run. His second-favorite child, after Jiao. The true number two son, and a better fit for the nickname Poop Son.

The tower of cookies was high enough to touch the lanterns Mrs. Belmagio and Mrs. Vaci brought in a five-tiered chocolate cake, meticulously decorated with plump crimson cherries and hazelnut frosting. Each layer was shaped like a scalloped bowl, meant to resemble the fountain in Pariva's central square, and topped with a generous sprinkling of bluebell petals. But what made Chiara tear up were the cards pressed carefully into the cake, each on a sliced piece of cork---messages from every friend, neighbor, child, and elder she had ever known. We'll miss you. May you spread your light and make all of Esperia bright.

than she was deep. Her shallow draft let her go up rivers or right onto beaches without damage, but her passage over deeper water left a lot to be desired. She sidled along, with here a dip and there a curtsy, like a bundle-laden farm wife making her way through a crowded market. We seemed to be the sole cargo. A deckhand gave me a couple of apples to share with the horses, but little talk. So after I had parceled out the fruit, I settled myself near them on their straw and took Chade’s advice about resting. The winds were kind to us, and the captain took us in closer to the looming cliffs than I’d have thought possible, but unloading the horses from the vessel was still an unpleasant task. All of Chade’s lecturing and warnings had not prepared me for the blackness of night on the water. The lanterns on the deck seemed pathetic efforts, confusing me more with the shadows they threw than aiding me with their feeble light. In the end, a deckhand rowed Chade to shore in the ship’s dory. I went overboard with the reluctant horses, for I knew Sooty would fight a lead rope and probably swamp the dory. I clung to Sooty and encouraged her, trusting her common sense to take us toward the dim lantern on shore. I had a long line on Chade’s horse, for I didn’t want his thrashing too close to us in the water. The sea was cold, the night was black, and if I’d had any sense, I’d have wished myself elsewhere, but there is something in a boy that takes the mundanely difficult and unpleasant and turns it into a personal challenge and an adventure. I came out of the water dripping, chilled, and completely exhilarated. I kept Sooty’s reins and coaxed Chade’s horse in. By the time I had them both under control, Chade was beside me, lantern in hand, laughing exultantly. The dory man was already away and pulling for the ship. Chade gave me my dry things, but they did little good pulled on over my dripping clothes. “Where’s the path?” I asked, my voice shaking with my shivering. Chade gave a derisive snort. “Path? I had a quick look while you were pulling in my horse. It’s no path, it’s no more than the course the water takes when it runs off down the cliffs. But it will have to do.” It was a little better than he had reported, but not much. It was narrow and steep and the gravel on it was loose underfoot. Chade went before with the lantern. I followed, with the horses in tandem.

O Lantern bright, who through the night Reclines in silent leisure While gold and silver moons above Conspire thus in pleasure; Their gleaming glow, to us below Bequeaths an eve resplendent And thus we know as, to and fro, They rise in fire ascendant. O show us, lamp of day, where hide the moons Who light our loving night with star-shine strewn O show us, lamp of day, where hide the moons Who light our loving night with star-shine strewn O silver moon, grant us this boon, Who far below observe thee We see thy love so far above, And only wish to serve thee The hour is late, and so thy mate Arises swift to claim thee With ardour hot, and so has got No reason for to shame thee O show us, lamp above, where silver shines Thus followed by thy love, who for thee pines O show us, lamp above, where silver shines Thus followed by thy love, who for thee pines O golden moon, we raise this tune Unto thy gilt-edged glory We know thy name, and blush for shame To hear thee tell thy story Thy silv’ry mate thy rich estate Desires not to plunder She rides above on wings of love And fills the world with wonder O tell us, lamp of gold, the reason why Thou dost pursue thy love across the sky O tell us, lamp of gold, the reason why Thou dost pursue thy love across the sky O heed my tunes, thou loving moons, Who ply the sky above me Perchance thy light, this darkling night Shall find me one to love me My aching heart must play its part, For ‘tis alone and tender And waxing bright, in thy fair light, Shall rise to nightly splendour! O prithee tell me true, ye moons above – Shall I have naught but thee to be my love? O prithee tell me true, ye moons above; Shall I have naught but thee to be my love?