Lapvona Quotes

What about heaven, Ina? Don’t you want to go?’ ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I won’t know anyone.

that love was a distinctly human defect which God had created to counterbalance the power of human greed.

When she asked the birds what to do, they answered that they didn't know anything about love, that love was a distinctly human defect which God had created to counterbalance the power of human greed.

When God gives you more than you can tolerate, you turn to instinct. And instinct is a force beyond anyone’s control.

I am interested in disgust.

Marek guessed that Villiam could use his wealth to influence God's will. That was the way things worked, Marek thought. If you didn't have money, you had to be good.

Jude didn’t understand forgiveness. He was incapable of forgiveness because he was so addled by his own grief and grudges. This bad blood was what kept Jude’s heart pumping.

But such was death - it had nothing to say.

Blood was the wine of the spirit, was it not?

Since he was little, a scraped knee or a whipped back, anything to make his body hurt, felt like the hand of God upon him.

He went outside, desperate for something, anything—an embrace or a blow to the head.

He loved not the Christ but himself and the thrill of keeping people in line. He liked wearing his habit, and he liked the preposterous authority that his position granted him. Since his assignment in Lapvona, he had not given any real sermons. He simply translated Villiam's rule into language that sounded vaguely religious.

She’d done everything so many times in her life, she drifted between now and then, often getting lost in between.

Open up your heart,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid it’s broken.’ ‘If I was knocking at your door, would you open it?’ ‘I would, of course.’ ‘Even if the door was broken.’ ‘I would try.

She had indeed seen death and she was not afraid of it. What scared her were other people and their immovable selfishness.

Strange, he thought next, that fire hurts to the touch. Fire gives light. Shouldn’t the darkness hurt instead? Hell ought to be pure darkness. Nothingness.

Yes, Marek was her son, but he was a bastard, a scar. That’s what a child of rape was, in fact—evidence.

Beauty is the Devil’s shade,’ Jude said.

Children are selfish, she thought. They rob you of life. They thrive as you toil and wither, and then they bury you, their tears never once falling out of regret for what they’ve stolen. That

I finally heard the truth,’ Grigor told him. He couldn’t explain when he’d heard it, or from whom, but he’d heard it in his heart, without words, a deep knowing, and nothing could hurt him or frighten him now. It was so simple that the reasoning of it tended to slip through his mind as soon as he touched it, like a rabbit in the woods. Once you breathe, it’s gone.

She was, to him, a holy grace, far more powerful than any priest or nun. God lived in her eyes. That was how he had fallen for her—like a religious conversion. It had struck him the moment he’d seen her, a profound, eternal love, the kind that occurred by cause of fate, against reason.

Carnage or contribution. That’s what priests always say.

Villiam was asleep in his four-post bed. He dreamt that the bed was made of human flesh, a living thing of fat and soft baby skin.

I feel stupid when I pray. —“Anyone,” Demi Lovato

Marek lay back. He felt the warmth from the sun on his face, and felt his back relax a bit against the hard stone floor. 'Do you think my bones are right?' he asked Villiam. 'Please, don't ask me about bones. Tonight, we will only talk about normal things.' Marek nodded. He had no idea what that meant. The wine had made him a bit softer in his mind, but no wiser.

Please, Erno. It’s Sunday. It’s evil to discuss money on the Sabbath, don’t you know?’ ‘It’s Tuesday, my lord,’ Erno muttered. ‘Every day is Sunday in God’s kingdom.’ ‘Then when would we work?’ ‘Please, Erno. Clod needs to concentrate.

But Jude’s piety was a kind of violent urge and not the love and peace it ought to be, Marek thought.

What scared her were other people and their immovable selfishness

He’d seen a lot of blood today. That was all right. Blood was the wine of the spirit, was it not?

She was a strong girl, but she carried death with her. Death is like that. Like a beggar that follows you down the road. And kills you.

Could Marek be just another babe to care for? Oh, that would be nice, wouldn’t it? To be pitied just once? Didn’t God owe him that, after all the horror he had endured?

She could deny her flesh, but she was still human.

She was empty. ‘I am an object in the room,’ she had told herself. ‘That is all that I am.’ This belief spared her the agony of her own intelligence while she was a slave to the nuns.

Children are selfish, she thought. They rob you of life. They thrive as you toil and wither, and then they bury you, their tears never once falling out of regret for what they’ve stolen.

He had expected the priest to be a large, virile northerner—he’d imagined that any man of authority must have blue eyes—but he looked like an average Lapvonian, only dressed in a long black robe.

He loved the sun. Sitting and watching his lambs in an afternoon, not a shadow in sight, Jude could feel God’s lips on his cheek every time he turned to face the light. That was God for him—the kiss of sun.

Christmas in Lapvona had a strange, ominous tilt to it that winter. The birth of the last Christ was so many hundreds of years ago, and there was some trepidation around celebrating while Villiam’s new wife was pregnant with the next one. This

There was something strange in her face, a blankness that made her hard to see. He didn't believe that a man was something holy--the servants' faith did not recognize holiness in human beings. They didn't care for Jesus. Flesh was mortal. God was not. God was not alive. God was life itself. And life was invisible. This was why Clod felt he had to make art, to give proof of life.

Grigor looked around. Everything he could see -- the great room, the finery, the food, the lord's spectacular Christmas costume, none of it inspired him. It was not God's fortune, but the bounty of a thief: Villiam hadn't worked for his blessings. The villagers had.

Lapvona was a lonely place. There was no church, and there was no God to speak of. Nobody prayed. Everyone just talked about themselves and each other. If it weren't for Grigor mentioning it, they would have forgotten about the Christ Child. Nobody believed it was a true messiah, as nobody believed in the meaning of a messiah anymore.

Her absence hung over both of them like a hovering bird. Marek felt the bird wasn’t close enough, that it was just out of reach, that if it descended a bit farther he could grab hold of its foot and it would take him away, fly him to some better place. And Jude felt the bird was too close. If he looked up at it, it would scratch his eyes out. The difference was that Jude had known Agata. And he knew the truth about her absence. All Marek knew was that she had given her life for his own, like any good mother would do.

He didn’t believe she could carry a child to term. She was too old—already twenty-eight—and too frail.

You will be so happy and free, you’ll sing.

God had not appeared to her in all that time. So she preferred to stay faithless rather than hold on to a fantasy. It

Marek guessed that Villiam could use his wealth to influence God’s will. That was the way things worked, Marek thought. If you didn’t have money, you had to be good.

He spent all his time trying to remember, as if memories could sustain him.

She became completely consumed by her longing for something to hate.

Having never known love before, he couldn’t recognize the feeling. Something was terribly wrong, he felt.

There was no right way to deal with grief, of course. When God gives you more than you can tolerate, you turn to instinct. And instinct is a force beyond anyone’s control.

I am glad that my love is greater than your vanity.

Perhaps God liked her best, she thought, because she asked for so little.

But God wasn't listening. God didn't care about Jude. God was busy lifting the sun for another day.

I need an unattractive man to run the stable,’ he told Barnabas. ‘Your cousin Jude would do well,’ the priest had said.

Marek liked birds because he felt they were liminal creatures between heaven and Earth

People don't like it when the truth is easy.

Beauty is the devil's shade.

Sometimes something new can remind you of something you lost.

But Jude's piety was a kind of violent urge and not the love and peace it ought to be

As Villiam was powerful and unafraid, Marek believed that pleasing Villiam was akin to pleasing God.

God lived in her eyes.....It had struck him the moment he'd seen her, a profound eternal love, the kind that occurred by cause of fate, against reason.

Clod was an artist, a servant to beauty and his own imagination. He had no allegiance to humanity at all.

He was incapable of forgiveness because he was so addled by his own grief and grudges.

The bandit didn't struggle or curse. He said only 'God forgive you', the same words Marek had said to him a few days earlier.

He lay on his side, as if in a casual response, but as Marek squinted down he saw that sphere of blood was widening across the rock like a halo around the boy's head.

...the bandits cries now were not in anguish or petulance, but the rapture of salvation, even if they sounded exactly the same.

I feel stupid when I pray.' - Demi Lovato

Why should I be a slave to fear if Jesus has already saved me?' Grigor asked.

men of power often enjoyed the company of boys, and there were great gifts to be gleaned from a lord's affections.

Death is like that. Like a beggar that follows you down the road. And kills you.

It seemed the other horses didn't like the blind one, like a wounded soldier who had seen too much and reminded them of their own possible fate.

He made a lame attempt to comfort the people, to soothe their guilt and the scars of their hardship. All he could tell them was that God worked in mysterious ways.

And although she knew Marek was not his, she recognized their similarities—blood wasn't all that mattered, after all.

They were green, like his own. But they were cruel eyes, Marek thought.

Be good and you'll leave nothing behind. Be bad and you'll live forever in your rotting body in the ground.

Marek wished he could be more like Villiam, dumb and numb to other people's sorrow.

I feel stupid when I pray. -Demi Lovato

He wiped the blood on his sleeve and looked at it. Was it not the same color as the bandit's blood?

Beauty is the Devil’s shade (p. 6)

It’s like it all never happened,’ they said, and nobody spoke of the people they’d eaten, though the absence of certain families was acute at Sunday Mass—half the pews sat empty. The

....was their expectation that faith ought to be painless. As if faith required no effort. Anyone could whip himself and say he's faithful. Real faith was earned through self-denial.

...that he was saved and had been saved, and only his doubt had kept him from ever being truly happy. But now he had a chance. He could walk around with love in his heart, fearlessly.

When she asked the birds what to do they said they said they didn’t know anything about love That love was a distinctly human defect Which god had created to balance the power of human greed.

When she asked the birds what to do, they answered that they didn’t know anything about love, that love was a distinctly human defect which God had created to counterbalance the power of human greed.

The servants’ faith excluded marriage. They didn’t believe a man should own a woman, nor should a man be responsible for her welfare. They believed that everyone should be free to do as they please. The

I finally heard the truth," Grigor told him. He couldn't explain when he'd heard it, or from whom, but he'd heard it in his heart, without words, a deep knowing, and nothing could hurt him or frighten him now.

Vuna and Jon were not free. Their idea of life was to work the land and worship, and to have another child who could work the land and worship when they were gone. Their only anxiety was in what the land would produce for them. Didn’t they know that the land was God itself, the sun and moon and rain, that it was all God? The life in their seeds of wheat, the manure from the cow, that was God. The priest had nothing to do with it.

Perhaps hell is a tiny place, a single flame, Clod thought now. The thought moved him, and he imagined the pureness of the flame as he gazed through the darkness at the candelabra. Just one flame could contain all the evil that has come and gone. What if it were that easy to snuff it out? Would he do it? No. He would never interfere. Just the image of the white light, the way it swayed in the slow breeze floating through the manor, that was what mattered to him. If he could draw that, he thought, and make the picture move somehow, that would be interesting. He could suspend the drawing from a string and let the wind push it to and fro. Strange, he thought next, that fire hurts to the touch. Fire gives light. Shouldn’t the darkness hurt instead? Hell ought to be pure darkness. Nothingness. The thought chilled him. There was nothing to see there. He shrugged and pulled his back away from the wall, feeling his shirt stick to his skin with sweat.

And what did Grigor really want from Villiam? An apology? All lords were corrupt. If he wanted to live freely, he would have to live like Ina lived, in a hovel. Poverty had its limitations, but if you had nothing, there was nothing to be stolen. He

They made her do the worst of the work at the abbey—cleaning the latrines, slaughtering the animals, sleeping with the dogs at night. God had not appeared to her in all that time. So she preferred to stay faithless rather than hold on to a fantasy. It

She was, to him, a holy grace, far more powerful than any priest or nun. God lived in her eyes. That was how he had fallen for her– like a religious conversion. It had struck him the moment he'd seen her, a profound, eternal love, the kind that occurred by cause of fate, against reason.

She was, to him, a holy grace, far more powerful than any priest or nun. God lived in her eyes. That was how he had fallen for her - like a religious conversion. It had struck him the moment he'd seen her, a profound, eternal love, the kind that occurred by cause of fate, against reason.

Marek left the square and walked calmly now, a feeling of goodness tingling in his left arm, which he took to mean that he had earned a bit of grace while the rest of the village had reviled the bandit and suffered now in darkness, laying down the dead, who were, unlike the rest of them, at peace.

Why should I be a slave to fear if Jesus has already saved me?" Grigor asked. "Everyone is ashamed. So they pretend they're perfect. But everybody sins. Only God is perfect." Jude said. "That's what I keep telling my children," Grigor said. "People don't like when the truth is easy," Jude said.

She had a wisdom that nobody could recognize; the deaths of her children hadn't torn the innocence from her heart, but had calloused her against her own rage. She knew that fighting was pointless. As a woman, she would always lose. It was not her place to stage a battle, but to back away to preserve what life she had left to live.

But he was more eager to just be with Ina again, to feel the space that she created with her mind. The world felt bigger in her presence"......"Ina had taken him in and touched his mind with hers. She did not address him like a man, but a neutral soul"......"He could change now, like he wanted to change. He felt there was more to learn from Ina.

Marek closed his eyes and prayed until the bandit stopped wailing. He opened them in time for the bandit to spit in his face. He knew not to flinch, as that would show disgust, and God would judge him. Instead, he bent down and kissed the bandit's head, then licked his lips to taste the salt of the man's sweat and the rancid oils caked into his reddish hair,

Once Villiam caught his breath, he thanked the nun, promised her fine hospitality as long as she cared to stay, and then went on eating, a bit more carefully this time, engaging the priest in a long discussion of hell, its landscape, its economy, what kind of house the Devil lived in, how he managed his servants, and how he had escaped into the realm of Earth. And then he asked, as though he might be serious, ‘How long will God keep heaven’s gate closed? Hypothetically speaking.

Marek watched in a daze, his mind strangely clear, but perhaps not altogether lucid. He thought he saw something hidden beneath the cover of calm in the servants’ faces. Underneath the placid kindness, he saw, was disgust and pity. The flatness and ease with which they performed their services were not in deference, but in charity. They were not doting servants to Villiam, they were slaves in their hearts to God. And they were judgmental observers. Who could blame them for having judgment? Marek was jealous of their power.

Jude and Marek were like enemies now, each keeping his own secret belief about the other. To Marek, Jude was a ghost, a revenant of guilt. And so was Agata. To Jude, the boy was a blight, a curse, something that had come to Earth to punish him for a sin he couldn't recall. Hadn't he been a good man? Hadn't he prayed enough? Hadn't he lashed himself correctly? It never occurred to Jude that the capture and detention of Agata as an adolescent was anything but his rightful duty as a man. He was a man and she was a girl. How could it have been wrong to have claimed her as his? He'd saved her, after all, wandering the woods with blood still oozing out of her mouth. If he hadn't, she would have died, been eaten by the wolves or frozen to death.

Villiam wondered at the bleeding eye sockets. The horse blinked its long lashes, neighed, then seemed to stare deeply at Villiam, who kissed it on its dry black nose. The feeling of the chapped skin against his lips elicited a thought—a revelation. ‘This horse is a revelation!’ he exclaimed. Then he snapped his fingers and demanded the stableboys do a little dance for him. He clapped along to the rhythm of their feet. Villiam felt very happy. Of all those at the manor, he was the only one to appreciate that the horse had found its way home without sight. That was loyalty. Forget Dibra. She, like Luka, would get what she deserved. Villiam would not lament his wife’s disappearance. No, he would celebrate. Something good was coming. Villiam believed this in his heart as much as he believed himself to be at the heart of all things. ‘Hallelujah!’ And just like that, thunder clapped, and the sky filled with black clouds. ‘You see?’ Villiam cried. He kissed the blind horse’s snout again and trudged back up to the manor, just in time to stay out of the rain.