Luna Moon Quotes

who knows if the moon's a balloon,coming out of a keen city in the sky--filled with pretty people? ( and if you and I should get into it,if they should take me and take you into their balloon, why then we'd go up higher with all the pretty people than houses and steeples and clouds: go sailing away and away sailing into a keen city which nobody's ever visited,where always it's Spring)and everyone's in love and flowers pick themselves

How many feelings can one heart hold?... Infinite, Luna thought. The way the universe is infinite. It is light and dark and endless motion; it is space and time, and space within space, and time within time. And she knew: there is no limit to what the heart can carry.

Luna! Artemis! lovers' spats are icing on the cake! Your just showing off to us single people! -Minako

The moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.

Luna is short for mi luna. My moon. Because no matter how dark the nights got, you were always there, shining so brightly that I always found my way through.

It was a fine thing indeed, Luna thought, being eleven. She loved the symmetry of it, and the lack of symmetry. Eleven was a number that was visually even, but functionally not - it looked one way and behaved in quite another. Just like most eleven-year-olds, or so she assumed.

Sweet Crescent Moon, up in the sky, Won't you sing your song to Earth as she passes by? Your sweetest silver melody, a rhythm and a ryme, A lullaby of pleasant dreams as you make your climb. Send the forests off to bed, the mountains tuck in tight, Rock the ocean gently, and the deserts kiss goodnight. Sweet Crescent Moon, up in the sky, You sing your song so sweetly after sunshine passes by.

How many feelings can one heart hold? She looked at her grandmother. At her mother. At the man protecting his family. Infinite, Luna thought. The way the universe is infinite. It is light and dark and endless motion; it is space and time, and space within space, and time within time. And she knew: there is no limit to what the heart can carry.

Nothing tells you that you are not on Earth anymore than exhaling at one price and inhaling at another.

So little Moon Pig put her snout into the soft dandelion head, which was round, and glowing, just like the moon. She blew and blew...

Mi madre era eterna como la luna. Viva o muerta, la madre o la ausencia de la madre siempre determina la vida de una persona".

We organized First and Second Volunteer Defense Gunners of Free Luna-two regiments so that First could snub lowly Second and Second could be jealous of First.

And who shall you be once you don your grand disguise?" "La luna," she said with a smile. "Then I shall be la notte to your moon" Archer lifted the hard black mask he held and slipped it over his thinner silk one

Y al final se queda dormido porque la espera es un dolor sordo y continuo, como un acúfeno del alma.

It's great to know that others can feel shy like me, too," smiled Luna, "and that I can make them laugh with my funny Moon Crater Face

Dios me creó para que yo lo imitara de noche. Él es el Sol, yo soy la Luna. Mi luz flota sobre todo lo que es fútil o ha terminado, fuego fatuo, márgenes de río, pantanos y sombras.

The difference between the "natural" individuation process, which runs its course unconsciously, and the one which is consciously realized, is tremendous. In the first case consciousness nowhere intervenes; the end remains as dark as the beginning. In the second case so much darkness comes to light that the personality is permeated with light, and consciousness necessarily gains in scope and insight. The encounter between conscious and unconscious has to ensure that the light which shines in the darkness is not only comprehended by the darkness, but comprehends it. The filius solis et lunae (the son of the Sun and Moon) is the possible result as well as the symbol of this union of opposites. It is the alpha and omega of the process, the mediator and intermedius. "It has a thousand names," say the alchemists, meaning that the source from which the individuation process rises and the goal toward which it aims is nameless, ineffable.

Oh! Dione of Opalescent Skin Ethereal. Your oospheric containment disperses argentous streams of velvety rays that cradle recesses of soul in gossamer of beatific visions.La Luna! Your enigmatic smile. Your watery countenance stirs the imagination and bestows inspiration on those receptive to Your Sacred Gifts.

Somos tan egocéntricos que nos creemos la medida de todas las cosas, pero el tiempo nos arrebatará todo lo que somos, todo lo que tenemos, todo lo que llegaremos a construir.

The sense of power, of human ability, was so strong. Many of the men cried. Men are so easily moved.

The present is an illusion.

Luna drifted off to sleep, hearing Ms Cardinal's song in the distance. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her body made little movements. She was dreaming of Maria cuddling her lovingly. What a happy dream that was!

She grabbed her briefcase and took a step toward him. “You don’t have a last name?” “Everyone has a last name.” His hand hovered in the air, waiting. He was forcing her to cross the marble floor to meet him, and like a Luna moth drawn to a midnight moon, she drifted toward him. When she reached him, she took his hand and looked up into his face. “Is it Jones? Smith? Or Brown?” His lips twitched. “None of the above.” “And you won’t tell me?” “It’s not necessary information.” She tilted her head, studying his angular features. “You don’t look like an Adrian.” His smile broadened. “Imagine that.” “More like a Carlos, or a Juan, or a Diego.” “Those are Hispanic names.” “Aren’t you Hispanic?” “I’m anything you want me to be.

The cool enchantment of evening has arrived after the prostrating heat of summer's day and we lie quietly in anticipation of Your luminous appearance - Mysterious Selene, Whose Lunar Orb relieves the dark of night.

We always thought the robot apocalypse would be fleets of killer drones and war mecha the size of apartment blocks and terminators with red eyes. Not a row of mechanised checkouts in the local Extra and the alco station; online banking; self-driving taxis; an automated triage system in the hospital. One by one, the bots came and replaced us.

The might and magic of money is not what it allows you to own; it is what it allows you to be. Money is freedom.

Bullets are incompatible with pressurised environments and complex machinery.

Humans are not made for endless light. Humans need their darknesses.

Es mi cielo, mi luna, y todas mis estrellas. My sky, my moon, and all my stars.

Her grandmother had told her that Moonwishes were magic

Guitarra Fueron a cazar guitarras, bajo la luna llena. Y trajeron ésta, pálida, fina, esbelta, ojos de inagotable mulata, cintura de abierta madera. Es joven, apenas vuela. Pero ya canta cuando oye en otras jaulas aletear sones y coplas. Los sonesombres y las coplasolas. Hay en su jaula esta inscripción: Cuidado: sueña.” Guitar They went out hunting guitars under the full moon and brought back this one: pale, elegant, shapely, eyes of inexhaustible mulatta, a waist of open wood. She’s young, she barely flies. But already she sings when she hears the flutter of sones and couplets in other cages. The somber sones and the lonely couplets. There is this inscription on her cage: Beware: she dreams.

No se le permitió a nadie perderse el parestésico paréntesis de aquel histórico día en que los despiadados seres puros de la raza inhumana enviaban un hombre a la luna.

La luna es un banco de metáforas arruinado.

—Ginger, dime dónde estamos justo ahora. —Nosotros en la luna. Siempre en la luna.

It’s so much better to have sex with someone who’s always available, knows what you want and who loves you more deeply than anyone else ever can. Yourself.

You’re so terrestrial,

We always thought the robot apocalypse would be fleets of killer drones and war mecha the size of apartment blocks and terminators with red eyes. Not a row of mechanised checkouts

Ho fatto molti stupidi errori, - mi disse, - se ne fanno nella vita. I veri acciacchi dell'età sono i rimorsi.

La persona que más amaba se había ido para siempre. El príncipe no iba a regresar para despertarme de mi letargo mágico con un beso. Al fin y al cabo yo tampoco era una princesa.

She called me Night, because I loved the darkness And I nicknamed her Luna, because she reflected the sun

Bella: Mi sentivo una luna solitaria – dopo che il mio pianeta era stato distrutto da un cataclisma – che si ostinava a girare attorno ad uno spazio vuoto, facendosi beffe della gravità.

Love is private and primitive and a bit on the funky and frightening side. I think of the Luna card in the Tarot deck: some strange, huge crustacean, its armor glistening and its pinchers wiggling, clatters out of a pool while wild dogs howl at a bulging moon. Underneath the hearts and flowers, love is loony like that. Attempts to housebreak it, to refine it, to dress the crabs up like doves and make them sing soprano always result in thin blood. You end up with a parody.

La luna era ormai alta alta nel cielo, s'era rimpicciolita e pareva non volesse più aver che fare col mondo, tutta assorta nella contemplazione di quello che ci stava al di là. Al mondo, pareva che ormai mostrasse solo il sedere; e, da quel sederino d'argento, pioveva giù una luce grandiosa, che invadeva tutto.

Edward a Bella: Prima di te, Bella, la mia vita era una notte senza luna. Molto buia, ma con qualche stella: punti di luce e razionalità... Poi hai attraversato il cielo come una meteora. All'improvviso, tutto ha preso fuoco: c'era luce, c'era bellezza. Quando sei sparita, la meteora è scomparsa dietro l' orizzonte e il buio è tornato. Non era cambiato nulla, ma i miei occhi erano rimasti accecati. Non vedevo più le stelle. Niente aveva più senso. C'era una sola cosa alla quale dovevo credere se volevo continuare a vivere: la certezza della sua esistenza. Per me era tutto. Al resto avrei saputo resistere. A patto che lui fosse ancora vivo e reale.

Mystery the moon A hole in the sky A supernatural nightlight So full but often right A pair of eyes, a closin' one, A chosen child of golden sun A marble dog that chases cars To farthest reaches of the beach and far beyond into the swimming sea of stars A cosmic fish they love to kiss They're giving birth to constellation No riffs and oh, no reservation. If they should fall you get a wish or dedication May I suggest you get the best For nothing less than you and I Let's take a chance as this romance is rising over before we lose the lighting Oh bella bella please Bella you beautiful luna Oh bella do what you do Do do do do do You are an illuminating anchor Of leagues to infinite number Crashing waves and breaking thunder Tiding the ebb and flows of hunger You're dancing naked there for me You expose all memory You make the most of boundary You're the ghost of royalty imposing love You are the queen and king combining everything Intertwining like a ring around the finger of a girl I'm just a singer, you're the world All I can bring ya Is the language of a lover Bella luna, my beautiful, beautiful moon How you swoon me like no other May I suggest you get the best Of your wish may I insist That no contest for little you or smaller I A larger chance happened, all them they lie On the rise, on the brink of our lives Bella please Bella you beautiful luna Oh bella do what you do Bella luna, my beautiful, beautiful moon How you swoon me like no other, oh oh oh ((Bella Luna))

They must be looking everywhere for you," said Tawny, stretching out her wings to their full span - which was very far indeed! It seemed to Luna that Tawny was saying that Maria was looking for her across the whole wide world.

There was a reason she was so romantic about the moon. It never asked her questions or begged for the answers, nor did she ever have to prove herself to it. It was always just there – breathing, shining, and in ways most humans can’t understand.

It is serene and peaceful on the higher levels of the barrio, closer to the dome. Closer to the never-ending space outside. If she looks out into space too long her gut flips at the slightest thought of what would happen if the dome were to crack open.

There was a restlessness between her ribs, itching and pulling at her heart. A feeling that she was meant to do much more. She and Roxy had gone to see Dead Poets Society a couple years ago, and afterward that quote from Robin Williams’s character had echoed endlessly in Luna’s head: “Make your lives extraordinary.

«Merda…» Furono queste le sole parole che riuscirono a raggiungere le labbra di Dima e gli fuoriuscirono dalla bocca. La pelle di Irina era più bianca del solito, quasi trasparente, e i capelli erano luminosi e setosi come una nuvola di zucchero filato. Nonostante lei fosse avvolta di stracci e di sporcizia, per Dima quella che aveva di fronte non era una donna, ma una dea scesa tra i mortali per illuminare la sera e sostituire la luna nel firmamento notturno. Irina si fermò e rimase immobile senza pronunciare alcuna parola. In attesa. Era cosciente di mostrare molto più di quello che qualcuno avrebbe dovuto vedere, ma della complessità di quel momento la preoccupava solo che l’uomo che amava la guardasse con occhi differenti. Lo sguardo di disprezzo per chi è diverso. (brano inedito tratto da Teufel, il Diavolo in uscita a fine Marzo)

How many feelings can one heart hold? She looked at her grandmother. At her mother. At the man protecting his family. Infinite, Luna thought. The way the universe is infinite.

Handsome boys fighting in not many clothes. Even better than handsome boys marrying.

In the time that man has been here there is one thing that all have seen and gazed upon in wonder. Luna.

Así que me fui y lo dejé allí, a la luz de la luna, vigilando la nada.

A good children's book is a conversation children and their parents share and talk about

[...], y me recordé a mí misma que el amor es irracional. Cuánto más quieres a alguien, menos lógica tiene todo. •La familia, 347

Bajo la luna gitana, las cosas la están mirando y ella no puede mirarlas. Under the gypsy moon, all things are watching her and she cannot see them.

She insisted that they focus their energies on raising a little girl who was, by nature, a tangle of mischief and motion and curiosity.

The freefall sex? Grossly oversold. Everything moves in all the wrong ways. Things get away from you. You have to strap everything down to get purchase. It’s more like mutual bondage.

We citizens of Luna are jailbirds and descendants of jailbirds. But Luna herself is a stern schoolmistress; those who have lived through her harsh lessons have no cause to feel ashamed.

Luna is there,” he called. “And she’s with that uninteresting crow. I despise that crow. Luna loves me best.” “You don’t despise anyone, Fyrian,” Glerk countered. “It’s not in your nature.

you ask me whether you are making inroads into my space and time. you ask me whether you are imposing yourself on me. and I smile and reflect that the moon knows how alone I have been all these years...

The men had to use condoms. You didn’t want to get hit by that stuff, flying. I said be kind and I did something worse than flying cum. I threw up all over him. I couldn’t stop throwing up. That’s not sexy.

The role of the twin flame is to aid you in the development of inner wholeness, harmony, and self-realization (Oneness) – but this journey certainly isn’t full of sunshine and roses. In fact, the meeting of two twin flames is like the meeting of the sun and moon, earth and sky, fire and water: both partners mirror precisely what the other lacks. Understandably this can create divine harmony, but also intense conflict within a relationship.

Che cos'ha mai di così seducente questa luna, vecchio astro defunto, che porta a spasso nel cielo, la sua faccia giallina e la sua triste luce di trapassata per turbare così noialtri, noi che siamo infiammati da erranti fantasie?

(the term ‘lunatic’ derives from luna, the Latin word for moon). Many writers, from antiquity onwards, maintained that the mad were directly affected by the phases of the moon, with the full moon being the cause of the greatest agitation.

The prices are vertiginous. Carlinhos and Wagner take a booth and they talk and dip their wafers of exquisite beef into the sauces but most of the time they keep companionable silence together, as close men do, and find they have communicated everything. Run

Si a él no le importaba lo que la gente hacía o dejaba de hacer, ¿por qué alguien iba a fijarse en él y criticarlo? ¿Por qué tenía que ser tan tímido? ¿Y por qué le daba tantas vueltas a las cosas? ¿No era capaz simplemente de disfrutar de aquel pequeño momento de paz?

That summer, there was a Name the Babies contest, an annual event organized by the Whale Museum on San Juan Island. A young girl from Bellingham submitted the winning entry. The little orca should be named "Luna", she wrote, because "the whale explores the ocean like the moon explores the Earth.

Tengo lo que puede considerarse una actitud muy anticuada y chovinista hacia las mujeres. Me gusta tratarlas como señoras: abrirles la puerta, invitarlas a cenar cuando tenemos una cita, llevarles flores, retirarles el asiento y todo eso. Si tuviese una mejor opinión de mí mismo, lo llamaría caballerosidad.

Insane’ probably means to have an innate mental problem, something that calls for professional treatment, while ‘lunatic’ means to have your sanity temporarily seized by the luna, which is ‘moon’ in Latin. In nineteenth-century England, if you were a certified lunatic and you committed a crime, the severity of the crime would be reduced a notch. The idea was that the crime was not so much the responsibility of the person himself as that he was led astray by the moonlight. Believe it or not, laws like that actually existed. In other words, the fact that the moon can drive people crazy was actually recognized in law.

Are you serious?” he asks in confusion as though I misunderstand something as basic as gravity. “Boy, allegiances crumble as soon as we board that shuttle. Some of your friends will be spirited away to the Moon Lords. Others will go to the Governors of the Gas Giants. Even a few to Luna. They will remember you as a legend of their youth, but that is it. And that legend will brook no loyalty. I’ve stood where you stand. I won my year, but loyalty isn’t found in these halls. It is the way things are.” “It is the way things were,” I say harshly, suprising him. But I believe what I say. “I am something different. I freed the enslaved and let the broken mend themselves. I gave them something you older generations can’t understand.” He chuckles, irritating me. “That is the problem with youth, Darrow. You forget that every generation has thought the same.” “But for my generation it is true.” No matter his confidence, I am right. He is wrong. I am the spark that will set the worlds afire. I am the hammer that cracks the chains.

La luna guardava la terra da vicino da più tempo di chiunque altro. Probabilmente era stata testimone di tutti i fenomeni accaduti e di tutte le azioni compiute quaggiù. Ma manteneva il silenzio e non raccontava nulla. Lassù non c’era aria né vento; il vuoto era adatto a conservare i ricordi. Nessuno era mai riuscito a sciogliere il cuore della luna.

Can we stop it?" Luna whispered. "No," Xan said. "It was stopped before, long ago, but that was a mistake. A good man died for nothing. A good dragon, too. Volcanoes erupt and the world changes. This is the way of things. But we can protect. I can't by myself - not anymore - and I suspect that you can't on your own. But together." She looked at Luna's mother. "Together, I think we can.

And the air smelled of milk and sweat and baking bread. Then sharp spice and skinned knees and damp hair. Then working muscles and soapy skin and clear mountain pools. And something else, too. A dark, strange, earthy smell. And Luna cried out, just once. And Glerk felt a crack in his heart, as thin as a pencil line. He pressed his four hands to his chest, trying to keep it from breaking in half.

Sobre el rostro del aljibe se mecía la gitana. Verde carne, pelo verde, con ojos de fría plata. Un carámbano de luna la sostiene sobre el agua. La noche se puso íntima como una pequeña plaza. Over the mouth of the cistern the gypsy girl was swinging, green flesh, her hair green, with eyes of cold silver. An icicle of moon holds her up above the water. The night became intimate like a little plaza.

Una donna giovane e affascinante un giorno sostenne, parlando con me non ricordo a quale proposito, che i colpi di luna sono mille volte più pericolosi dei colpi di sole. Li si prende, diceva, senza accorgersene, passeggiando nelle belle serate è non si guarisce mai; si resta pazzi, non pazzi furiosi, pazzi da rinchiudere, ma pazzi di una speciale follia, dolce e continua; non si pensa più come gli altri uomini.

Prima di te, Bella, la mia vita era una notte senza luna. Molto buia, ma con qualche stella: punti di luce e razionalità… Poi hai attraversato il cielo come una meteora. All’improvviso, tutto ha preso fuoco: c’era luce, c’era bellezza. Quando sei sparita, la meteora è scomparsa dietro l’orizzonte e il buio è tornato. Non era cambiato nulla, ma i miei occhi erano rimasti accecati. Non vedevo più le stelle. Niente aveva più senso.

Luna's magic was infused in every bone, every tissue, every cell. Her mother's magic was more like a jumble of trinkets left in a basket after a long journey - bits and pieces knocking together. Still, Luna could feel her mother's magic - as well as her mother's longing and love - buzzing against her skin. It emboldened the power surging inside her, directing the swells of magic. Luna held her mother's hand a little bit tighter.

Prima di te, Bella, la mia vita era una notte senza luna. Molto buia, ma con qualche stella: punti di luce e razionalità... Poi hai attraversato il cielo come una meteora. All'improvviso, tutto ha preso fuoco: c'era luce, c'era bellezza. Quando sei sparita, la meteora è scomparsa dietro l'orizzonte e il buio è tornato. Non era cambiato nulla, ma i miei occhi erano rimasti accecati. Non vedevo più le stelle. Niente aveva più senso.

She insisted that they focus their energies on raising a little girl who was, by nature, a tangle of mischief and motion and curiosity. Each day, Luna’s ability to break rules in new and creative ways was an astonishment to all who knew her. She tried to ride the goats, tried to roll boulders down the mountain and into the side of the barn (for decoration, she explained), tried to teach the chickens to fly, and once almost drowned in the swamp. (Glerk saved her. Thank goodness.) She gave ale to the geese to see if it made them walk funny (it did) and put peppercorns in the goat’s feed to see if it would make them jump (they didn’t jump; they just destroyed the fence). Every day she goaded Fyrian into making atrocious choices or she played tricks on the poor dragon, making him cry. She climbed, hid, built, broke, wrote on the walls, and spoiled dresses when they had only just been finished. Her hair ratted, her nose smudged, and she left handprints wherever she went.

Bella, mi vida era como una noche sin luna antes de encontrarte, muy oscura, pero al menos había estrellas, puntos de luz y motivaciones... Y entonces tú cruzaste mi cielo como un meteoro. De pronto, se encendió todo, todo estuvo lleno de brillantez y belleza. Cuando tú te fuiste, cuando el meteoro desapareció por el horizonte, todo se volvió negro. No había cambiado nada, pero mis ojos habían quedado cegados por la luz. Ya no podía ver las estrellas. Y nada tenía sentido. •La verdad, 523

You kept asking me why I called you Luna. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid it would send you running for the hills. Even before we kissed, before we were anything other than a publicist and her client, you were a light in my life. A persistent, sometimes scary one, but a light all the same.” Xavier’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Luna is short for mi luna. My moon. Because no matter how dark the nights got, you were always there, shining so brightly that I always found my way through.

Estatico, cadde a sedere sul suo carico, davanti alla buca. Eccola, eccola là, eccola là, la Luna... C'era la Luna! La Luna! E Ciàula si mise a piangere, senza saperlo, senza volerlo, dal gran conforto, dalla grande dolcezza che sentiva, nell'averla scoperta, là, mentr'ella saliva pel cielo, la Luna, col suo ampio velo di luce ignara dei monti, dei piani, delle valli che rischiarava, ignara di lui, che pure per lei non aveva più paura, né si sentiva più stanco, nella notte ora piena del suo stupore.

while ‘lunatic’ means to have your sanity temporarily seized by the luna, which is ‘moon’ in Latin. In nineteenth-century England, if you were a certified lunatic and you committed a crime, the severity of the crime would be reduced a notch. The idea was that the crime was not so much the responsibility of the person himself as that he was led astray by the moonlight. Believe it or not, laws like that actually existed. In other words, the fact that the moon can drive people crazy was actually recognized in law.

I can claim a few successes as a minor prophet. I placed the first lunar impact in 1959, and Luna II hit the Mare Imbrium at 21:01 GMT on September 13, 1959. I was watching hopefully through my Questar telescope in Columbo as the Moon sank into the Indian Ocean, but saw nothing. Prelude to Space was written just two years after my 1945 paper on synchronous communications satellites and was, therefore, the first work of fiction in which the idea of “comsats” was advocated. I have reason to believe that it had some influence on the men who turned this dream into reality.

scales scattered under her wings and two teardrop silver scales in the corners of her eyes. A startled jolt ran through Luna, waking her up like a bolt of lightning. This dragon looked like Clearsight. Or at least, the way Clearsight always looked in pictures. Luna sat up as the two of them came closer, with Jerboa behind them. “Oh wow,” said the one with the earring, noticing Luna. “What —” said the Clearsight-looking dragon. “How — ?” “I believe this is our first visitor from the lost continent,” Jerboa said. “She blew in with the storm.” The little black dragon sat down and tipped her head as though she was listening to something far away. “I’m Moon,” she said, “and this is Qibli. Are you really from across the sea?” “I guess so,” Luna said. “It was kind of an accident, coming here. I’m Luna.” “Hi, Luna,” said Qibli. “This must be pretty weird for you, too. You have so many wings! I mean, that’s cool. Is it hard to fly with all those wings? That’s a silly question. I can’t believe we’re meeting a dragon from another continent! This is amazing!” “Are you like Clearsight?” Luna asked Moon. “Can you see the future?” Moon’s eyebrows shot up. “You know about Clearsight?” “I know some things about her,” Luna said, thinking darkly of the Book and the lies Queen Wasp had told about it. “I know she came from here, and she had scales like yours. I always wondered if there were other dragons over here who could see the future, too.

Why is it called tierra and not tierro? Why is it round, like two breasts sewn together, like the two halves of an orange—a naranja—or the belly of a pregnant woman, and has never had any phallic tendencies, even while it was first forming? Why do we say naturaleza, in the feminine, and not naturalezo? Why did the old poets prefer to write la mar and not el mar, the way most people do today? Why is it la noche, night, la madrugada, dawn, la soledad, solitude, la ternura, tenderness, la felicidad, happiness, la luz, light, la luna, the moon, las constelaciones, the constellations, la voz, a person’s voice, las caricias, caresses, las flores, flowers, la melancolía, melancholy? Why would it seem that the really poetic words are in the feminine? But that’s nonsense. Mentira, lie, is feminine, and that’s not so poetic. And there are lots of poetic words that are masculine: el cielo, the sky, el alba, another word for dawn, el misterio, mystery, el desea, desire, el parto, childbirth, el bien, good as opposed to evil. And speaking of evil, that’s masculine in gender, el mal, and so is power, el poder. Although we shouldn’t forget el querer, loving, a word that belongs to the strategy of desire. And also has a little bit of goodness in it. Bondad, goodness, is a very pretty word, and very feminine—it’s conjugated in the feminine. On the other hand, muerte, death, which is feminine, no matter how she gets herself up to look attractive and profound, could she ever seduce anyone?

The Fable of the Comet and the Moon I have betrothed the O so inconstant moon, with a band of six of Saturn's seven rings, leaving the gas giant's last ring unpilfered as a cosmic lagniappe. The astrological charts cautioned me against such a star-crossed marriage, but I, being a headstrong comet hung with an enormous tail, and impetuous Luna, being a headlong stellar slut (satellites known to be as submissive as Asians for the right price), well, we both threw caution to the solar winds. Our wedding proceeded on cycle, with Luna luminescent and draped in silvery white (the craters of her complexion conveniently masked behind a veil of clouds). It was downhill from day one, Luna losing a sliver of herself every night and bit by bit revealing to me her dark side. Luna and I went our separate elliptical ways after a domestic disturbance where I called her a professional tailgater. and she called me a dirty snowball.

I was turned High Fae when an enemy shoved me into it. It’s raw power, but also … sentient.” “Like that mask you put on earlier.” Azriel folded his wings tightly, clearly wary of discussing such a powerful instrument with a potential enemy. But Nesta asked, “You detected a sentience in the Mask?” Bryce nodded. “It didn’t, like, talk to me or anything. I could just … sense it.” “What did it feel like?” Nesta asked quietly. “Like death,” Bryce breathed. “Like death incarnate.” Nesta’s eyes grew distant, grave. “That’s what the Mask can do. Give its wearer power over Death itself.” Bryce’s blood chilled. “And this is a … normal type of weapon here?” “No,” Azriel said from ahead, shoulders tense. “It is not.” Nesta explained, “The Mask is one of three objects of catastrophic power, Made by the Cauldron itself. The Dread Trove, we call it.” “And the Mask is … yours?” “I was also Made by the Cauldron,” Nesta said, “which allows me to wield it.” She spoke with no pride or boasting. Merely cold resignation and responsibility. “Made,” Bryce mused. “You said that my tattoo was Made.” “It is a mystery to us,” Nesta said. “You’d need to have had the ink Made by the Cauldron, in this world, for it to be so.” The Horn had come from here. Had been brought by Theia and Pelias into Midgard. Perhaps it, too, had been forged by the Cauldron. Bryce tucked away the knowledge, the questions it raised. “We don’t have anything like the Cauldron on Midgard. Solas is our sun god, Cthona his mate and the earth goddess. Luna is his sister, the moon; Ogenas, Cthona’s jealous sister in the seas. And Urd guides all—she’s the weaver of fate, of destiny.” Bryce added after a moment, “I think she’s the reason I’m here.” “Urd,” Nesta murmured. “The Fae say the Cauldron holds our fates. Maybe it became this Urd.

Pe 8 ianuarie 1947 s‑a născut David Robert Jones la Londra. Era într‑o miercuri. Ningea. Dincolo de Atlantic, un băiețel pe nume Elvis își serba cea de‑a douăsprezecea zi de naștere. Niciunul nu a arătat vreun talent muzical de timpuriu, deși amândoi aveau să zguduie din temelii muzica, dându‑i cu totul alte forme, până când însuși cuvântul „muzică“ a devenit de nerecunoscut. Când s‑a născut micul David, legenda spune că moașa ar fi declarat: „Acest copil a mai fost și altă dată pe lumea asta.“ Peste ani, David Robert Jones a devenit David Bowie, iar lumea a început să intre la bănuieli cum că poate a mai fost și pe alte planete. Când s‑a născut Elvis, pe 8 ianuarie, cu doisprezece ani mai devreme, fratele său geamăn nu a supraviețuit. Gladys Presley le va spune prietenilor că fiul ei Elvis „avea energie cât doi“. Elvis a fost obsedat mai toată viața de moartea fratelui său și de propria supraviețuire aparent întâmplătoare. Unii oameni au mai fost pe lumea asta, pe când alții nu apucă să vină deloc. Pe 8 ianuarie 1973 s‑a lansat cu succes pe orbită o navetă spațială numită Luna 21, pilotată de la distanță. După ce a aterizat pe Lună, Luna 21 a pus în mișcare un vehicul spațial robotic sovietic pe nume Lunohod 2, care a realizat peste 80.000 de fotografii TV și 86 de imagini panoramice. Micul David s‑a făcut mare, a compus cântece despre cosmonauți și spațiu și a lansat un album chiar în luna în care a aterizat Apollo 11 pe Lună. (Printre altele, Apollo mai e și zeul muzicii.) Peste mulți ani, fiul lui David Bowie va regiza un film cu titlul Luna. Micul Elvis s‑a făcut mare și a intrat într‑o formație cu numele Blue Moon Boys. Fiica lui se va mărita mai târziu cu un star al muzicii, celebru pentru un dans cu numele de moonwalk. Mai târziu, Elvis și‑a lansat o carieră solo și și‑a ales ca manager un tip pe nume Thomas Parker. „Nu cred că aș fi devenit vreodată cineva dacă n‑ar fi fost el“, urma să declare Elvis despre Parker. Porecla lui Thomas Parker era Colonelul Tom. Colonelul Tom l‑a preschimbat pe Elvis într‑o stea. David Bowie a compus un cântec despre un maior Tom, lăsat să plutească printre stele. Luna 21 și Lunohod 2 nu mai sunt acum pe Lună. Nici micul David, micul Elvis și dansatorul de moonwalk nu mai sunt în funcțiune. Însă muzica lor n‑a murit. Doar am ascultat‑o și știu. La fel și pozele realizate de Lunohod 2. Doar le‑am văzut și știu. Mă gândesc adesea la subtilele legături din univers, întinzându‑se peste timp și spațiu, unele sărind din stea în stea ca niște pietricele pe oglinda unui iaz, iar altele rămase să plutească în marele infinit aleatoriu. Mă gândesc la cuvinte gen reîncarnare, relativitate sau paralel. Și mă întreb dacă se întâmplă să aterizeze vreo pietricică de două ori în același loc. M‑am născut pe 8 ianuarie.

Perdido por perdido, bien jodido, el polvo más costoso de mi vida, se dijo. Se espantó de su propio chiste. Soy un monstruo, súbitamente un monstruo. La culpa había sido de la luna. Demasiado caliente, la luna del Chaco. Sobre todo, después de ocho años de ausencia. Perdido por perdido. Estaba jugado.

Luka tirò Nick più vicino. Quello che avevano era straordinario, imperfetto e bellissimo e spaventoso, tutto insieme. Era difficile dire certe cose a voce alta e sapere quali fossero le parole giuste da usare. Ma andava bene così, perché, quando due persone si trovavano, due persone fatte l’una per l’altra, le parole non avevano più importanza. Loro lo sapevano. E quella era la fortuna più grande

Hello Amber... I would like to know if you still intend to continue with the translation of the series (Figli Della Luna Vol. 12), the last published on April 14th. 2017 in Italy? We do not deserve the continuation? Here we are up to the 12th, but we see that in the US she continues with new publications in the series. Thanks for your response

The universe does not owe us our desires, but it may grant a good question.

Each day, Luna's ability to break rules in new and creative ways was an astonishment to all who knew her. She tried to ride the goats, tried to roll boulders down the mountain and into the side of the barn (for decoration, she explained), tried to teach the chickens to fly, and once almost drowned in the swamp. (Glerk saved her. Thank goodness.) She gave ale to the geese to see if it made them walk funny (it did) and put peppercorns in the goat's feed to see if it would make them jump (they didn't jump; they just destroyed the fence). Every day she goaded Fyrian into making atrocious choices or she played tricks on the poor dragon, making him cry. She climbed, hid, built, broke, wrote on the walls, and spoiled dresses when they had only just been finished. Her hair ratted, her nose smudged, and she left handprints wherever she went

You pay taxes, but the law doesn’t allow you any say in how they are spent, let alone the option to withhold them when you want to influence Government policy.

She soaked, washed, and trimmed three artichokes, baby purple Romagnas, which would sadly lose their beautiful hue once they hit hot water, then washed and peeled a bunch of pencil-thin asparagus. She pulled out several small zucchini and sliced them into translucent moons. She washed three leeks, slicing them down their centers and peeling back each layer, carefully rinsing away any sand, then chopped the white, light green, and some of the darker parts into a fine dice. She shelled a couple handfuls of spring peas, collecting them in a ceramic bowl. She chopped a bulb of fennel and julienned one more, then washed and spun the fronds. She washed the basil and mint and spun them dry. Last, she chopped the shallots. With the vegetables prepped, she started on the risotto, the base layer for the torta a strati alla primavera, or spring layer cake, she'd been finessing since her arrival, and which she hoped would become Dia's dish. She'd make a total of six 'torte': three artichoke and three asparagus. The trick was getting the risotto to the perfect consistency, which was considerably less creamy than usual. It had to be firm enough to keep its shape and support the layers that would be placed on top of it, but not gummy, the kiss of death for any risotto. She started with a 'soffritto' of shallot, fennel, and leek, adding Carnaroli rice, which she preferred to arborio, pinot grigio, and, when the wine had plumped the rice, spring-vegetable stock, one ladle at a time. Once the risotto had absorbed all the liquid and cooked sufficiently, she divided it into six single-serving crescent molds, placed the molds in a glass baking dish, and popped them all in the oven, which made the risotto the consistency of a soft Rice Krispies treat. Keeping the molds in place, she added the next layer, steamed asparagus in one version, artichoke in the other. A layer of basil and crushed pignoli pesto followed, then the zucchini rounds, flash-sauteed, and the fennel matchsticks, cooked until soft, and finally, the spring-pea puree. She carefully removed the first mold and was rewarded with a near-perfect crescent tower, which she drizzled with red-pepper coulis. Finally, she placed a dollop of chilled basil-mint 'sformato' alongside the crescent and radiated mint leaves around the 'sformato' so that it looked like a sun. The sun and the moon, 'sole e luna,' all anyone could hope for.

They then named one day after the Moon and another after the Sun, giving them a seven-day week. Seven was regarded as a perfect number; and the Sumerian week is of course our week, its days still named in the Sumerian fashion, though with Roman or Old English words. Saturn becomes Saturday, Sol (‘the sun’ in Latin) becomes Sunday. Luna, the moon, becomes lundi in French, or our Monday (Moon-day). Mars is mardi, though in English, thanks to a Norse god, Tuesday. Similarly, Wednesday is Wodin’s day, but Wodin was the god associated with the planet Mercury. Jupiter is jeudi; or in English, Thursday, Thor being the northern god associated with Jupiter. Venus is vendredi, or Friday. The Sumerians also developed a counting system based on the number sixty, which is divisible by eleven other numbers and so particularly handy for Bronze Age accountancy. From this we get our 60-second minutes, 60-minute hours, 360-day years and 360-degree circles.

The true legends are the broken ones: fragments of histories, tellings, embellishments, edits and re-edits. Truth abhors a narrative.