Narrow Road Between Desires Quotes

Laughter was the true applause you offered to the world for being beautiful.

I hope you know this truth down in the middle of your bones: You are amazing. You are fantastic. You are beautiful and brave and full of love. You are as lovely as the moon.

Bast knew true silence was unnatural. To a careful ear, silence sounded like a knife in the dark.

A little sweetness is all any of us have sometimes. It’s always worth it. Even if it takes some work.

But this? Convincing someone of the truth they were too twisted up to see? How could Bast begin to loosen such a knot? It was baffling. These creatures, fraught and frayed in their desire. A snake would never poison itself, but these folk made an art of it. They wrapped themselves in fears and wept at being blind. It was infuriating. It was enough to break a heart.

He blew across the reeds and cocked his head at their sweet discord. His bright knife flashed, and he tested the reeds again. This time they sounded almost true, which made the discord far more grating. There was a lesson there.

Bows and dresses don’t matter much,” he said. “She decided she’s a girl, so she’s a girl.

Some have a tender love for nature’s wild. Some are drawn to mortal hearth and home. Some find a secret place and stay, while others cannot help but roam.

Names are fine,” Bast said, shrugging with one shoulder. “But if you know what something’s called, it’s hard to keep wondering what it is.” He gestured. “The embrils aren’t like names that pin things to a page. Their nature is to twist and change. They remind us that the world is vast and deep. They teach us of the distance between catch and keep.

What he was asking for was, effectively, a story without all the conflict. Without tension and animosity. Without many of the things I'd been taught were essential to storytelling. This wasn't a totally new idea to me. I'd already spent 14 years writing a fantasy novel without a single sword-fight, goblin army, or looming apocalypse. I had specifically avoided having a god-lion tortured to death, or farm boys straight-up murk any tyrants or mad wizards. Nobody destroyed anything in a volcano thereby ruining magic forever and making all the elves sad enough to fuck off forever out of the world.

He spent the morning at the beach. He had no idea which one, just some open stretch of coastline reaching out to the sea. An unbroken mantle of soft grey clouds was sitting low over the water. Only on the horizon was there a glimmer of light, a faint blue band of promise. The beach was deserted, not another soul on the vast, wide expanse of sand that stretched out in front of him. Having come from the city, it never ceased to amaze Jejeune that you could be that alone in the world. He walked along the beach, feeling the satisfying softness as the sand gave way beneath his slow deliberate strides. He ventured as close to the tide line as he dared, the white noise of the waves breaking on the shingles. A set of paw prints ran along the sand, with an unbroken line in between. A small dog, dragging a stick in its mouth. Always the detective, even if, these days, he wasn’t a very good one. Jejeune’s path became blocked by a narrow tidal creek carrying its silty cargo out to the sea. On each side of it were shallow lagoons and rock pools. When the tide washed in they would teem with new life, but at the moment they looked barren and empty. Jejeune looked inland, back to where the dark smudge of Corsican pines marked the edge of the coast road. He traced the creek’s sinuous course back to where it emerged from a tidal salt flat, and watched the water for a long time as it eddied and churned, meeting the incoming tide in an erotic swirl of water, the fresh intermingling with the salty in a turbulent, roiling dance, until it was no longer possible to tell one from the other. He looked out at the sea, at the motion, the color, the light. A Black-headed Gull swooped in and settled on a piece of driftwood a few feet away. Picture complete, thought Jejeune. For him, a landscape by itself, no matter how beautiful, seemed an empty thing. It needed a flicker of life, a tiny quiver of existence, to validate it, to confirm that other living things found a home here, too. Side by side, they looked out over the sea, the man and the bird, two beating hearts in this otherwise empty landscape, with no connection beyond their desire to be here, at this time. Was it the birds that attracted him to places like this, he wondered, or the solitude, the absence of demands, of expectations? But if Jejeune was unsure of his own motives, he knew this bird would have a purpose in being here. Nature always had her reasons. He chanced a sidelong glance at the bird, now settled to his presence. It had already completed its summer molt, crisp clean feathers having replaced the ones abraded by the harsh demands of eking out a living on this wild, windswept coastline. The gull stayed for a long moment, allowing Jejeune to rest his eyes softly, unthreateningly, upon it. And then, as if deciding it had allowed him enough time to appreciate its beauty, the bird spread its wings and effortlessly lifted off, wheeling on the invisible air currents, drifting away over the sea toward the horizon. p. 282-3

Kâlagani evidently knew this thinly-peopled region perfectly, and guided us across it most admirably. On the 29th September our train began to ascend the northern slope of the Vindyas, in order to reach the pass of Sirgour.   Hitherto we had met with no obstacle or difficulty, although this country is one of the worst in repute of all India, because it is a favourite retreat of criminals. Robbers haunt the highways, and it is here that the Dacoits carry on their double trade of thieves and poisoners. Great caution is desirable when travelling in this district.   Steam House was now about to penetrate the very worst part of the Bundelkund, namely, the mountainous region of the Vindhyas.   We were within about sixty miles of Jubbulpore, the nearest station on the railway between Bombay and Allahabad; it was no great distance, but we could not expect to get over the ground as quickly as we had done on the plains of Scind. Steep ascents, bad roads, rocky ground, sharp turnings, and narrow defiles. All these must be looked for, and would reduce the rate of our speed. It would be necessary to reconnoitre carefully our line of march, as well as the halting-places, and during both day and night keep a very sharp look-out.   Kâlagani

He had never been in conflict with his own desire before this place. It used to be so easy. Want and have. See and take. Run and chase. Thirst and slake. Now everything was complicated. So much of what he longed for he could not pursue, and every day he felt more turned from his own true….

Well, yes…” Bast said slowly. “I know, because he set his dog on me and when I climbed a tree to get away, he tried to chop the tree down. And also set fire to the tree. And then he went to get his bow. But also, aside from those things, he’s crazy too, Reshi. Really, really crazy.