Portal 1 Quotes

Smarmy little prig,” Will snarled, leaning father forward, as if he longed to reach through the magical portal and strangle Gabriel. “When I get him alone…” “I ought to go in with her instead,” Gabriel went on. “I can look out for her a bit more. Instead of simply looking out for myself.” “Hanging’s too good for him,” agreed Jem, who looked as if he were trying not to laugh. “Tessa knows Will,” protested Charlotte. “She trusts Will.” “I wouldn’t go that far,” muttered Tessa.

There’s just something magical about a library. It’s like a portal to many different worlds.

We can’t make a portal—” “We’ve got a flying boat,” Carter offered.

It's as if I've stepped through a time portal into a place where acceptance is the norm, so unreal.

He takes two steps back. Closer to the portal. I can't stop myself. "Ben," I call. And I'm not even embarrassed about how helpless my voice sounds. Don't go. "I'll come back for you." He takes another step back. "I promise." Stay. "Janelle Tenner," he says. "I will always fucking love you." And then he takes one more step back. Into the portal. And the blackness swallows him whole.

Prague. Praha. The name actually meant “threshold”. Pollina had said the city was a portal between the life of the good and … the other. A city of dark magic, Alessandro had called it.

Magnus invented your Portals, not that he receives any credit for it from Shadowhunters. He is one of the most powerful warlocks in the world, and so tenderhearted he rushes to the aid of vicious killers. He is the best the Downworld has to offer.

Books are like Tarot decks. They provide answers and guidance but more importantly, they are doorways and portals to the otherworld and the imagination. They leave their imprint and keep whispering to us long after we close the pages or shuffle the deck.

In order to survive as a race, as a planet, you must learn to share light. There is no other way.

He said that those who have endured some misfortune will always be set apart but that it is just that misfortune which is their gift and which is their strength and that they must make their way back into the common enterprise of man for without they do so it cannot go forward and they themselves will wither in bitterness. He said these things to me with great earnestness and great gentleness and in the light from the portal I could see that he was crying and I knew that it was my soul he wept for. I had never been esteemed in this way. To have a man place himself in such a position. I did not know what to say. That night I thought long and not without despair about what must become of me. I wanted very much to be a person of value and I had to ask myself how this could be possible if there were not something like a soul or like a spirit that is in the life of a person and which could endure any misfortune or disfigurement and yet be no less for it. If one were to be a person of value that value could not be a condition subject to the hazards of fortune. It had to be a quality that could not change. No matter what. Long before morning I knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I’d always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it was always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals came easily. I knew that courage came with less struggle for some than for others but I believed that anyone who desired it could have it. That the desire was the thing itself. The thing itself. I could think of nothing else of which that was true.

What about the online linked-speech at nine other news portals?” “Cancel all.” “You canceled everything in the morning. You were home all day, doing nothing,” Pico says. “Doing nothing is hard,” Yuan says calmly as if his voice is another part of nature and not noise. “I don’t speak philosophy. I’m not in my full version.

—Si te encuentran, tendré que exterminar tu fuerza vital para cerrar el portal. Me invadió una sensación de terror. —¿Y eso qué significa? Apretó los labios contra mi frente y cerró los ojos. —Significa que tendré que matarte.

Any of the nearby volumes might hold information about hippopotamus portals or contain hints about how he might get home.

TimeTrap raised her head and looked pointedly at St. John. “It was a dimensional portal, silly. Duh.

As they descended through the portal underneath the abbey, she shed Jeanie's skin and became Ilsa again; the Ilsa who had never belonged in the world above.

What emerged from the portal was not the feared armada. Instead, it was a single ship. A familiar ship. I felt a quickening in my atoms. Clever, dangerous girl. I have been expecting you.

They are watching for magic, so avoid traveling by Portal whenever possible,” Tessa said. “You’re using a Portal right now,” said Magnus, amused. “Always ‘do as I say and not as I do,’ I see. Will you be safe?” Tessa was more than a century old, but she was so much younger than Magnus, and he had known her almost her whole life. He had never stopped feeling protective of her.

Well, you're going to have to put your arms around me. Then hold on really tight. You may want to close your eyes too." "All that is for transporting?" "Was there something else you'd prefer to be doing?" Fortunately, Dad intervened before I could respond to his comment. "Really, Chase? Still in the room here. That's my daughter you're flirting with. You really want to go there?

Find the portals to harmony and moments of balance on what you love to do and what you choose not to do.

Unless you have a portal to Hell hidden in those pants, then I’ve probably seen everything you have to offer.

In truth, a library contains the entire universe, and each book is a portal to a different world.

When in Rome, Alexander," said Magnus, "one drives a Maserati." They had to get to Rome as fast as possible, and they couldn't use a Portal, so Magnus said he was selecting the next best option. Shinyun was reading the Red Scrolls of Magic and ignoring them both, which was fine with Alec. "An excellent choice," said the attendant at teh luxury car rental lot. "Gotta love a classic 3500 GT Spyder." Alec leaned into Magnus. "The car is also a spider?" Magnus shrugged, flashing Alec an irresistibly bright smile. "No idea. I just picked it because it was Italian and red.

Have you ever had such a horrible day that you wondered why your mother didn’t just eat you at birth like a gerbil does and spare you the hassle? We’ve all had days like that. I’ve had a lot of them—way more than my fair share if I want to be whiny about it (which I don’t because I try really hard not to be a whiner), but none can compare to the day I accidentally opened a demon portal with my zit cream.

Books are a portal to another world, but they lead to other places too. To places deep inside you still filled with hope and a desperate need for love. Places where your loneliness doesn’t exist, because you know how it can be filled.

It was like time would stop, and the dancer would sort of step through some kind of portal and he wasn't doing anything different than he had ever done, 1,000 nights before, but everything would align. And all of a sudden, he would no longer appear to be merely human. He would be lit from within, and lit from below and all lit up on fire with divinity. And when this happened, back then, people knew it for what it was, you know, they called it by it's name. They would put their hands together and they would start to chant, "Allah, Allah, Allah, God God, God." That's God, you know.

Guilt is a strong motivator, sometimes even stronger than love.

It’s about what you’re willing to give, not what is demanded of you.

I gradually shrank in size until I was a teenager, then a child, and then, at last, a baby, crawling, until inevitably I was sucked naked and screaming through that portal every man's mother possesses, into a black hole where all light vanished. As that last glimmer faded, it occurred to me that the light at the end of the tunnel seen by people who have died and come back to life was not Heaven. Wasn't it much more plausible that what they saw was not what lay ahead of them but what lay behind? This was the universal memory of the first tunnel we all pass through, the light at its end penetrating our fetal darkness...

It felt somehow comforting to return to the sparkling lake tucked into the mountains on Portal Prime. But why, when everything about Mesme made her the antithesis of comfortable? Because here was where desperation had become hope. Where helplessness had become purpose.

Driven by that extraordinary oppression which falls on every human being when, childhood over, he begins to divine that he is fated to go on in isolation and unaided towards his own death; driven by this extraordinary oppression, which may with justice be called a fear of God, man looks round him for a companion hand in hand with whom he may tread the road to the dark portal, and if he has learned by experience how pleasurable it undoubtedly is to lie with another fellow-creature in bed, then he is ready to believe that this extremely intimate association of two bodies may last until these bodies are coffined: and even if at the same time it has its disgusting aspects, because it takes place under coarse and badly aired sheets, or because he is convinced that all a girl cares for is to get a husband who will support her in later life, yet it must not be forgotten that every fellow-creature, even if she has a sallow complexion, sharp, thin features and an obviously missing tooth in her left upper jaw, yearns, in spite of her missing tooth, for that love which she thinks will for ever shield her from death, from that fear of death which sinks with the falling of every night upon the human being who sleeps alone, a fear that already licks her as with a tongue of flame when she begins to take off her clothes, as Fraulein Erna was doing now; she laid aside her faded red-velvet blouse and took off her dark-green shirt and her petticoat.

In a staggering display of power, the caster causes all portals within 1 mile to blast open in a violent burst. [...] Moreover, normal fasteners and stoppers are loosened or dislodged, such that wine corks fizz open, lids fall off dinner pots, shoelaces unlace, snaps loosen, belts unbuckle, and so on.

I can’t answer all of your questions...

We all deserve peace.

remember the night of my Deathday. The portal opened up, and she was on the other side, waiting, her face hidden by the horned skull of a hideous beast.

The plan, my fellow nightmares, is simple. One—find the boy. Two—keep the portal open. Three—conquer the Waking World. Four—try a Krispy Kreme doughnut. Five—never die.

His G-spot. His P-spot. His who-the-fuck-cared spot. He had a portal to paradise in his freaking ass. Didn't give a flying fuck what it was called.

Who are you?” she asks, in a deep, authoritative voice. “And how did you know about the boba-tea portal?

I am your completion! Intoned Goddard. I am your deliverance! I am your portal to the mysteries beyond this life!

They were copies of tourist info on Brazil, along with local portal schedules.

Had it been let in during the Valg wars, when demons had opened and closed portals to another world at will?

Because books are more than just paper and ink. They’re a portal leading to anywhere you ever wanted to go—heart, mind, or soul.

Carrion grinned, all teeth and mischief. “I’m coming with you through that portal. I’m gonna help you save your asshole boyfriend. But first, I want one of those fancy swords.

You make peace with one sister only to declare war on the other. It’s always like that with peace, isn’t it? Always to someone’s detriment, already sowing the seed for the next war.

The creative life! Ascension. Passing beyond oneself. Rocketing out into the blue, grasping at flying ladders, mounting, soaring, lifting the world up by the scalp, rousing the angels from their ethereal lairs, drowning in stellar depths, clinging to the tails of comets. Nietzsche had written of it ecstatically —and then swooned forward into the mirror to die in root and flower. «Stairs and contradictory stairs,» he wrote, and then suddenly there was no longer any bottom; the mind, like a splintered diamond, was pulverized by the hammer−blows of truth. There was a time when I acted as my father's keeper. I was left alone for long hours, cooped up in the little booth which we used as an office. While he was drinking with his cronies I was feeding from the bottle of creative life. My companions were the free spirits, the overlords of the soul. The young man sitting there in the mingy yellow light became completely unhinged; he lived in the crevices of great thoughts, crouched like a hermit in the barren folds of a lofty mountain range. From truth he passed to imagination and from imagination to invention. At this last portal, through which there is no return, fear beset him. To venture farther was to wander alone, to rely wholly upon oneself. The purpose of discipline is to promote freedom. But freedom leads to infinity and infinity is terrifying. Then arose the comforting thought of stopping at the brink, of setting down in words the mysteries of impulsion, compulsion, propulsion, of bathing the senses in human odors. To become utterly human, the compassionate fiend incarnate, the locksmith of the great door leading beyond and away and forever isolate. Men founder like ships. Children also. There are children who settle to the bottom at the age of nine, carrying with them the secret of their betrayal. There are perfidious monsters who look at you with the bland, innocent eyes of youth; their crimes are unregistered, because we have no names for them.

Why?” His question was almost buried by my heavy breathing. I think I understood the question now. I could only hope I had the right answer. If there was one. “Because I want to trust, be trusted. I want someone I can count on, someone who can count on me. I want somewhere safe. I want a home. But that can only happen if I’m with you.” “I’m never going to be like other men, Grant.” I wasn’t sure what he meant until I turned enough to see his expression. The knowledge in his eyes spoke of those places he looked into. The windows or portals he disappeared into when he followed the light. “I can give you what I have, but I can never give you everything.” It wasn’t Morgan didn’t want to, he couldn’t. I could see that too. He could never give me all of himself because he didn’t control everything he had. Could I live with that?

I just love it when you disappear into tense conversations with creepy portal metal,” Carrion quipped, hoisting himself up to sit on the bench. “It’s fascinating watching you do all of those facial gymnastics.

I barely registered moving into the long gallery, one hand absentmindedly wrapping around my throat as I looked up at the paintings. So many, so different, yet all arranged to flow together seamlessly... Such different views and snippets and angles of the world. Pastorals, portraits, still lifes . . . each a story and an experience, each a voice shouting or whispering or singing about what that moment, that feeling, had been like, each a cry into the void of time that they had been here, had existed. Some had been painted through eyes like mine, artists who saw in colors and shapes I understood. Some showcased colors I had not considered; these had a bend to the world that told me a different set of eyes had painted them. A portal into the mind of a creature so unlike me, and yet . . . and yet I looked at its work and understood, and felt, and cared.

Now, I believe the best way for you to learn is immersion and since we can't teleport you all to France," he grinned at me, and there were once again sighs from the girls. "I'll be speaking only in French and will expect you to do the same. Is anyone here already proficient in the language?" I narrowed my eyes at him. He knew darn well I was fluent in French and several other languages. "Eveline, I believe your dad mentioned at dinner the other night that you are?" What was he doing? "Umm. Yes-" He shook his head at me. "En français s'il vous plait." More sighs from the class. I clenched my jaw and spoke rapidly. "Oui, Monsieur Smith. Je parle français. Qu'est-ce que tu veux?" Yes, Mr.Smith. I speak French. What do you want? His eyes smoldered and caressed my face as he delivered his swift reply, "Je veux plus de toi que vous imaginez, ma petit lueur.

I extended my hand to Chase, "Eveline Sophia Fallon, daughter of Brennan and Mina, sister of Gaurdian and supposedly the One." His chuckle was low and sexy and caused a tremor to course through me. I fought to keep my hand steady so he wouldn't see the way he affected me. Liam stiffened beside me but for once said nothing. Chase inclined his head haughtily, playing along. "Chase Andrew Alexander err...Smith, at least for now. Son of Gabriel, elder brother of Guardian and Jennavieve. No relation to the, 'supposed' One. Thank goodness," he grinned wickedly then bowed slightly.

Summer’s closet is clearly a magical portal. She entered it wearing Lululemon pants, wool socks, and one of my hockey hoodies. She exits it looking like a goddess. A slinky silver dress is plastered to her body, hugging every tantalizing curve. A slit goes up to her thigh, revealing one long, tanned leg, and her silver stilettos add about another four inches to her already tall frame. Her golden hair is up in an elegant twist held together by an ornate clip that sparkles under the light fixture overhead. It takes me a moment to realize that her hairclip is sparkling because it’s encrusted with diamonds. Summer notes my expression. Her makeup is subtle except for her bright red lips, which curve into a smile. It’s really fucking hot.

The narrow portal opens into a wide corridor that looks like a giant jaw full of thin, sharp teeth. The rocks growing down from the top almost touch the growths from the bottom. Galen hopes that if humans ever do infiltrate this site, they'll feel like a meal.

Elle, you have a pure heart. You possess love and compassion for your friends and for people you have never met. You have made a huge difference in the lives of fifteen widows and their children. Those children will now grow up safely and be able to provide opportunities for their own children and grandchildren someday. In the end, you will have made a difference in thousands of lives. That is no small feat.

Winston in his own words found himself in an "Alice in Wonderland world at the portals of which stood a quadratic equation followed by the dim chambers inhabited by the differential calculus, and then a strange corridor of sines and cosines in a highly square rooted condition.

I rolled my eyes and stepped away from Chase. "I'd really like to be kept out of the pissing contest boys. I'm not a bone for the two of you to fight over like dogs. We have things to discuss and need Liam and Jenna here to do it. I have somewhere to be later and I'm not going to let the two of you ruin my evening with your childishness. We clear?" I bounced my gaze back and forth between the two of them before receiving affirmative nods from them both. Kieran couldn't leave it at that though and had to comment, "That whole take charge put us in our place thing was totally hot, Evy. Right?" He looked to Chase for agreement who rolled his eyes at Kieran but winked at me before disappearing.

After downloading some crypto software, hex editors and a few system tools, the time comes to locate the D3dm4n$ Ch3$t. Tracking down the site takes a while. The portal regularly relocates, piggybacking off legitimate websites until discovered and then relocating. Once there, you take a dive into the Deep.

That’s one thing about us Americans, right? We want everything tied up perfectly, no loose ends. We want all the answers and logical reasons for everything.... We demand a happy ending and for shit to make sense. Well, let me tell you something. It ain’t like that. Sometimes you don’t get to find out why. Sometimes shit doesn’t belong to you.

Sweaty onion man grunted in pain.

The Dark Fairy touched her chest. No heart, like her sisters. So where did the love come from?

Who owes you an explanation?

She had delicate features - almost elfin. If you could imagine a fairy mouse that would be Audrey, although she would not have thanked you for remarking upon it.

...release resistance...allow acceptance...just Be

Dorn exuded confidence, like someone raised in an exclusive Northeastern boarding school; the kind with crested jackets and ties, where teachers lived in fear of their students

I finally realized that I had to embrace the madness, let it transform me instead of letting it define me. .... "You, my ferocious girl, are embracing the madness. Lean into it, won't ya?

Good morning,” she said. “I am Headmaster Brazenhope.” “No way!” Theodore blurted, astonished. “The Headmaster’s a chick!” Without a word, the Headmaster waved her hand and a portal opened up in the deck beneath Theodore. He fell soundlessly into the Nether. With another wave, the portal closed shut behind him. “Any other comments?” the Headmaster asked. Everyone vigorously shook their heads.

The school was located on its own private island in the Pacific Northwest not far from the small community of Gold River, British Columbia, Canada. Through natural means it could only be reached by boat or float plane.  However, many students reached the school by means that were far from natural. There were portals in various parts of the world that brought students to Fairhaven the moment one stepped through them.

When we had closed the door to the star room, Amar reached up to brush his fingers against the constellation in my hair. “It suits you,” he said. Warmth crept to my cheeks. For a long moment, we stood in that alcove. The mirror portals faintly shimmered. In the distance, I could see the lines of cities and flush of daybreaks, but everything felt dim compared to the space between us. It felt so charged it could have been alive.

-Ya sabes que antes existían más portales, ¿no? Quiero decir, que aún existen muchos, muchísimos, pero antes no había quienes los "moderara". Espíritus, espectros, magos, elfos y demás seres vivíamos juntos. Había leyes, claro está, pero... ¿cómo le ordenas a un espectro que no haga daño a un vivo? ¿Con qué le amenazas? ¿La muerte? Es ridículo. No tienen nada que perder. La peor parte estaba cuando algún vivo venía a Dosnaowe... Así surgieron los Kyuri.

It is most likely to be found in a similar woodland landscape, green and wet with plenty of oak groves to drink in the small magics of the common fae and create spaces for such portals to manifest---if indeed their existence is the result of mere accident or chance. These sorts of rabbit hole doors---back entrances, if you like---are often said to be accidental, in the stories. Northern Europe is the most likely location; perhaps one of the warmer forests of Russia." He stood unmoving with his hand on the door, staring at me. "Yes, I know that's a lot of conjecture," I said, misreading the look on his face. "I've not had time to give it much thought." He smiled at me, his eyes shining a little too brightly in the way they sometimes did. "We are going to make a very good team, Em." I snorted to cover the heat rising in my face. "So far, our teamwork seems rather unevenly distributed." "I may be of use to you yet, my dear dragon.

The flesh of the body does not make it conscious its the unknown inside that does. The arms of the galaxy do not make it turn around its the unknown that holds it together and spin around. The mind does not create the thought it’s the unknown consciousness that is plugged to myriad’s of portals that does. A thing of beauty is not made of brick and mortar it’s made of an unknown divine spark. The world is essentially that unknown Drop the act and connect to the unknown.

When we had shaken enough hands and embraced enough people, Amar pulled me away from the sounds, back through the room with flimsy walls where the torn obsidian mirror-portal glowed blearily. There was only a handful of air between us, but it was all illusion. We were closer than that, two souls sewn together with light. His palm slid to my cheek and my skin sang. I loved him with two loves. One, a relic of another era. Another, unformed and hot, a freshly wrought star. All enigma and song. I think he felt the same way because his next words were almost resentful: “You are quite deceptive, my queen. Like a handful of light one moment and then winged night the next.” He smiled. “I would know all your mysteries if you would let me.” “You can try, but you’ll never know them,” I said. “I have a thousand smiles, a hundred forms. Not to mention all my names.” He closed the space between us, lips skimming hungrily across mine. “Then I am pleased we have eternity,” he said, pulling me into a kiss.

How can you ask? Would I not follow the only thing on this Earth that I love? You are all I have left. Of course, dear child. I'll go with you to the end of time, to the end of space, and place. I'd cross oceans and borders-borders between centuries and between Kentucky and Indiana or Ohio or Michigan.

We read you. Talk to us son. What are you seeing?' "Ahhh. Captain I don't need a light anymore." "Repeat last transmission, you say your light is back on?" "Negative Sir. I don't need a light, I can see. Captain, you said Chado was talking to God?" "Roger that." "Well I believe God is down here right now.

Impossible. Sunk on its haunches in a predatory pose, a creature spread its long, curled fingers over the tiles on the roof, sniffing them. Its mottled, olive-grey skin winked in the uncertain March sunlight. Truly, a thing that didn’t belong here in ordinary suburbia, overlooking a garden that burst with beauty and life.

Only toys from the human realm be chosen, and only the most beloved of the lot. Those accustomed to being filled with hopes and dreams and all the affections their children pour into them. For that is the essence of a soul. Hopes and dreams and love. When the most cherished toys are abandoned in junkyards and trash heaps, they become deprived of those things that once filled and warmed them. They become lonely and greedy and crave the essence of the life they once had. So we send our pixie slaves through the portals to carry the toys down for us, and my sister fills them with what they want most—souls. Like thirsty sponges, they hold on to them with every portion of their strength and will.

Rose believed in cats-in feeding them and cuddling them. She did not find cats a nuisance in the least. She found them soft, quiet, gentle, and for the most part accepting. She loved the feeling when a cat plopped in her lap. She often wondered how they could be so comforting without ever saying a word. How they could seem to listen, to understand.

The truth is, they don’t want us back on Earth.  Trained killers who’ve lived for years outside the normal Earth routine of constant surveillance.  That’s why they don’t let us go home.  I figured out part of that a while back, but now I realize the whole truth.  They are afraid of my brethren and me, even as they need us to fight their wars.  It is from stuff such as us that revolutions are made.

Whether you’re the giver or the recipient of those moments, you must find them too, Samuel. I need you to live wholeheartedly. I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll seek those out, relish them, and give others the opportunity to do so as well. You are worthy of your existence. What you bring to the world matters, and that light cannot be snuffed by a cave, or a cloud, or a Reversion.

The Portal Potion Success! After weeks and weeks of trying, I’ve finally discovered the correct ingredients for the potion I’d hoped to create for my son! With just a few drops, the potion turns any written work into a portal to the world it describes. Even with my ability to create portals to and from the Otherworld, I never thought it would be possible to create a substance that allowed me passage to any world I wished. My son will get to see the places and meet the characters he’s spent his whole childhood dreaming about! And best of all, I’ll get to watch his happiness soar as it happens! The ingredients are much simpler than I imagined, but difficult to obtain. Their purposes are more metaphysical than practical, so it took some imagination to get the concoction right. The first requirement is a branch from the oldest tree in the woods. To bring the pages to life, I figured the potion would need the very thing that brought the paper to life in the first place. And what else has more life than an ancient tree? The second ingredient is a feather from the finest pheasant in the sky. This will guarantee your potion has no limits, like a bird in flight. It will ensure you can travel to lands far and wide, beyond your imagination. The third component is a liquefied lock and key that belonged to a true love. Just as this person unlocked your heart to a life of love, it will open the door of the literary dimensions your heart desires to experience. The fourth ingredient is two weeks of moonlight. Just as the moon causes waves in the ocean, the moonlight will stir your potion to life. Last, but most important, give the potion a spark of magic to activate all the ingredients. Send it a beam of joy straight from your heart. The potion does not work on any biographies or history books, but purely on works that have been imagined. Now, I must warn about the dangers of entering a fictional world: 1. Time only exists as long as the story continues. Be sure to leave the book before the story ends, or you may disappear as the story concludes. 2. Each world is made of only what the author describes. Do not expect the characters to have any knowledge of our world or the Otherworld. 3. Beware of the story’s villains. Unlike people in our world or the Otherworld, most literary villains are created to be heartless and stripped of all morals, so do not expect any mercy should you cross paths with one. 4. The book you choose to enter will act as your entrance and exit. Be certain nothing happens to it; it is your only way out. The

After breakfast, Amar stood waiting for me in the center of a marble vestibule. Around him, the mirror portals flashed through the settings--a fox napping in tall grass, a shining cave strung with ghost-lit threads and a cliff jutting a stony chin to the sea. Amar grinned and once more, I was transfixed by the way a small smile could soften the stern angles of his jaw and the haunted look in his eyes. “Are we going to the tapestry room?” He shook his head. “Not yet. Those decisions take time. There are other things to see and know here.” I shivered at the thought of yanking the threads. I was in no rush to condemn someone. Amar stepped toward a door I hadn’t noticed until now, inky black and studded with pearls and moonstone. He pushed it open and a chilly gust kissed my face. “I promised you the moon for your throne and stars to wear in your hair,” said Amar, gesturing inside. “And I always keep my promises.

It got to the point where he didn’t even look up at the sky any more as he blundered back and forth. The human mind had evolved for just one universe, he thought. How much of this crap was he supposed to take? He felt exhausted, resentful, bewildered. “Wait.” He paused. He had loped out of the portal onto another stretch of scuffed, anonymous regolith. She was lying in his arms, her weight barely registering. He looked down into her face, and pushed up her gold sun visor. “Emma?” She licked her lips. “Look. Up there.” No Galaxy visible, but a starry sky. The stars looked, well, normal. But he’d learned that meant little. “So what?” Emma was lifting her arm, pointing. He saw three stars, dull white points, in a row. And there was a rough rectangle of stars around them—one of them a distinctive red—and what looked like a Galaxy disc, or maybe just a nebula, beneath … “Holy shit,” he said. She whispered, “There must be lots of universes like ours. But, surely to God, there is only one Orion.” And then light, dazzling, unbearably brilliant, came stabbing over the close horizon. It was a sunrise. He could actually feel its heat through the layers of his suit. He looked down at the ground at his feet. The rising light cast strong shadows, sharply illuminating the miniature crevices and craters there. And here was a “crater” that was elongated, and neatly ribbed. It was a footprint. He stepped forward, lifted his foot, and set it down in the print. It fit neatly. When he lifted his foot away the cleats of his boot hadn’t so much as disturbed a regolith grain. It was his own footprint. Good grief. After hundreds of universes of silence and remoteness and darkness, universes of dim light and shadows, he was right back where he started.

That looks like the last one for a bit. We’ll climb out there.”   “Is it safe?” I can’t help but ask.   “None of this is safe,” he tells me, voice cutting. “But we can’t stay here all night.”   “Why not? We’re already covered in poop.”   “Because this is a sewer and the water’s rising.” Aron looks at me like I’m stupid. “The tide’s coming in. Unless you want to drown in someone else’s shit, we have to get out of here.”   “It is?” I look down and sure enough, I guess the water (if you can call it that) is higher than it was before. I thought it was because the tunnel was just, getting deeper in this part, but it’s past my knees and soaking the hem of my tunic. “I didn’t realize.”   “How is it I’m the immortal and you’re the one that has no clue how a city works?”   I slap his arm, irritated. “Don’t you start that shit with me. You want to know how it works where I live? We go into a tiny little room, sit on a toilet, take a dump, and then jiggle a handle and the magic poo gods take it all away. Whoosh. That’s it. That’s the extent of my knowledge. Once a month I pay the water bill and that’s all I do. So if your stupid city doesn’t work the way my stupid city did, don’t blame me.”   I glare at him, waiting for his answer.   He just watches me. His mouth twitches, just a little. Finally, he says, slowly, “Magic poo gods?”   I throw my hands up in the air. “You’re impossible and I hate you. If we’re leaving, let’s just go.”   “Should we say a prayer to the magic poo gods first?” When I shoot him the bird, he snorts with amusement. “Here I thought you didn’t believe in any gods.”   “There’s just one where I come from, and he doesn’t put up with any lesser god bullshit like this place, thank you.” I stomp ahead, splashing through the horrible, sludgy water so I can get away from my equally horrible companion.   Aron’s laughter rumbles through the sewer pipe, and I ignore him, pushing forward. I’m so tired and the night has been so long. To think I just took a bath and now I’m covered in crap and mud once more. It’s like this entire world is conspiring against me. Heck, maybe it is. Maybe I’ve been cursed since I stepped through that portal. Given that I’m stuck with the infuriating Aron, I believe it. One minute I think he might be okay, and the next I want to choke him.

When he paused before a set of wooden doors, the slight smile he gave me was enough to make me blurt, 'Why do anything- anything this kind?' The smile faltered. 'It's been a long time since there was anyone here who appreciated these things. I like seeing them used again.' Especially when there was such blood and death in every other part of his life. He opened the gallery doors, and the breath was knocked from me. The pale wooden floors gleamed in the clean, bright light pouring in from the windows. The room was empty save for a few large chairs and benches for viewing the... the... I barely registered moving into the long gallery, one hand absent-mindedly wrapping around my throat as I looked up at the paintings. So many, so different, yet all arranged to flow together seamlessly. Such different views and snippets and angles of the world. Pastorals, portraits, still lifes... each a story and an experience, each a voice showing or whispering or singing about what that moment, that feeling had been like, each a cry into the void of time that they had been here, had existed. Some had been painted through eyes like mine, artists who saw in colours and shapes I understood. Some showcased colours I had not considered, these had a bend to the world that told me a different set of eyes had painted them. A portal into the mind of a creature so unlike me, and yet... and yet I looked at its work and understood, and felt, and cared. 'I never knew,' Tamlin said from behind me, 'that humans were capable of...' He trailed off as I turned, the hand I'd put on my throat sliding down to my chest, where my heart roared with a fierce sort of joy and grief and overwhelming humility- humility before that magnificent art. He stood by the doors, head cocked in that animalistic way, the words still lost on his tongue. I wiped at my damp cheeks. 'It's...' Perfect, wonderful, beyond my wildest imaginings didn't cover it. I kept my hand over my heart. 'Thank you,' I said. It was all I could find to show him what these paintings- to be allowed into this room- meant. 'Come here whenever you want.' I smiled at him, hardly able to contain the brightness in my heart. His returning smile was tentative but shining, and then he left me to admire the gallery at my own leisure. I stayed for hours- stayed until I was drunk on the art, until I was dizzy with hunger and wandered out to find food.

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Before I went through that doorway, I knew there was no such thing as a portal to another world. Now I know that if you open the right door at the right time, you might finally find a place where you belong.

And a million other distractions. Whenever that happens, I return my attention back to center. It’s like tuning to a radio station. I can easily lose the signal and let the dial wander to a different station, one filled with anxiety and stress. But I know what the bliss station feels like. I know the music it plays and how my body feels when I’m absorbed in it. Because I’ve been to the center so many times, I can usually find that station just a few minutes after I close my eyes. So I tune in there again now. I feel an immediate expansiveness in my consciousness, a sense of connection with the entire universe. I feel a sense of welcome, as though I’ve come home. I’m living at the address in consciousness where perfect well-being is the only reality. As I retune myself to center, another wave of bliss floods through my brain, mind, and body. I feel my consciousness lift out of my normal state, like a balloon rising in the wind, to meet and merge with a consciousness so vast and expansive that it has no end. I know that this is the same intelligence that runs the universe in such perfect order. It has a sense of rightness to it that all the cells in my body respond to. Every cell knows it’s come home, that it’s connected to the universal consciousness with which my mind has merged. The local reality field of my mind and body surrenders to union with the great nonlocal reality field of the universe. There is no room in this consciousness for worry, doubt, or fear. The anxious thoughts with which I began the meditation session are now left far behind me, as the balloon soars high above the world of ordinary local reality. My breath slows and deepens. Every breath is a connection with that great universal consciousness. Every inbreath flows out of that consciousness, while every outbreath flows into that consciousness. A warm feeling of well-being floods my body. Though the cool morning air felt chilly when I began the meditation, my body is now infused with the glow of connection. As I center myself again and again, I notice an intense glistening silver-white vortex of light above my head. I drift up through the portal. I find myself in a level of undifferentiated light. I look down at my mind, and it is flooded with that same white light. I am in Bliss Brain. Everything dissolves into the light. There’s no body, no me, no mind, no universe. Only the light. The light simply is. It has no beginning and no end. It stretches to infinity. It’s all there is; there’s nothing else in this real world of light other than the light. I lose myself in oneness with the light. 2.1. Entering Bliss Brain. There’s a tingling pressure in the center of my forehead where the connection to the light tunnel is strongest. Angelic music echoes in my brain, sound adding itself to light. My

Bryce’s rasping voice overrode the sounds of the demons rallying again around her. “The firstlight I’ll generate by making the Drop will spread from this Gate to the others. It’ll light up everything, send those demons racing away. It’ll heal everything it touches. Everyone it touches. And I—” She took a deep breath. “I am Starborn Fae, and I bear Luna’s Horn in my body. With the power of the firstlight I generate, I can shut the portals to Hel. I did it here—I can do it everywhere else. But I need a link—and the power from my Drop to do it.

The Archangel looked truly sad for a moment. “Even my power is not enough to help them. To keep war from Valbara’s shores. For that, I need help from beyond our own world. The Horn will open a portal—and allow me to summon an army to decimate the human rebels and end their wanton destruction.” “What world?” Bryce asked, blanching. “Hel?” “Hel would resist kneeling to me. But ancient lore whispers of other worlds that exist that would bow to a power like mine—and bow to the Horn.” He smiled, cold as a deep-sea fish. “The one who possesses the Horn at full power can do anything. Perhaps establish oneself as an Asteri.” “Their power is born, not made,” Bryce snapped, even as her face turned ashen. “With the Horn, you would not need to inherit a star’s might to rule. And the Asteri would recognize that. Welcome me as one of them.” Another soft laugh.

Full of clear liquid. “Calling me names isn’t going to stop me from using the Horn.” Hunt’s breath sawed through his chest. Micah advanced on her. “The Horn’s remnants are now embedded in your flesh. When I inject you with synth, the healing properties in it will target and fix whatever it finds to be broken. And the Horn will again be whole. Ready for me to learn if it works at last.” “You’d risk opening a portal to another fucking world in the middle of Crescent City,” she spat, inching farther away, “just to learn if it works?” “If I am correct, the benefits shall far outweigh any casualties,” Micah answered mildly as a bead of liquid gleamed on the syringe’s tip. “Too bad you will not survive the synth’s side effects in order to see for yourself.

Bryce had taken one look at what sailed out of the void suspended in the Heart Gate and knew Micah had not opened a portal to unknown worlds, as he’d intended. This one went straight to Hel. People screamed as winged, scaled demons soared out of the Gate—demons from the Pit itself.

Micah hadn’t just opened a portal to Hel in the Heart Gate. He’d opened one in every Gate. Every one of the seven quartz arches was a doorway to Hel.

Whispers lay beneath the breeze, speaking to her in forgotten languages. She shuddered, and decided to go in the opposite direction—to take the far left portal. Following whispers on Samhuinn could only lead to trouble.

The word "Gospel," of course, means the glad tidings of salvation, through the finished work of Jesus Christ, to all the world and all the ages, in so far as the men who hear it are willing to meet the simple conditions. It is, indeed, "glad tidings." It tells rebellious men that God is reconciled, that justice is satisfied, that sin has been atoned for, that the judgment of the guilty may be revoked, the condemnation of the sinner cancelled, the curse of the law blotted out, the gates of hell closed, the portals of heaven opened wide, the power of sin subdued, the guilty conscience healed, the broken heart comforted, the sorrow and misery of the Fall undone, the very King of Terrors himself destroyed, and all the evils and miseries of ruined humanity completely overcome, and transformed into blessings more glorious and lasting than Adam ever lost, Or unfallen man could ever have enjoyed. And the condition of all this blessing is stated in the simplest terms. There is no restriction in the terms, for the message is addressed to every creature, and the only condition is, "He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned." It is evident, therefore, that the rite of baptism is not a condition - its omission will not bring condemnation, though its acceptance is commanded wherever it is possible. The one essential condition, therefore, is simply believing; that is, believing the "glad tidings.

ROOT CHAKRA—MULADHARA The Root Chakra is at the root of your tailbone and is your equilibrium hub. You feel stressed, shaky, and dizzy or as if you have a vertigo when it's out of balance. You feel unable to make progress in your life, on personal or professional grounds, when this chakra becomes overactive and you feel stuck in your key relationships. All situations feel deeply unsettling to you, as if the change rests on your very being. This is because the Root Chakra is your prime balance point between the ‘Below and the Above’. An unbalanced or unattended Root Chakra can influence any aspect of your life, which is why many energy workers and Reiki practitioners take a bottom-up approach to chakra practice, beginning from the Root (or even deeper from the Earth Star) and moving upward to the Third Hand, Crown, and Soul Star Core networks. You are free to move freely in the universe when your Root Chakra is healthy, visible and working well, realizing you are safe, protected and seen. In Sanskrit, this chakra's name, Muladhara, means "foundation" or "pillar." That's where male sexual energy resides in the physical body (the Sacral Chakra sits on feminine sexual energy). Where the Earth Star Chakra is a gateway to the Earthly Kingdom of rocks, stones, and subterranean pathways of spirit animals and insects, the Root Chakra is a portal to our connection with our own physical realm— the physical goods and systems that keep us safe in the three-dimensional world we inhabit right now. The Root Chakra's masculine strength isn't explicitly male; it's a protective force field that can offer anybody a profound sense of comfort regardless of their sexual orientation or affiliation. You will find a stable partner for your journey as you begin to communicate with the masculine energy source, one that can support, sustain, and lead you toward the best outcome for your work and life. In terms of energy, manifestation is the act of forming thought, or of creating your desires. The very act of creation demands that you indulge in a greater density of matter, drawing in forces to create new form that involves a strong binding of your soul to the Earth. If you manifest from an ungrounded place, it will be temporary and fleeting to your creations. Imagine building a building without a firm foundation. You wouldn't even imagine doing this, would you? Well then, neither should you try to create or manifest from an ungrounded floating position within the ethers.

Lucent wisps spiraled up from the mass, forming a columned portal supporting a hot-white door. My vision clouded, like snow on a tele-a hot-white door. My vision clouded, like snow on a television screen. Vertigo gripped me.

My people, the pigmen, have lived in the Nether for generations,” Porkins said. “It’s a hard place, but we had a good life there. Until three years ago when a strange man came to visit us. Do you know the hero Steve?” “All too well,” said Dave. “Well this man looked just like him,” said Porkins. “Apart from his eyes were white. He called himself Herobrine.” As Porkins said the word Herobrine a shiver went down Dave’s spine, and at the same moment the wind pushed open the door to their cabin, whistling eerily. He went over and closed it. He’d never heard that name before, but something about it chilled him to the bone. “My people were always being attacked by ghasts,” Porkins went on, “and the man promised he could make us stronger, so we’d be able to fight back. Our leaders agreed, and Herobrine gave us all a potion to drink. “I was the only one who didn’t trust this chap Herobrine, so I never drank mine. But everyone else did. By morning, Herobrine had gone, and my people had been transformed into mindless zombies. “Even my own father didn’t recognize me anymore, he just looked at me blankly with his dead, zombie eyes. I ran as fast as I could, until I found a nether portal inside an old fortress and used it to come to your world. I’ve been here ever since.