Sapphire Day Quotes

I would give you a crown if I could," he said. "I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn." He reached into his pocket. "And all I would ask in return is that you wear this damnable ribbon in your hair on our wedding day.

maybe we try too hard to be remembered, waking to the glowing yellow disc in ignorance, swearing that today will be the day, today we will make something of our lives. what if we are so busy searching for worth that we miss the sapphire sky and cackling blackbird. what else is missing? maybe our steps are too straight and our paths too narrow and not overlapping. maybe when they overlap someone in another country lights a candle, a couple resolves their argument, a young man puts down his silver gun and walks away.

If I should see your eyes again, I know how far their look would go -- Back to a morning in the park With sapphire shadows on the snow. Or back to oak trees in the spring When you unloosed my hair and kissed The head that lay against your knees In the leaf shadow's amethyst. And still another shining place We would remember -- how the dun Wild mountain held us on its crest One diamond morning white with sun. But I will turn my eyes from you As women turn to put away The jewels they have worn at night And cannot wear in sober day.

She was the real treasure, more precious than sapphires, diamonds and gold. At the core of his ancient, cynical heart, he was an acquisitive creature, after all.

His witch had finally arrived. He knew it within his heart and he danced, giddy as a schoolboy on the first day of summer vacation.

The one thing I've learned about family skeletons is that they always have a way of finding the light of day and ending up at the neighborhood garage sale." Alora from The Sapphire Talisman

As the steamer continued the crossing, Pandora tugged off her left glove to admirer wedding ring, as she'd already done a dozen times that day. Gabriel had chosen a loose sapphire from the collection of Challon family jewels, and had it set in a gold and diamond ring mounting. The Ceylon sapphire, cut and polished into a smooth dome, was a rare stone that gleamed with a twelve-ray star instead of six. To his satisfaction, Pandora seemed inordinately pleased by the ring, and was fascinated by the way the star seemed to move across the surface of the sapphire. The effect, called asterism, was especially noticeable in the sunlight. "What causes the star?" Pandora asked, as she tilted her hand this way and that. Gabriel tucked a kiss behind the soft lobe of her ear. "A few tiny imperfections," he murmured, "that make it all the more beautiful.

Father, R.I.P., Sums Me Up at Twenty-Three She has no head for politics, craves good jewelry, trusts too readily, marries too early. Then one by one she sends away her friends and stands apart, smug sapphire, her answer to everything a slender zero, a silent shrug--and every day still hears me say she'll never be pretty. Instead she reads novels, instead her belt matches her shoes. She is master of the condolence letter, and knows how to please a man with her mouth: Good. Nose too large, eyes too closely set, hair not glorious blonde, not her mother's red, nor the glossy black her younger sister has, the little raven I loved best.

Of the Three Rings that the Elves had preserved unsullied no open word was ever spoken among the Wise, and few even of the Eldar knew where they were bestowed. Yet after the fall of Sauron their power was ever at work, and where they abode there mirth also dwelt and all things were unstained by the griefs of time. Therefore ere the Third Age was ended the Elves perceived that the Ring of Sapphire was with Elrond, in the fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone; whereas the Ring of Adamant was in the Land of Lórien where dwelt the Lady Galadriel. A queen she was of the woodland Elves, the wife of Celeborn of Doriath, yet she herself was of the Noldor and remembered the Day before days in Valinor, and she was the mightiest and fairest of all the Elves that remained in Middle-earth. But the Red Ring remained hidden until the end, and none save Elrond and Galadriel and Cirdan knew to whom it had been committed. Thus it was that in two domains the bliss and beauty of the Elves remained still undiminished while that Age endured: in Imladris; and in Lothlórien, the hidden land between Celebrant and Anduin, where the trees bore flowers of gold and no Orc or evil thing dared ever come. Yet many voices were heard among the Elves foreboding that, if Sauron should come again, then either he would find the Ruling Ring that was lost, or at the best his enemies would discover it and destroy it; but in either chance the powers of the Three must then fail and all things maintained by them must fade, and so the Elves should pass into the twilight and the Dominion of Men begin. And so indeed it has since befallen: the One and the Seven and the Nine are destroyed; and the Three have passed away, and with them the Third Age is ended, and the Tales of the Eldar in Middle-earth draw to then-close.

SAPPHIRE AND DIAMONDS When I look up at Heaven, I see the souls of those who died Beaming down at me, Wanting to scream: “I'm still alive!”, Wishing to scribble across the sapphire sky - Letters to their loved ones, But a million dark oceans stand between us, Between those who passed and the living, Between those of us still stuck below, And those who have crossed over the threshold of time - Where what seems like eternity Is really only a few minutes. So you see, there is no reason to weep over the shining ones - For even though the space that separates us is limitless, The wall of time that divides us is only paper-thin. And one day, we shall all reunite with them, When our souls are released like fish Back into the vast shimmering sea To shine together like Glittering diamonds.

I would give you a crown if I could. I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn. And all I would ask in return is that you wear this damnable ribbon in your hair on your wedding day." -Nikolai Lantsov

I would give you a crown if I could,” he said. “I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn.” He reached into his pocket. “And all I would ask in return is that you wear this damnable ribbon in your hair on our wedding day.” She reached out, her fingers hovering over the coil of blue velvet ribbon resting in his palm. Then she pulled back her hand, cradling her fingers as if they’d been singed. “You will wed a Taban sister who craves a crown,” she said. “Or a wealthy Kerch girl, or maybe a Fjerdan royal. You will have heirs and a future. I’m not the queen Ravka needs.” “And if you’re the queen I want?” She shut her eyes. “There’s a story my aunt told me a very long time ago. I can’t remember all of it, but I remember the way she described the hero: ‘He had a golden spirit.’ I loved those words. I made her read them again and again. When I was a little girl, I thought I had a golden spirit too, that it would light everything it touched, that it would make me beloved like a hero in a story.” She sat up, drew her knees in, wrapped her arms around them as if she could make a shelter of her own body. He wanted to pull her back down beside him and press his mouth to hers. He wanted her to look at him again with possibility in her eyes. “But that’s not who I am. Whatever is inside me is sharp and gray as the thorn wood.” She rose and dusted off her kefta. “I wasn’t born to be a bride. I was made to be a weapon.” Nikolai forced himself to smile. It wasn’t as if he’d offered her a real proposal. They both knew such a thing was impossible. And yet her refusal smarted just as badly as if he’d gotten on his knee and offered her his hand like some kind of besotted fool. It stung. All Saints, it stung. “Well,” he said cheerfully, pushing up onto his elbows and looking up at her with all the wry humor he could muster. “Weapons are good to have around too. Far more useful than brides and less likely to mope about the palace. But if you won’t rule Ravka by my side, what does the future hold, General?” Zoya opened the door to the cargo hold. Light flooded in, gilding her features when she looked back at him. “I’ll fight on beside you. As your general. As your friend. Because whatever my failings, I know this: You are the king Ravka needs.

One thing I say about Farrakhan and Alice Walker they help me like being black. I wish I wasn't fat but I am. Maybe one day I like that too, who knows.

Day vivified the city, and we found a rogue path through the dunes down to the beach, the foam edge of teal sea. The whole sky celestial sapphire.

This night is not calm; the equinox still struggles in its storms. The wild rains of the day are abated; the great single cloud disparts and rolls away from heaven, not passing and leaving a sea all sapphire, but tossed buoyant before a continued, long-sounding, high-rushing moonlight tempest. The Moon reigns glorious, glad of the gale, as glad as if she gave herself to his fierce caress with love. No Endymion will watch for his goddess tonight. there are no flocks out on the mountains; and it is well, for to-night she welcomes Aeolus.

pinned here, find recurring dreams, conspiracy theories, their answer when i asked them to take me to the worst day of their life and describe the color of the sky: sapphire paint and human hair and the rosetta stone. can i worship what's mine? this is the problem. i move onto folding moments into catacombs, as if there are any noble or artistic ways to display the curse of yearning.

People need to get outside more. I’m already in paradise. I wake up in heaven every single day. Our planet is perfect: a sapphire and emerald gem brimming with everything we could ever want or need, powered by a sun that is neither too hot nor cold, hurtling through an equally amazing universe filled with an infinite number of solar systems and planets that put on a spectacular light show, every single night, just for us.

Lake Bled, when we arrived, was no disappointment. It had poured into an alpine valley at the end of one of the Ice Ages and provided early nomads there with a resting place—in thatched houses out on the water. Now it lay like a sapphire in the hands of the Alps, its surface burnished with whitecaps in the late-afternoon breeze. From one steep edge rose a cliff higher than the rest, and on this, one of Slovenia’s great castles roosted, restored by the tourist bureau in unusually good taste. Its crenellations looked down on an island, where a specimen of those modest red-roofed churches of the Austrian type floated like a duck, and boats went out to the island every few hours. The hotel, as usual, was steel and glass, socialist tourism model number five, and we escaped it on the second day for a walk around the lower part of the lake.

Morozko halted and faced the horse, narrow-eyed. I am not blind, continued the mare. Even to things that go on two feet. You made that jewel so that you would not fade. But now it is doing too much. It is making you alive. It is making you want what you cannot have, and feel what you ought not to understand, and you are beguiled and afraid. Better to leave her to her fate, but you cannot. Morozko pressed his lips together. The trees sighed overhead. All at once his anger seemed to leave him. “I do not want to fade,” he said unwillingly. “But I do not want to be alive. How can a death-god be alive?” He paused, and something changed in his voice. “I could have let her die, and taken the sapphire from her and tried again, found another to remember. There are others of that bloodline.” The mare’s ears went forward and back. “I did not,” he said abruptly. “I cannot. Yet every time I go near her, the bond tightens. What immortal ever knew what it was like to number his days? Yet I can feel the hours passing when she is near.” The mare nosed again at the deep snow. Morozko resumed his pacing. Let her go, then, said the mare, quietly, from behind him. Let her find her own fate. You cannot love and be immortal. Do not let it come to that. You are not a man.

I would choose you." The words were out before he thought better of them, and there was no way to pull them back. Silence stretched between them. Perhaps the floor will open and I'll plummet to my death, he thought hopefully. "As your general?" Her voice careful. She was offering him a chance to right the ship, to take them back to familiar waters. And a fine general you are. There could be no better leader. You may be prickly, but that what Ravka needs. So many easy replies. Instead he said, "As my queen." He couldn't read her expression. Was she pleased? Embarrassed? Angry? Every cell in his body screamed for him to crack a joke, to free both of them from the peril of the moment. But he wouldn't. He was still a privateer, and he'd come too far. "Because I'm a dependable soldier," she said, but she didn't sound sure. It was the same cautious, tentative voice, the voice of someone waiting for a punch line, or maybe a blow. "Because I know all of your secrets." "I do trust you more than myself sometimes- and I think very highly of myself." Hadn't she said there was no one else she'd choose to have her back in a fight? But that isn't the whole truth, is it, you great cowardly lump. To hell with it. They might all die soon enough. They were safe here in the dark, surrounded by the hum of engines. "I would make you my queen because I want you. I want you all the time." She rolled on to her side, resting her head on her folded arm. A small movement, but he could feel her breath now. His heart was racing. "As your general, I should tell you that would be a terrible decision." He turned on to his side. They were facing each other now. "As your king, I should tell you that no one could dissuade me. No prince and no power could make me stop wanting you." Nikolai felt drunk. Maybe unleashing the demon had loosed something in his brain. She was going to laugh at him. She would knock him senseless and tell him he had no right. But he couldn't seem to stop. "I would give you a crown if I could," he said. "I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn." He reached in to his pocket. "And all I would ask in return is that you wear this damnable ribbon in your hair on our wedding day." She reached out, her fingers hovering over the coil of blue velvet ribbon resting in his palm. Then she pulled back her hand, cradling her fingers as if they'd been singed. "You will wed a Taban sister who craves a crown," she said. "Or a wealthy Kerch girl, or maybe a Fjerdan royal. You will have heirs and a future. I'm not the queen Ravka needs." "And if you're the queen I want?" ... She sat up, drew her knees in, wrapped her arms around them as if she would make a shelter of her own body. He wanted to pull her back down beside him and press his mouth to hers. He wanted her to look at him again with possibility in her eyes. "But that's not who I am. Whatever is inside me is sharp and gray as the thorn wood." She rose and dusted off her kefta. "I wasn't born to be a bride. I was made to be a weapon." Nikolai forced himself to smile. It wasn't as if he'd offered her a real proposal. They both knew such a thing was impossible. And yet her refusal smarted just as badly as if he'd gotten on his knee and offered her his hand like some kind of besotted fool. It stung. All saints, it stung. "Well," he said cheerfully, pushing up on his elbows and looking up at her with all the wry humour he could muster. "Weapons are good to have around too. Far more useful than brides and less likely to mope about the palace. But if you won't rule Ravka by my side, what does the future hold, General?" Zoya opened the door to the Cargo hold. Light flooded in gilding her features when she looked back at him. "I'll fight on beside you. As your general. As your friend. Because whatever my failings, I know this. You are the king Ravka needs.

It was Wednesday now. She’d been in town for two days.

To fill the days up of his dateless year Flame from Queen Helen to Queen Guenevere? For first of all the sphery signs whereby Love severs light from darkness, and most high, In the white front of January there glows The rose-red sign of Helen like a rose: And gold-eyed as the shore-flower shelterless Whereon the sharp-breathed sea blows bitterness, A storm-star that the seafarers of love Strain their wind-wearied eyes for glimpses of, Shoots keen through February's grey frost and damp The lamplike star of Hero for a lamp; The star that Marlowe sang into our skies With mouth of gold, and morning in his eyes; And in clear March across the rough blue sea The signal sapphire of Alcyone Makes bright the blown bross of the wind-foot year; And shining like a sunbeam-smitten tear Full ere it fall, the fair next sign in sight Burns opal-wise with April-coloured light When air is quick with song and rain and flame, My birth-month star that in love's heaven hath name Iseult, a light of blossom and beam and shower, My singing sign that makes the song-tree flower; Next like a pale and burning pearl beyond The rose-white sphere of flower-named Rosamond Signs the sweet head of Maytime; and for June Flares like an angered and storm-reddening moon Her signal sphere, whose Carthaginian pyre Shadowed her traitor's flying sail with fire; Next, glittering as the wine-bright jacinth-stone, A star south-risen that first to music shone, The keen girl-star of golden Juliet bears Light northward to the month whose forehead wears Her name for flower upon it, and his trees Mix their deep English song with Veronese; And like an awful sovereign chrysolite Burning, the supreme fire that blinds the night, The hot gold head of Venus kissed by Mars, A sun-flower among small sphered flowers of stars, The light of Cleopatra fills and burns The hollow of heaven whence ardent August yearns; And fixed and shining as the sister-shed Sweet tears for Phaethon disorbed and dead, The pale bright autumn's amber-coloured sphere, That through September sees the saddening year As love sees change through sorrow, hath to name Francesca's; and the star that watches flame The embers of the harvest overgone Is Thisbe's, slain of love in Babylon, Set in the golden girdle of sweet signs A blood-bright ruby; last save one light shines An eastern wonder of sphery chrysopras, The star that made men mad, Angelica's; And latest named and lordliest, with a sound Of swords and harps in heaven that ring it round, Last love-light and last love-song of the year's, Gleams like a glorious emerald Guenevere's.

We had pale yellow tile in our bathroom rimmed with thin tiles of white. I’d dumped Tack’s old, mismatched towels and added new, thick emerald green ones. They were hanging on the towel rack. My eyes moved. My moisturizer and toner bottles were the deep hued color of moss. My toothbrush was bright pink, Tack’s was electric blue. There was a little bowl by the tap where I tossed my jewelry when I was washing my hands or preparing for bed. It was ceramic painted in glossy sunshine yellow and grass green. My eyes went to the mirror. My undies were cherry red lace. I grinned at myself in the mirror. I lived in color, every day, and my life was vibrant. I rubbed in moisturizer hoping our baby got his or her Dad’s sapphire blue eyes. But I’d settle if they were my green.

When I look up at Heaven, I see the souls of those who died Beaming down at me, Wanting to scream: “I'm still alive!”, Wishing to scribble across the sapphire sky - Letters to their loved ones, But a million dark oceans stand between us, Between those who passed and the living, Between those of us still stuck below, And those who have crossed over the threshold of time - Where what seems like eternity to us, Is really only a few minutes to them. So you see, there is no reason to weep over the shining ones - For even though the space that separates us is limitless, The wall of time that divides us is only paper-thin. And one day, we shall all reunite with them, When our souls are released like fish Back into the vast shimmering sea To shine together like Glittering diamonds.

But all of a sudden the scene changed; it was the memory, no longer of old impressions but of an old desire, only recently reawakened by the Fortuny gown in blue and gold, that spread before me another spring, a spring not leafy at all but on the contrary suddenly stripped of its trees and flowers by the name that I had just murmured to myself: “Venice”; a decanted springtime, which is reduced to its own essence and expresses the lengthening, the warming, the gradual unfolding of its days in the progressive fermentation, no longer, now, of an impure soil, but of a blue and virginal water, springlike without bud or blossom, which could answer the call of May only by the gleaming facets fashioned and polished by May, harmonising exactly with it in the radiant, unalterable nakedness of its dusky sapphire. Likewise, too, no more than the seasons to its flowerless creeks, do modern times bring any change to the Gothic city; I knew it, even if I could not imagine it, or rather, imagining it, this was what I longed for with the same desire which long ago, when I was a boy, in the very ardour of departure, had broken and robbed me of the strength to make the journey: to find myself face to face with my Venetian imaginings, to observe how that divided sea enclosed in its meanderings, like the sinuosities of the ocean stream, and urbane and refined civilization, but one that, isolated by their azure girdle, had evolved independently, had had its own schools of painting and architecture, to admire that fabulous garden of fruits and birds in coloured stone, flowering in the midst of the sea which kept it refreshed, lapped the base of the columns with its tide, and, like a somber azure gaze watching in the shadows, kept patches of light perpetually flickering on the bold relief of the capitals.

I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way since I came into it. I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation of dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming when I saw them, they threw no shadow on the floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some time, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed to be almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or where. All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some day it should meet Mina’s eyes and cause her pain, but it is the truth. They whispered together, and then they all three laughed, such a silvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have come through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable, tingling sweetness of waterglasses when played on by a cunning hand. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her on. One said, “Go on! You are first, and we shall follow. Yours is the right to begin.” The other added, “He is young and strong. There are kisses for us all.” I lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood. I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited, waited with beating heart.

She looked down at the ring on her finger, the beautiful piece unlike any she’d seen, a band of platinum adorned with tiny rubies, amethysts, sapphires, and emeralds, colorful and unique. ‘One day, when I have money, I’m going to buy you the prettiest ring, sunshine.

No institution of learning of Ingersoll's day had courage enough to confer upon him an honorary degree; not only for his own intellectual accomplishments, but also for his influence upon the minds of the learned men and women of his time and generation. Robert G. Ingersoll never received a prize for literature. The same prejudice and bigotry which prevented his getting an honorary college degree, militated against his being recognized as 'the greatest writer of the English language on the face of the earth,' as Henry Ward Beecher characterized him. Aye, in all the history of literature, Robert G. Ingersoll has never been excelled -- except by only one man, and that man was -- William Shakespeare. And yet there are times when Ingersoll even surpassed the immortal Bard. Yes, there are times when Ingersoll excelled even Shakespeare, in expressing human emotions, and in the use of language to express a thought, or to paint a picture. I say this fully conscious of my own admiration for that 'intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the shores of thought.' Ingersoll was perfection himself. Every word was properly used. Every sentence was perfectly formed. Every noun, every verb and every object was in its proper place. Every punctuation mark, every comma, every semicolon, and every period was expertly placed to separate and balance each sentence. To read Ingersoll, it seems that every idea came properly clothed from his brain. Something rare indeed in the history of man's use of language in the expression of his thoughts. Every thought came from his brain with all the beauty and perfection of the full blown rose, with the velvety petals delicately touching each other. Thoughts of diamonds and pearls, rubies and sapphires rolled off his tongue as if from an inexhaustible mine of precious stones. Just as the cut of the diamond reveals the splendor of its brilliance, so the words and construction of the sentences gave a charm and beauty and eloquence to Ingersoll's thoughts. Ingersoll had everything: The song of the skylark; the tenderness of the dove; the hiss of the snake; the bite of the tiger; the strength of the lion; and perhaps more significant was the fact that he used each of these qualities and attributes, in their proper place, and at their proper time. He knew when to embrace with the tenderness of affection, and to resist and denounce wickedness and tyranny with that power of denunciation which he, and he alone, knew how to express.

You asked for my favorite memory and it is this. A dying day’s light filling the impossibly large window behind you. And you — oh, my beautiful boy! —  you sitting on the sapphire sofa at 21C, with  shamelessly provocative dark stubble shadowing the  dimples twinned ‘round your velvet-ribbon mouth. I am  mesmerized, reduced to spinning atoms. We are six  feet and an eternity apart. Our eyes are founding constellations. I’ve never been more present than I  am in that moment. I am awake to the marrow. You  lift your slender fingers to your chest and look at me,  astounded, before saying “My heart is beating so fast.”  You are unfeigned, I am spinning atoms.

I would choose you." The words were out before he thought better of them, and there was no way to pull them back. Silence stretched between them. Perhaps the floor will open and I'll plummet to my death, he thought hopefully. "As your general?" Her voice careful. She was offering him a chance to right the ship, to take them back to familiar waters. And a fine general you are. There could be no better leader. You may be prickly, but that's what Ravka needs. So many easy replies. Instead he said, "As my queen." He couldn't read her expression. Was she pleased? Embarrassed? Angry? Every cell in his body screamed for him to crack a joke, to free both of them from the peril of the moment. But he wouldn't. He was still a privateer, and he'd come too far. "Because I'm a dependable soldier," she said, but she didn't sound sure. It was the same cautious, tentative voice, the voice of someone waiting for a punch line, or maybe a blow. "Because I know all of your secrets." "I do trust you more than myself sometimes- and I think very highly of myself." Hadn't she said there was no one else she'd choose to have her back in a fight? But that isn't the whole truth, is it, you great cowardly lump. To hell with it. They might all die soon enough. They were safe here in the dark, surrounded by the hum of engines. "I would make you my queen because I want you. I want you all the time." She rolled on to her side, resting her head on her folded arm. A small movement, but he could feel her breath now. His heart was racing. "As your general, I should tell you that would be a terrible decision." He turned on to his side. They were facing each other now. "As your king, I should tell you that no one could dissuade me. No prince and no power could make me stop wanting you." Nikolai felt drunk. Maybe unleashing the demon had loosed something in his brain. She was going to laugh at him. She would knock him senseless and tell him he had no right. But he couldn't seem to stop. "I would give you a crown if I could," he said. "I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn." He reached in to his pocket. "And all I would ask in return is that you wear this damnable ribbon in your hair on our wedding day." She reached out, her fingers hovering over the coil of blue velvet ribbon resting in his palm. Then she pulled back her hand, cradling her fingers as if they'd been singed. "You will wed a Taban sister who craves a crown," she said. "Or a wealthy Kerch girl, or maybe a Fjerdan royal. You will have heirs and a future. I'm not the queen Ravka needs." "And if you're the queen I want?"... She sat up, drew her knees in, wrapped her arms around them as if she would make a shelter of her own body. He wanted to pull her back down beside him and press his mouth to hers. He wanted her to look at him again with possibility in her eyes. "But that's not who I am. Whatever is inside me is sharp and gray as the thorn wood." She rose and dusted off her kefta. "I wasn't born to be a bride. I was made to be a weapon." Nikolai forced himself to smile. It wasn't as if he'd offered her a real proposal. They both knew such a thing was impossible. And yet her refusal smarted just as badly as if he'd gotten on his knee and offered her his hand like some kind of besotted fool. It stung. All saints, it stung. "Well," he said cheerfully, pushing up on his elbows and looking up at her with all the wry humour he could muster. "Weapons are good to have around too. Far more useful than brides and less likely to mope about the palace. But if you won't rule Ravka by my side, what does the future hold, General?" Zoya opened the door to the Cargo hold.Light flooded in gilding her features when she looked back at him. "I'll fight on beside you. As your general. As your friend. Because whatever my failings, I know this. You are the king Ravka needs.

He would often spend a whole day settling and resettling in their cases the various stones that he had collected, such as the olive-green chrysoberyl that turns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its wirelike line of silver, the pistachio-coloured peridot, rose-pink and wine-yellow topazes, carbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous, four-rayed stars, flame-red cinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and amethysts with their alternate layers of ruby and sapphire. He loved the red gold of the sunstone, and the moonstone’s pearly whiteness, and the broken rainbow of the milky opal.

Once upon a time, there was a ghoul who fell in love with a daughter of the port of Innsmouth. To say the least, her parents would hardly have looked upon this as an acceptable state of affairs. She, destined one day to descend through abyssal depths to the splendor of many spired Y’ha-nthlei in the depths well beyond the shallows of Jeffreys Ledge. She might have the fortune to marry well, perhaps, even, taking for herself a husband from among the amphibious Deep Ones who inhabit the city, or, at the very least, a fine and only once-human devotee of the Esoteric Order. She would be adorned in nothing more than the fantastic, partly golden alloy diadems and bracelets and anklets, the lavalieres of uncut rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds. What caring parent would not be alarmed that their only daughter might foolishly forsake so precious an inheritance, and all for an infatuation with so lowborn and vile creature as a ghoul?

Oh, the hot breath coming out of her mouth on each side, as she clamps on with her fang-like incisors, that are razor sharp. It is like her teeth would bite into me there, and make me so weak I would pass out. Until now, I would bleed without any bright markings left behind. Yes, even on summer days, they come around me. Like that day, Ava pulled up one of the railroads spikes up and out of the railroad ties from the ground with her bare hands. Then she began roughly using it on me. It is like she pumps in cocktails of venom with her nibbles of taste, and my soul is floating out of my body as she comes in. My body is paralyzed, yet I feel the pain, and my soul and faith are challenged. So far, she will never get me all the way, I will never become one of them! I found out that she loves to suck out my blood, and everything else that comes with it. For that is what gives her evil strength, it is the same as being drugged when she draws from me.

The day we were going to meet, I was going to give this to you. I wanted to give you something that conveyed how I felt about you and this was the only thing I had of value." Tears filled Darcy's eyes, but they never left Lucien's gaze. "You were going to give me her necklace?" "It was all I had to give." She was about to throw herself into his arms. Oh my God. What a gesture. .But he stopped her. "I'm not done." "Sorry," Darcy said, but she couldn't manage disgruntled. She was just too damn happy. "I was going to give this to you as a promise, a promise to never hurt you, to never leave you, to always find my way back to you even when we were pissed off and wanted to kill each other. A promise to love only you as long as I drew breath." His hand closed over the necklace. "But you didn't show up." "What?" And then she punched him because he had made her cry again with the most perfect words ever. He laughed before he unhooked the clasp and secured it around her neck. "I was a kid then." He climbed from bed and returned with a small box in his hand. He handed it to her. Her hands shook when she lifted the lid to see the sapphire, the color almost the exact shade of her eyes, surrounded by diamonds. "But the man I've become still loves you as desperately as the kid I was. Marry me, Darcy.

Summer days and junior year, you are my sunshine that brightens up my full moon; we are going to soar together, we will not need to wish upon a star because our dreams will, at last, become true. There may be dark clouds overhead, and times of rain. This may be there showering upon us, but love still grows, we will not care, we will be there looking at that view that goes on for miles. Sometimes we will have to cope with the rainfall that wants to keep us apart. Sometimes I think that I am going to lose my way to you. While the gray storms end up taking our joyful colors away once more. Upon the clear, we stand together at last… arm in arm, and hand and hand, we are laced, and we embrace one another. The colors of red, blue, and pink are the sky once more. Plus, all along you were there, this time we share. The colors begin setting the mood and light ones more. All the vivid gold sights with the feelings of being united and that will be us as a pair. The many stars shine bright because we are going to be there all night, holding on to what we had that night. I used to bite my lips, thinking about that gold band, and the sparkly rock on top. You can make me feel like royalty; yes, I will be your queen ruler. Maybe someday all this will not be a fantasy and the dreams will come true when we look at a different view, just me and you.

(Murmurs) The ghostly words that I hear from the ones that speak to me are saying something like- ‘Look out for the stars that shine for you in hope. But- be aware to not fall into the deception. Do not mistake a star for a black hole, in the days of days, and the times of time, where the banners will be the red blood your loved one will have to shed. This will show the light upon the fault line. When their vials break free upon you and them. This may pull you around while looking at the ground. If you see this coming it is already too late for them to run, your loved one will be under the rains of fire, with the fight of freedom, and honor, with dust and sun. Remember you will have some loss indoors, yet the footprints have been made, and the boots will bring you and them home. Think of keeping the angels near. Yet always look up even when you are knocked down by life. The stars that we know, and love may just fall to us in a cloud of white dust, and life as we know it may not be here, and surely nothing will be clear.’ I do not know what it means- do you? Should I be scared? What are they telling me? Is this in my future? (Spirit and evil life) It is interesting how you can find your Angel, and how they can find you. I still believe it is a blessing to be able to see an angel. However, the sisters must have heard the voices of hope and how they have spoken down on me, and they are going to try to reverse it and use it against me like a hex like they have been doing all these days in the past. This makes me believe, they have dark powers for themselves… for them to know my abilities, which come from the divine. They must have some kind of inkling or something. As I said, I think the sisters and the clan took things way too far, and it got out of hand. They were in the moment of high ecstasy with their erotic acts, they had complete authority over their meek victim.

Nope- it was not! Ava and her girls that day went, and they cut a class at some point in the day and broke into my baby. Then Ava- ‘Rubbed one out!’ that means that she masturbated, and squirted her lady- juices all over the inside of my car. Yes- and I mean it went all over. It was on my seat on the dash, on the floor, and Ava smeared what creaminess that was on her two fingers on the windows, and driver’s side vent. As her clan, sisters pissed all over the carpet on the floor, and took their dumps on the seat, and left their thongs behind. Alison, she wrote a note on her undies saying- ‘Now you have some pairs to wear!’ It was so nasty! Plus- the outside was covered and wrapped with toilet paper as well as littered with Ava and her sisters used feminine products. What is wrong with these girls? What did I do to deserve this one? Likewise, the other kids thought it was the most humorous thing, which they ever witnessed at the end of the school day. When I discovered it- You know, I was utterly sick to my stomach. I think I screamed so loudly it echoed throughout the land, and started to cry and ran while being pushed around bouncing around off their bodies, I cannot remember- I was so upset, and then the kids were all around me kicking, and pushing me from one place to another. I was just like a hacky sack for them, until I passed out, and dropped to the hard ground. That gave them time for them to spit on me, and dump things like glue in my hair or whatever that shit was. Then what gets me is that she signed her name- Ava on the dashboard with a black permanent sharpie marker, and It reads, ‘Suck on this- Nevaeh- lick, what I gave you all up!’ and she drew a heart, with a line through it also. She wanted me to know because there was not a thing I could do about it. Depressed- to say that her juicy sprays were more yellowish, and a thick sticky white, then clear on my blue and white cloth seats. Yet, Hope had the car towed and cleaned for me inside and out, she could not believe what kids do these days. Therefore, that was the first time that I drove my car to school and the last. That whole thing cost me a lot. I guess it is back to the bus. That is what everyone wants is it not. This completely sucked; I have a car that I cannot drive anywhere other than at home or have locked up in the barn- with the other rust bucket car.

Lily understood this feeling too; she knew it all too well, it is just one more thing that just keeps things building up and building up, until the end. I never realized at the time how bad the situation would become until I went through it myself. There is no meaning behind it, which is what gets me. Am I the only one or are there more girls in this hellhole like me, which I do not know about, maybe there is? The bullies harass, it is like they smell their victims or maybe they can smell and taste the blood dripping down from the gash, which they have caused from before, and then it is like you are a wounded animal on Serengeti they come in packs. Until you have nothing- nothing left… they lick up what is left of your body time and time over, afterward you have to get up and go on with the day, knowing that you have a decision to make. What decision would you make? I know what decision I will make! Like most people my age, I do not drink and drug my brain cells away. I am not senseless or slutty, ‘I feel that being romantic is not dead, and it does exist. You just need to be with the right people, which can show you what real expressions of love are!’ So, are you like me by believing that nothing will ever destroy hope or dreams? On the other hand, are you someone like the clan? Are you going to be praised in the eyes of the fire, or the eyes of the clouds? Just like fallen angels, the ones that have fear of not standing up for what is righteous. Why, because it is more fashionable to live a life of turpitude. If someone has the light of hope, someone is going to want to dampen the affection. Just like me- when you are single for too long people start thinking, that you are either committed to yourself or that you are a little bit crazy or gay etcetera. I know this… I am not crazy or gay or whatever is said; I just have someone that blocks me out constantly while destroying my reputation. Just think about it. All of you have grown up with the roomers, your parents believed those parents, I do not have parents to fight for me, and the rest is history. So, what she and her clan said becomes known, and that is what was implied to my image. Is it true? Hell no, start thinking for yourself people. Just because someone says, something about someone else does not mean that it is factual. Oh, I have tried to fix it… However, it is out of my control, little do you all know that the tower is what prevents everything from happening. It is not my choice; she knew that I was going to be the empress; instead, she made me out to be the fool. She knew that I was one of the brightest stars in the land, and she had to bring that to an end, that was the beginning of the end of holding anyone's hands anymore within the land. The friends and romances were in the retrograde I was dubbed unreachable, she made me a forbidden selection. I had no choice but to become the hermit in the dwelling of lost and lonely dreams. To look on the bright side, all this has made me a stronger, better, more creative productive person. You cannot stop me now; I will forever shine, and guide others so that they can shine as well. Remember you are the ones listening to slandering voices. My question is why do you listen? Get to know me, and then make your judgments. Yes, it is hard for me to even get things going because the eyes are always watching, and no I am not being paranoid this is part of my true reality. Sure, the opportunity might come knocking down my door, but can you trust them, is it a setup?

Starling, I haven’t stopped thinking of you--I can’t. I know that you are engaged and want to do right by your family, but you and I belong together. Call it fate if you like. I prefer to think of it as the natural order of things. Just as mixing ochre and sapphire produces the most vibrant green, you and I, when combined, become more alive. I’ve stopped doing business with Angelo de Gradi. I’ve left that life behind. I’m working as an artist in residence for a wealthy patron now. The work she has me do is a bit pedestrian, but perhaps it will lead to bigger projects. I meant what I said. One day I will paint whole chapels for you. I spend every waking minute becoming a better artist, a better man. One day I will offer you the life you deserve, the life we both desire. One day I’ll be good enough, or I’ll die trying…

In the main courtyard, the pool is a sapphire under the sun, shooting liquid rainbows into the house at oblique angles. How she adores submergence. She is a healer of human cracks and fissures, her days spent dealing with her patients struggles and agonies, the emotional and psychic often embodied in the physical. She uncovers all the states and syndromes that can spark and catch fire from infancy on, searing a being, those flames rarely sputtering out on their own. She works hard quenching the symptoms, providing parents with answers, and the toddlers, children, and teenagers with techniques to manage their frightening infernos, helping them douse the alarming heat and gain interior strength against what is burning them up.

The windows of the church were tall, arched in gothic style. But from the outside, the colours and patterns of the stained-glass were dimmed. He knew that to appreciate their jewel-like beauty one had to view them from within, the light of day streaming through the colours and throwing lozenges of ruby and sapphire and emerald onto worn flagstones. Perhaps this was symbolic. Perhaps, isolated from the church, there were other delights, pleasures, comforts, that, because of his present state of mind, he deliberately denied himself.

Heaven could have been a golden city in the clouds, or perhaps a splendid banquet hall surrounded by dearly departed loved ones. Maybe it was a field of wildflowers on a summer’s day or a shimmering kingdom of sapphire and starlight. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the Isle of Iona.

We need a national Forgive the Ignorant Day,

Yours, I presume?" he said in a rich, deeply modulated voice that put her in mind of hot buttered rum on a cold winter day and the sensual luxury of lying amid warm silken sheets. Inwardly, she quivered. Her reply, whatever it might be, stuck like a stone in her throat; the incapacity only worsened when she lifted her gaze to his. Bold and intelligent, his eyes shone like a set of imperial jewels, their shade an improbably pure blue that lay somewhere between sapphire and lapis lazuli. He was sinfully handsome, with a refined jaw, a long, straight nose and a mouth that seemed the very embodiment of temptation. His mahogany-dark hair was cut short, the severe style unable to tame the rebellious wave that lent the ends just the faintest hint of curl. But most enticing of all was his height- his large, muscular, impressive height. She guessed he must be six feet three or four at least, his build broad and powerful enough to make even her feel small.

Gavin studied her for a long moment, then reached to brush her tears away. “He cannot be killed, Elena. You heard what your father’s oracle whispered.” She nodded. “I know.” “And even if we manage to contain him—trap him…” Gavin considered her words. “You know that we are only pushing the war onto someone else—to whoever one day rules these lands.” “This war,” she said quietly, “is but the second movement in a game that has been played since those ancient days across the sea.” “We put it off for someone else to inherit if he’s freed. And it will not save those soldiers down there from slaughter tomorrow.” “If we do not act, there won’t be anyone to inherit this war,” Elena said. Doubt danced in Gavin’s eyes. “Even now,” she pushed, “our magic is failing, our gods abandoning us. Running from us. We have no Fae allies beyond those in my father’s army. And their power, like his, is fading. But perhaps, when that third movement comes … perhaps the players in our unfinished game will be different. Perhaps it will be a future in which Fae and humans fight side by side, ripe with power. Maybe they will find a way to end this. So we will lose this battle, Gavin,” she said. “Our friends will die on that killing field come dawn, and we will use it as our distraction to contain Erawan so that Erilea might have a future.” His lips tightened, his sapphire eyes wide. “No one must know,” she said, her voice breaking. “Even if we succeed, no one must know what we do.” Doubt etched deep lines into his face. She gripped his hand harder. “No one, Gavin.” Agony rippled across his features. But he nodded.

How beautiful your eyes, that fuse the cadence of a rainbow with the sapphire skies as rhododendrons stand side by side. O’ my dear valentine!

A note to Pahelgam My visions are getting blurred, i can't see myself In a meadow, the one behind Aru Blue sapphire, my days and nights The holy water of Lidder I can't breathe, but your breeze Oh Kolhai! embrace my existence And to my eyes, Qurrata Ayun Your visions, wherever i see Across the country, but steadfast is my heart Under the bonfire of liddervat, a prolonged night May the creator, forgive my ignorance A tear about to vanish, but Alhamdulillah

There was a price for going where you were outnumbered or unwelcome and trying to succeed, and it didn’t always take the form of a door being shut in your face on the first day of the job. Surviving was one thing, but if you tried to get ahead, people were less tolerant of your mistakes, quick to paint your natural screw-ups as a result of your so-called identity. If it wasn’t exactly like theirs.

The Sun rays tango, In the bliss on the sapphire waves, As the crimson dawn, Wakes up the horizon, And gives birth to a new day.........

How am I going to help others when I can't even get over my own issues? Maybe I should just become an accountant or something where I can just sit at a desk by myself all day.

Bundled in her old clothes, she pushed open the door of the cottage and stepped out into a wet, chill day. The wind slapped her face. Her disgust and hatred for all she had been rose like a tide in her. The meadow vista before her ended in the river, cold, gray, and relentless. She had been caught in it once and nearly drowned. She let the thought form in her mind. It would be quick. Cold and unpleasant but quick. She spoke aloud the words that had rattled through her dreams all night. “Time to end this life.” She lifted her face. The wind was pushing heavy clouds across a distant blue sky. You would kill yourself? Over that? Because Rapskal told you what you already knew? Sintara’s touch on her mind was coldly amused. The dragon’s consideration was distant and impartial. I recall that my ancestors witnessed humans doing this, deliberately choosing to terminate a life span that is already so brief as to be insignificant. Like gnats flying into flames. They flung themselves into rivers, or hanged themselves from bridges. So. The river? Is that how you will do this? Sintara had not touched minds with her for weeks. For her to return now and to be so coldly curious fired anger in Alise. She scanned the sky. There. A tiny wink of sapphire against the distant clouds. She spoke aloud, giving vent to her outrage, as in a single heartbeat despair became defiance. “End this life, I said. Not end MY life.” She watched the dragon tip her wings and slide down the sky toward the hills. Change took root in her, grew. “Kill myself? In despair over all the days I’ve wasted, all the ways I’ve deceived myself? What would that do except prove that in the end I still could not escape my own foolishness? No. I’m not ending my life, dragon. I’m taking it. I’m making it mine.” For a long moment she felt nothing from Sintara. Probably the dragon had spotted some prey and lost all interest in the gnat-lifed woman who could not even kill a rabbit for her. Then, without warning, the dragon’s thoughts boomed through her mind again. The shape of your thoughts has changed. I think you are finally becoming yourself. As she stared, the dragon suddenly clapped her wings tight to her body and dived on her prey. The immediate absence of the dragon’s touch on her mind was like a gust of wind boxing her ears. She was left stunned and alone.

Bundled in her old clothes, she pushed open the door of the cottage and stepped out into a wet, chill day. The wind slapped her face. Her disgust and hatred for all she had been rose like a tide in her. The meadow vista before her ended in the river, cold, gray, and relentless. She had been caught in it once and nearly drowned. She let the thought form in her mind. It would be quick. Cold and unpleasant but quick. She spoke aloud the words that had rattled through her dreams all night. “Time to end this life.” She lifted her face. The wind was pushing heavy clouds across a distant blue sky. You would kill yourself? Over that? Because Rapskal told you what you already knew? Sintara’s touch on her mind was coldly amused. The dragon’s consideration was distant and impartial. I recall that my ancestors witnessed humans doing this, deliberately choosing to terminate a life span that is already so brief as to be insignificant. Like gnats flying into flames. They flung themselves into rivers, or hanged themselves from bridges. So. The river? Is that how you will do this? Sintara had not touched minds with her for weeks. For her to return now and to be so coldly curious fired anger in Alise. She scanned the sky. There. A tiny wink of sapphire against the distant clouds. She spoke aloud, giving vent to her outrage, as in a single heartbeat despair became defiance. “End this life, I said. Not end MY life.” She watched the dragon tip her wings and slide down the sky toward the hills. Change took root in her, grew. “Kill myself? In despair over all the days I’ve wasted, all the ways I’ve deceived myself? What would that do except prove that in the end I still could not escape my own foolishness? No. I’m not ending my life, dragon. I’m taking it. I’m making it mine.” For a long moment she felt nothing from Sintara. Probably the dragon had spotted some prey and lost all interest in the gnat-lifed woman who could not even kill a rabbit for her. Then, without warning, the dragon’s thoughts boomed through her mind again. The shake is your thoughts has changed. I tbh m you are finally becoming yourself. As she stared, the dragon suddenly clapped her wings tight to her body and dived on her prey. The immediate absence of the dragon’s touch on her mind was like a gust of wind boxing her ears. She was left stunned and alone.

      •   Share some of your personal experiences in writing the book. Did you take the ferry to San Francisco one day for a fresh perspective? Did you frequent garage sales or flea markets in search of ideas for your characters’ attire? Did you sip a Bombay Sapphire martini at a local dive as you searched for unusual character traits in people?

A look of disdain consumes Lucy’s round face. She works hard at hiding her contempt for the rich, but every once in a while it seeps out. Whenever she gets the opportunity she will tell anyone who will listen that she worked three jobs while she was in college and graduate school. And that she had to walk up hill both ways in the snow, barefoot, to get to school each and every day.

Wilhelm!” he called again. “Show yourself!” Wilhelm and a pair of his guards rounded the keep at a run. He reigned in Gil’s horse. “Where is she? Where is my wife?” “Right behind me. What happened, man? Are ye wounded?” Malina came running around the keep with Constance. Relief surged through him to see her blessedly unharmed, though her face was drawn with concern. She was worrit for him. He flew from the saddle and dashed to her. His ripped thigh protested, but he didn’t falter in his steps. Pain was nothing compared to the need to hold his sweet wife in his arms. Sweeping her up, he pinned her to his chest. Their hearts reached for each other with every beat. She clung to him as fiercely as he clung to her, and some of the horror of the last hour lifted from him. “Christ, lass, I thought…I thought—” He buried his face in her hair. She smelled of herbs and flowers, and underneath was her own scent of sugared custard. She wore a lovely kirtle of sapphire blue and an apron smudged with dirt as if she’d been doing chores in the garden. Her hair flowed like silk through his fingers as he ran his hand over her head and face, assuring himself she was hale, all except for the purple marks around her left eye from Hamish’s hand. Passing over her cheeks, his fingers came away wet with her tears. “Dinna weep, Malina mine. All is well.” “You’re hurt,” she cried. “Let me see. There’s so much blood.” “What happened?” Wilhelm demanded. “How much of the blood is yours?” Constance asked. He ignored all but Malina. “I’m all right, lass. I’m all right. Just a few scrapes.” He permitted himself a relieved breath as her face smoothed somewhat, but he refused to let her go. He couldn’t even bring himself to lower her feet to the ground. With Malina in his arms, he was whole. She wasn’t only his to love and protect; she was part of him. Realization struck him with blinding force. “I canna let ye go back,” he said. “I willna. You are mine, and I willna send you away to your time.” The tightness in his chest unfurled. Malina’s eyes widened with shock. Her rose-petal lips parted to say somat, but he silenced her with a kiss. He couldn’t help himself. Let her hate him for a time. He would find a way to earn her love and forgiveness. He’d earn them every day for the rest of his life.

Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

The Future Glory of Zion 1“Sing, O barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,” says the LORD. 2“Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes. 3For you will spread out to the right and to the left; your descendants will dispossess nations and settle in their desolate cities. 4“Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood. 5For your Maker is your husband— the LORD Almighty is his name— the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth. 6The LORD will call you back as if you were a wife deserted and distressed in spirit— a wife who married young, only to be rejected,” says your God. 7“For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with deep compassion I will bring you back. 8In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you,” says the LORD your Redeemer. 9“To me this is like the days of Noah, when I swore that the waters of Noah would never again cover the earth. So now I have sworn not to be angry with you, never to rebuke you again. 10Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,” says the LORD, who has compassion on you. 11“O afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted, I will build you with stones of turquoise,† your foundations with sapphires.† 12I will make your battlements of rubies, your gates of sparkling jewels, and all your walls of precious stones. 13All your sons will be taught by the LORD, and great will be your children’s peace. 14In righteousness you will be established: Tyranny will be far from you; you will have nothing to fear. Terror will be far removed; it will not come near you. 15If anyone does attack you, it will not be my doing; whoever attacks you will surrender to you. 16“See, it is I who created the blacksmith who fans the coals into flame and forges a weapon fit for its work. And it is I who have created the destroyer to work havoc; 17no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and this is their vindication from me,” declares the LORD.

The grey wall to the right of me had my unfocused eyes attention. The blandness of all four walls and the concrete flooring created a backdrop for my imagination to run wild. Like a blink screen just waiting for a film to start, this bare and depressingly dreary decor did wonderful things for my illusions. I could lay for hours on the floor, staring at seemingly nothing while my mind whirled in a secret place where my reality could not encroach. I'd spend days on end imagining an eleven Kingdom with purple trees and sparkling sapphire oceans. Where I was a guardian of the kingdom, strong and fearless, fighting mythical creatures and villainous traitors. I received adoration from the civilians I was protecting and gratitude from royalty. In this place I was everything I wasn't in the reality. In this place I was wanted. In this place I was alive.

The first day of class, I asked a question and every single student raised their hand – except one. Other professors probably wouldn't have even noticed young Violet sitting there, doing everything she could to avoid being called on. But I noticed. That's what separates me from other professors, from other men – I notice the things that they don't. It's all about attention to detail. That's why I'm a good psychologist, a good professor, a good writer, and a great lover.

A force of spare direct necessity Reduced the heavy framework of man’s days And his overburdening mass of outward needs To a first thin strip of simple animal wants, And the mighty wideness of the primitive earth And the brooding multitude of patient trees And the musing sapphire leisure of the sky And the solemn weight of the slowly passing months Had left in her deep room for thought and God. 01.02_003:024

The old man’s eyes are unpolished sapphires, and, in the haze of a thousand years of incense burned, he tells me tales of Canaletto, of Guardi and Titian and Tiepolo. He speaks of them as though they are his confidants, the fellows with whom he sups on Thursday nights. He says life is a search for beauty and that art dissolves loneliness. His and mine, I think. I am not alone. I am a wanderer in a blue felt cloche, come to Venice to stitch together her fantasies.

If the Empire of Dageis ever has to pay everyone who keeps it running a fair wage, it will fall flat on its face the first day.

And I swore I flew with her soul that day, the wind still fresh between my fingers, but I couldn’t reach her. Didn’t matter how fast I flew, she flew farther, and the sapphire horizon created a million miles between us.

The natives started their trek to the village and the bus followed slowly. No one saw any lions, but Butubu pointed out graceful elands and kudus. They resembled American deer but their horns were quite different. Those of the elands were long and straight and pointed slightly backwards. The kudus’ rose straight up from the forehead and curved in such a way that from a distance they resembled snakes. Suddenly Butubu stopped the bus. “Look!” he said, pointing toward a tree-shaded area. “There’s a family of hyrax. In Africa we call them dassies.‘” “Aren’t they cute?” Bess exclaimed. “Are they some kind of rabbit?” “No,” Butubu replied. “If you will look closely, you will see that they have no tails. People used to think they belonged to the rat family. But scientists made a study of their bodies and say their nearest relatives are the elephants.” “Hard to believe,” said Burt. “Think of a rabbit-sized elephant!” The small, dark-brown animals were sunning themselves on an outcropping of rocks. Three babies were hopping about their mother. Butubu explained that they were among the most interesting African animals. “The babies start walking around within a few minutes of their birth and after the first day they’re on their own. They return to the mother only long enough to be fed, but they start eating greens very quickly.” Butubu drove on but continued to talk about the dassies. “There is an amusing folk tale about these little animals. It was said that in the days when the earth was first formed and animals were being put on it, the weather was cold and rainy. ”When all the animals were called to a certain spot to be given tails, the dassie did not want to go. As other kinds passed him, he begged them to bring him back a tail.“ Nancy laughed. “But none of them did.” “That is right,” Butubu answered. “And so to this day they have no tails that they can use to switch flies.” Everyone in the bus thanked him for relating the charming little legend, then looked out the windows. They were approaching a village of grass-roofed huts. The small homes were built in a semicircle.

We pulled into the so-called safe zone, next to a pair of tow teams that had sidelined themselves, and as King reached past me to untether his camera case and assemble his housing, I started at Jaws. At about 40 feet, this wasn't the biggest day on record, but somehow that diminished nothing. The wave was breathtaking. As it rose, its face opened up to the cliffs and its lip curled over a full-bellied barrel. Except for the luminous glints of turquoise at its peak, the wave was sapphire blue, gin clear, and flecked with white. If heaven were a color it would be tinted like this. You could fall into this water and happily never come out and you could see it forever and never get tired of looking. Jaws did not permit its spectators to daydream about being someplace else, to feel bored or irritated or jaded. Watching it was an instant antidote to petty problems. There could be no confusion about who called the shots out here, at this gorgeous, haunted, heavy, lush, primordial place, with all its unnameable blues and its ability to nourish you and kill you at the same time. There was unspeakable power at Jaws, but it was the beauty that got me.

Isn’t it a lovely day for a party?” Kirsty Tate said, looking up at the sapphire-blue sky

for the rest of the night. Other than to refuel with holiday leftovers. “Would you still love me if I told you I didn’t know what tasted better, Christmas leftovers or you?” Jana cocked her eyebrow with a sexy smile on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. “No but I will be mad unless you do some very thorough research and come up with a satisfying answer…” I grinned. This Christmas was unlike any of the others Jana and I had spent together. This time we had two little boys, a bigger family and we’d faced our biggest threat yet and come out on top. “If it’s for the sake of research, consider me in babe.” And I spent the rest of the night doing science. Between the gorgeous legs of my beautiful wife. I was pretty sure in that moment, life for the Reckless Bastard’s couldn’t get any better. Merry friggin’ Christmas to us! * * * * If you think the Reckless Bastards are spicy bad boys, they’re nothing compared to the steam in my next series Reckless MC Opey, TX Chapter where Gunnar and Maisie move to Texas! There’s also a sneak peek on the next page.   Don’t wait — grab your copy today!  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Chapter One Gunnar “We’re gonna be cowboys!” Maisie had been singing that song since we got on the interstate and left Nevada and the only family we’d had in the world behind. For good. Cross was my oldest friend, and I’d miss him the most, even though I knew we’d never lose touch. I’d miss Jag too, even Golden Boy and Max. The prospects were cool, but I had no attachment to them. Though I gave him a lot of shit, I knew I’d even miss Stitch. A little. It didn’t matter that the last year had been filled with more shit than gold, or that I was leaving Vegas in the dust, we were all closer for the hell we’d been through. But still, I was leaving. Maisie and I’d been on the road for a couple of days. Traveling with a small child took a long damn time. Between bathroom breaks and snack times we’d be lucky to make it to Opey by the end of the month. Lucky for me, Maisie had her mind set on us becoming cowboys, complete with ten gallon hats, spurs and chaps, so she hadn’t shed one tear, yet. It wasn’t something I’d been hoping for but I was waiting patiently for reality to sink in and the uncontrollable sobs that had a way of breaking a grown man’s heart. “You’re not a boy,” I told her and smiled through the rear view mirror. “Hard to be a cowboy if you’re not even a boy.” Maisie grinned, a full row of bright white baby teeth shining back at me right along with sapphire blue eyes and hair so black it looked to be painted on with ink. “I’m gonna be a cowgirl then! A cowgirl!” She went on and on for what felt like forever, in only the way that a four year old could, about all the cool cowgirl stuff she’d have. “Boots and a pony too!” “A pony? You can’t even tie your shoes or clean up your toys and you want a pony?” She nodded in that exaggerated way little kids did. “I’ll learn,” she said with the certainty of a know it all teenager, a thought that terrified the hell out of me. “You’ll help me, Gunny!” Her words brought a smile to my face even though I hated that fucking nickname she’d picked up from a woman I refused to think about ever again. I’d help Maisie because that’s what family did. Hell, she was the reason I’d uprooted my entire fucking life and headed to the great unknown wilds of Texas. To give Maisie a normal life or as close to normal as I was capable of giving her. “I’ll always help you, Squirt.” “I know. Love you Gunny!” “Love you too, Cowgirl.” I winked in the mirror and her face lit up with happiness. It was the pure joy on her face, putting a bloom in her cheeks that convinced me this was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to move to Texas, and I didn’t want to live on a goddamn ranch, but that was my future. The property was already bought and paid for with my name

We’re a family business. All we have is our name and our reputation. We follow only three rules. First, once bought, we stay loyal to the client. Second, we try not to do anything illegal. And third, at the end of the day we have to be able to look our reflection in the eye.

It was a beautiful blue afternoon, and as the day cooled, the port was coming to life. Venus' breath had whipped up the sea beyond the river mouth and it was a deep sapphire colour. The sails of the ships moving to and fro on the water made triangles of white and yellow against the blue.

My Seclusion Just like, I remember the- Fireflies at night, they all carry their- own light in flight. They fly higher and higher until they are out of sight. They are never in fear of the darkness because they carry their light. They constantly have hope, and it shines brightly. The firefly flies by, unlike me there are never shy. I am lying outside on the grounds a few feet from my home, yet I am still feeling all alone, listening to all the sounds of the night as they moan. I look at the full moon, knowing that I will be back in hell soon, seeing all the faces at lunch at noon. Wondering what is going to happen on my vacation in the upcoming summer in the months like in June. I lie on the cold hard ground outside looking up with the stars in the sky, remembering all the days flashing that have gone by, seeing all the faces that never even say hi, remembering the terror from the wandering eyes. (Right now) My head is pounding just like the thunder and lightning, the evil faces streaks crossed my face, with every bolt of lightning. This takes me back to when I was a little girl; I hope that the pink suspended feathers sweep them away in the white webs. So, I can have a sunny day on all these rainy days that seem to never end, I just do not have much to say. I am not safe anywhere… the voices haunt me as they do. However, I just have an overwhelming urge to cry, all night and watch movies by myself. Like, I have done, these last two years of my high school life. Is anything going to change? Why must I live like this? Why do I keep living? Why can I not just pass on? I look out my window, and sometimes it takes me back to when I was young. Some days I look out the window and the skies are scarlet, and that reminds me that I should be out doing things with people of my age. The summer has come and gone, and the school days have started with no one to see me, or even ask if I was alive. No one cares! Is the plan going to work? I have no idea at this point, yet I keep trying!

(Home) ‘This land is beautiful, but the people are horrible.’ The people took this beautiful land and raped it, and put up a bunch of ugly boxes, however, my home is in the Victorian-style and it is old and has a handcrafted personality. There is an ancient oak tree outside my window, sometimes I step out my window then onto the roof of the porch, and sit in the tree branch that hangs over, and watches all the stars as they appear to turn on and off. Yes, I have wished upon a shooting star, that things will change, and that the towers will be no more. Looking straight ahead, I can see all the lights that go on the horizon, some days the sunsets are blazing before the lights turn on. Then there are some days that the window is shut because it is cold windy while everything is chilled with the color of blue. (Frame of mind) My mood can change just like this and that it seems. Yes, just like all the summer turns into winter, and the winters turn into spring, and all of these thoughts running in my mind fall like the leaves through my brain, and they most likely do not mean a thing. I guess you could blame it on my ADD, ADHD, dyslexia, bipolar disorder, or OCD. I do not have any of these… I do not have anything wrong with me. But, if you are like one of the sisters or someone from my school, you would say my mood changes are because of my- STD’s, HIV, or being as they say GAY or BI, and LEZ-BO. They have also said, I am a pedophile and a child stocker, and I get moody if I do not get some from them. That is why I am so sober at times, or so they say. Whatever…! They also have said that I am a schizophrenic- psycho and that I could not even buy love. I would not try that anyways. I think that having money does not give you happiness; I am okay being a humble farm- girl, the guy that finds me… needs to be happy with that also. I am sure there are more things they say. However, those are just some of them that I can dredge up as of now, off the top of my head. They have murdered me and my life, in so many ways. So now, do you wonder as to why I am afraid of talking to people or even looking at them? You know you and they can try to destroy me, and my life. However, I do not have any of those listed either; none of these random arrangements of letters defines me as the person I truly am. (Sight) Looking out the windows, I can see the golden hayfields of ecstasy, I see the windmills that twist and tumble. I can see the abandoned railroad track that lies not far from my home. I can hear the cries of the swing as the wind gusts in spurts. But yet I am still in my room, but that is just okay with me. Because I know that there will someday soon be someone there for me. (Household) My room is a land of peace and tranquility without all the gloom, with a bed and a canopy overhead but still, I am not truly happy? There is nothing- like the sounds of the crickets speaking up often in the cool August night breeze. It is relaxing to me, however; it is a reminder to me of how the last glimmers of summer are ending. Besides the sounds slowly fade away, yes- I can hear this music from my bedroom window. It is just like in the spring the birds sing in the morning and leave in the cool gusts to come. It is just like the hummingbirds that flutter by, and then before I know it, all has changed; so, it seems by the time I walk out my bedroom door, to start my day. ‘Life goes in cycles of tunes it seems, and nature is its synchronization in its symphony you just have to listen.

(Lasting touch) Oh, I still remember the last time we touched, it seemed so long ago, yet it was not that long ago really. When he touched me, my hand tingled as if he made a spark of lightning run up my arm and throughout my nerves. Which rushes to my brain and back down to my toes, and stimulates everything in between throughout me, which just turns me on, and lit me up with a white glow of exhilaration. Even from a distance, all I have to do is think about him or simply imagine, and I know he can feel me, I know we have felt one another without touching also. As always, he feels like electricity is passing through me. Even when he is just sitting next to me in class, or walking by me; I feel what it would feel like to have him inside of me, to pass through me as he would go in and out of my body. Yet I want the real thing! I need him; I want to feel, even more, this is good, but I want everything, I need all of him! Yes, I am still in love with that boy! It is as if I am spiritual, emotionally, and morally aware of him, and linked somehow. It is what he does for pleasure, all his sensations go through me, as mine goes through him, all we need to do is think or feel ourselves. We both can feel each other, and that is so sensual to me, and surely to him as well. I wonder if anyone knows that? Yes, even though we do not touch in front of anyone, I can feel his lovely soul in mine. I think this gift is something, I was granted that day, I died also, and was given life ones more by Lily’s touch. Just as her touch brought me back to life, she is with me also, in many sensations, which I cannot explain, other than saying they are heavenly.

Variations on a Summer Day" I Say of the gulls that they are flying In light blue air over dark blue sea. II A music more than a breath, but less Than the wind, sub-music like sub-speech, A repetition of unconscious things, Letters of rock and water, words Of the visible elements and of ours. III The rocks of the cliffs are the heads of dogs That turn into fishes and leap Into the sea. IV Star over Monhegan, Atlantic star, Lantern without a bearer, you drift, You, too, are drifting, in spite of your course; Unless in the darkness, brightly-crowned You are the will, if there is a will, Or the portent of a will that was, One of the portents of the will that was. V The leaves of the sea are shaken and shaken. There was a tree that was a father. We sat beneath it and sang our songs. VI It is cold to be forever young, To come to tragic shores and flow, In sapphire, round the sun-bleached stones, Being, for old men, time of their time. VII One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. He mocks the guineas, challenges The crow, inciting various modes. The sparrow requites one, without intent. VIII An exercise in viewing the world. On the motive! But one looks at the sea As one improvises, on the piano. IX This cloudy world, by aid of land and sea, Night and day, wind and quiet, produces More nights, more days, more clouds, more worlds. X To change nature, not merely to change ideas, To escape from the body, so to feel Those feelings that the body balks, The feelings of the natures round us here: As a boat feels when it cuts blue water. XI Now, the timothy at Pemaquid That rolled in heat is silver-tipped And cold. The moon follows the sun like a French Translation of a Russian poet. XII Everywhere the spruce trees bury soldiers: Hugh March, a sergeant, a redcoat, killed, With his men, beyond the barbican. Everywhere spruce trees bury spruce trees. XIII Cover the sea with the sand rose. Fill The sky with the radiantiana Of spray. Let all the salt be gone. XIV Words add to the senses. The words for the dazzle Of mica, the dithering of grass, The Arachne integument of dead trees, Are the eye grown larger, more intense. XV The last island and its inhabitant, The two alike, distinguish blues, Until the difference between air And sea exists by grace alone, In objects, as white this, white that. XVI Round and round goes the bell of the water And round and round goes the water itself And that which is the pitch of its motion, The bell of its dome, the patron of sound. XVII Pass through the door and through the walls, Those bearing balsam, its field fragrance, Pine-figures bringing sleep to sleep. XVIII Low tide, flat water, sultry sun. One observes profoundest shadows rolling. Damariscotta dada doo. XIX One boy swims under a tub, one sits On top. Hurroo, the man-boat comes, In a man-makenesse, neater than Naples. XX You could almost see the brass on her gleaming, Not quite. The mist was to light what red Is to fire. And her mainmast tapered to nothing, Without teetering a millimeter's measure. The beads on her rails seemed to grasp at transparence. It was not yet the hour to be dauntlessly leaping.

From the day we arrive on this planet And blinking, step into the sun There’s more to see than can ever be seen More to do than can ever be done There is far too much to take in here More to find than can ever be found But the sun rolling high Through the sapphire sky Keeps great and small on the endless round It’s the circle of life And it moves us all Through despair and hope Through faith and love Till we find our place On the path unwinding In the circle The circle of life It’s the circle of life And it moves us all Through despair and hope Through faith and love Till we find our place On the path unwinding In the circle The circle of life

I find her in the kitchen, three fingers into a bottle of Bombay Sapphire at, like, twelve o’clock in the day. Her blood must be about seventy per cent proof. I must remember not to cremate her when she’s gone.

What are these things?” he asked. “I saw them on the river, too.” Ruby- and sapphire-colored insects were dancing above the surface of the puddle. “Daywings,” Etain said. “I’ve never seen colors like it.” “They hatch and take flight for a day, and they die by the evening,” she said. “A brief and glorious …” Her voice trailed off. She was appalled at her own insensitivity. She began assembling an apology, but Darman didn’t appear to need one. “They’re amazing,” he said, completely absorbed by the spectacle. “They certainly are,” she said, and watched him.

I don't know who the hell you are, hawk-woman, but if you think I'm going to let you destroy Zamaron with your army of birds in my first week on the job, you're mistaken. Love is beautiful. Love is inspiring. But love is also lethal.

Hawkgirl: Get your pet dragon's bony claws off us before I break them! Carol: It's not a dragon, Hawgirl -- it's called the Predator. The "Entity of Love." Hawkman: This thing's an "Entity of Love?" Hawkgirl: I'd hate to see what the entity of hate looks like. Carol: It's one of the oldest forces in the universe. It's motivated by love or, more important, the absence of love.

هاكونا ماتاتا - Hakuna Matata”، كلمة سيمبا اتعلمها من تيمون و بومبا أول يوم قابلهم في الغابة بعد ما هرب من أهله. معناها بالأنجليزي “No Worries”، أما في مصر عندنا ليها مرادفات كتير زي “نَفّض”، “كبّر”، “طَنّش”، “إحلَق”، “أفْكِس”.. حسب الجيل والمستوى الإجتماعي اللي بننشأ فيه.. وفي الأغنية الشهيرة اللي في نص الكارتوون شرح تيمون لسيمبا lifestyle هاكونا ماتاتا كالتالي: It means no worries for the rest of your days, it's our problem-free philosophy. بمعنى أنه ابتكر فلسفة حياة مبنية على اللامبالاة وعدم الاكتراث بأي حاجة حصلت في الماضي او بتحصل دلوقتي او هتحصل في المستقبل وبالتالي عايش هو وبومبا بدون مشاكل.. أُعجب سيمبا جداً بالفسلفة دي لأسباب كتير، أولها الأسلوب المُسلّي اللي تيمون وبومبا قدموها بيه، وأهمها أنه لقى فيها حل فوري لحالة الإكتئاب اللي عنده من ساعة ما تسبب في موت باباه، وبدل ما يواجه الواقع تبنى فلسفة التنفيض؛ “هاكونا ماتاتا”، وأول حاجة قرر “ينفضلها” هي أهله، بما فيهم مامته.. ومن خلال إخراج الأغنية اللي مليان رموز ومعاني بنشوف إزاي تيمون وبومبا بيغيروا فكر سيمبا بشكل مؤسف جداً في حين أن ظاهر المشهد مُبهج ومُفرح في تناقد شديد ميفهموش غير المشاهد المتأمل خلاصته أن الentertainment - بمعنى اللهو - هو مفتاح لتحويل نظرة أي شخص تجاه حاجة مذمومة إلى محمودة. فنلاقي مثلاً أن تيمون طلّع مَبرد وبَرد لسيمبا مخالبه كرمزية لإنتكاس الفطرة وتبدُّل السنّة. كمان بعد ما Mufasa بابا سيمبا ما كان بيربيه على معاني الصبر والتركيز والتأني في درس الصيد في أول الفيلم دلوقتي تيمون بيعلمه يستسهل وياكل دود وخنافس وصراصير وحاجات مقرفة جداً كرمزية للإستغناء عن العلم والعمل. الملفت للنظر أن “تيمون” اللي كان طول الوقت متزعِم سيمبا وبومبا هو في الحقيقة أصغر وأضعف واحد فيهم، لكنه قدر يتزعمهم بسهولة لأنهم نسيوا هويتهم. وبعد flash forward سنين لقدام بنشوف سيمبا كبر وبقى شاب لكن للأسف بشخصية ضعيفة وهايفة واضحة في مظهره وتصرفاته وتطلعاته، فبعد ما كان بيعتز جداً بكلام باباه وشايفه قدوة ليه بقى بيتكسف وبيسخر منه بينه وبين صحابه، وبعد ما كان حلمه أنه يُحكم الغابة بالعدل ويحرر “مقبرة الفيلة” من إحتلال الضباع بقى هدفه الوحيد في الحياة أنه “يقضّيها” مع صحابه الفاشلين الهايفين، وبعد ما كان أكتر شخص مميز في الغابة وفي نظر كل الغابة ليه مستقبل مشرق، بقى ملوش لازمة ولا أهمية.. وفضل عايش سنين على الحال دا، لحد ما في يوم قابل Nala. “نالا” في الكارتوون هيا رمز حطه المؤلف العبقري لحاجة جميلة بتفكر سيمبا بأصله وفطرته وأحلامه، ممكن بالنسبالنا تكون شخصية او مكان او كتاب او ثورة او اي حاجة بنحس فيها بمعاني التغيير، المهم أنها بتواجهه بحقيقته اللي كان ناسيها.. أنه أسد والمفروض يكون ملك الغابة، وأن كل الغابة بتناديه، وحلمه بيدور عليه، ارجع تاني الدنيا محتجالك، ارجع تاني ونور الحياة - فبيتصدم سيمبا في نفسه والحال اللي وصله ويقرر أنه يتغيّر، ويبدأ يدور على الصراط المستقيم. “But the sun rolling high - through the sapphire sky Keeps great and small on the endless round It's the Circle of Life, and it moves us all Through despair and hope, through faith and love Till we find our place on the path unwinding In the Circle of Life” — The Lion King

A formless blob begins to morph and then evolves into a humanoid shape. A male body is revealed to her. A twenty-year-old man that looks a bit older than her, but no more than a few years at most. He has pale skin but a tan pigmentation to his dermal membrane, similarly to those who have descended from Hispanic or Spanish heritage. His eyes are heterochromatic, gleaming like gems in this uncanny realm. Identical to the eyes of her beloved cat: one shines with the radiance of a sapphire, while the other glows with a fiery dissimilarity, resembling a diametrical ruby. Somehow, though different in color, the blankness of his eyes are far from antithetical to the pair that were painted in the picture of her dream from days ago, that seemed to have come right out of a Dalí painting. Invoking the memory of the dead-eyed stare that continually to haunts her. He is very handsome with a large forehead, and slick ebony hair. His eyebrows are incredibly expressive, as if they were sketched on with a pencil. And he had a teardrop mole underneath his right eye. He had long eyelashes and a porcelain doll mouth. He is adorned in all white: a long-sleeved white sweater with white pants and a pair of white combat boots. Although he has manifested himself in such a beautiful form, Juniper doesn't feel any attraction towards him. When she blushes, it is only from humiliation. Their eyes are locked together in an encumbrance of space-time.

In the weeks they had spent getting to know each other, Marjorie had become more and more enamored with the blue of his eyes. She wrote poems about them. The blue like ocean water, like clear sky, like sapphire - she couldn't capture it. At the movies, she had thought about how the only real friends she had were characters in novels, not real at all. And then Graham had appeared and swallowed up a bit of her loneliness with his blue whale eyes. The next day she wouldn't for the life of her be able to remember what the movie was called.

Every day,’ nodded Julia. ‘I’ve learnt quite a lot. What an easy way of making money, isn’t it?’ ‘But, look here! You mustn’t try speculating on your own. It’s frightfully risky. The thing to do is to put your pile into something safe.’ ‘Oh, I know,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve learnt enough about business to know that I don’t know much.’ ‘Some people never learn as much as that.

Of course we intend to be married! I don’t know what you mean.’ Retta laughed. ‘You don’t seem very keen to fix a day for the wedding; that’s what I mean. If you really want to marry Morland you’ll have to do something about it. I may not know much about books and music—you think I’m pretty dim—but I know a good deal about men, and you can take it from me that Morland needs a good shake-up.’ ‘A good shake-up!’ echoed Julia in bewildered tones. ‘Yes, he’s thoroughly selfish and pleased with himself. If that’s the sort of man you like, it’s all right—none of my business.

And I proceeded towards the south; and it burns day and night there where seven hills of precious stones are, three towards the east, three towards the south. But of those towards the east, one of colored stone, one of pearls, and one of antimony; and those towards the south of red stone. But the middle one reached up to heaven, like the throne of God, of alabaster, and the summit of the throne of sapphire. And I saw a burning fire which was in all the hills. And there I saw a place, beyond the great earth; there the waters collected. And I saw a great abyss in the earth, with columns of heavenly fire; and I saw among them columns of heavenly fire, which fall and are without number, either towards the height or towards the depth. And over that abyss I saw a place which had no firmament of heaven above it, and no foundation of earth beneath it, and no water above it, and no birds upon it; it was a void place. And there I saw a terrible thing: seven stars, like great burning mountains and like spirits, that petitioned me.

The hardest thing about writing is getting in every day, breaking through the membrane. The second-hardest thing is getting out. Sometimes I sink down too deep and come up too fast. Afterward I feel wide open and skinless. The whole world feels moist and pliable. When I get up from the desk I straighten the edges of everything. The rug needs to be perfectly aligned with the floorboards. My toothbrush needs to be perpendicular to the edge of the shelf. Clothing cannot be left inside out. My mother’s sapphire needs to be centered on my finger.

He opened the box. A white engagement ring with a band shaped like a beast’s paw lay on a small velvet pillow, with a beautiful sapphire clasped in its tiny white claws. “I’m fucked up,” he said. “I have many faults. But I promise if you marry me, I will love you and take care of you for the rest of our lives.” I stared at him. “If you put up with me, I will put up with whatever you can throw my way,” he said. “Bad days, good days, ‘I’ll cut you if you look at me the wrong way’ days. I’ll take them all.” I knew I had to say something. “If you kill her with this after everything I’ve done,” Doolittle said behind me. “You will never leave this swamp.

And when the day reaches its end I hear the crickets and become entirely replete and unintelligible. Then I live the blue daybreak that comes with its bulge full of little birds—I wonder if I’m giving you an idea of what a person goes through in life? And every thing that occurs to me I note to pin it down. For I want to feel in my hands the quivering and lively nerve of the now and may that nerve resist me like a restless vein. And may it rebel, that nerve of life, and may it contort and throb. And may sapphires, amethysts and emeralds spill into the dark eroticism of abundant life: because in my darkness quakes at last the great topaz, word that has its own light.