Silver Flames Quotes

Gwyn whispered, “I am the rock against which the surf crashes.” Nesta straightened at the words, as if they were a prayer and a summons. Gwyn lifted the blade. “Nothing can break me.

I cannot survive without reading.

Keep reaching out your hand.

For every Nesta out there- climb the mountain.

Never again. Never again would she be weak. Never again would she be at someone’s mercy. Never again would she fail. Never again, never again, never again.

Rhys lifted his head. "This is a bad idea." Cassian winked. "That should be written on the Night Court crest.

Black for hunting through the night For death and mourning the color's white Gold for a bride in her wedding gown And red to call the enchantment down White silk when our bodies burn Blue banners when the lost return Flame for the birth of a Nephilim And to wash away our sins. Gray for the knowledge best untold Bone for those who don't grow old Saffron lights the victory march Green to mend our broken hearts Silver for the demon towers And bronze to summon wicked powers -Shadowhunter children's rhyme

Cassian leaned to whisper in her ear, “The first time I saw that look on your face, you were still human. Still human, and I nearly went to my knees before you.

I'll be with you every step of the way. Just don't lock me out. You want to walk in silence for a week, I'm fine with that. So long as you talk to me at the end of it.

Your power is a song, and one I’ve waited a very, very long time to hear, Nesta.

Whatever you need to throw at me, I can take it. I won't break.

She would not be mastered by anything again. She was the master of herself.

I am worthless and I am nothing, Nesta nearly said. She wasn’t sure why the words bubbled up, pressing on her lips to voice them. I hate everything that I am. And I am so, so tired. I am tired of wanting to be anywhere but in my own head.

Amren put a hand above Nesta's heart. "That's the key, isn't it? To know the darkness will always remain, but how you choose to face it, handle it... that's the most important part. To not let it consume. To focus upon the good, the things that fill you with wonder." She gestured to the stars zooming past. "The struggle with that darkness is worth it, just to see such things.

But I still don’t know how to fix myself.” “There’s nothing broken to be fixed,” he said fiercely.

Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away ere break of day To seek the pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. For ancient king and elvish lord There many a gleaming golden hoard They shaped and wrought, and light they caught To hide in gems on hilt of sword. On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun. Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To claim our long-forgotten gold. Goblets they carved there for themselves And harps of gold; where no man delves There lay they long, and many a song Was sung unheard by men or elves. The pines were roaring on the height, The wind was moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; The trees like torches blazed with light. The bells were ringing in the dale And men looked up with faces pale; The dragon's ire more fierce than fire Laid low their towers and houses frail. The mountain smoked beneath the moon; The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying fall Beneath his feet, beneath the moon. Far over the misty mountains grim To dungeons deep and caverns dim We must away, ere break of day, To win our harps and gold from him!

So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally. Had relished it. But when the time came to put away the wolf, she'd found it had devoured her too.

Nesta had loved Cassian since she'd first laid eyes on him. Had loved him even when she did not want to, even when she had been swallowed by despair and fear and hatred. Had loved him and destroyed herself because she didn't believe she deserved him, because he was all that was good, and brave, and kind, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him

Power lay in her hand. Death gripped her by the other.

I am your mate, for fuck’s sake!” Cassian shouted, loud enough for people across the river to hear. “You are my mate! Why are you still fighting it?

Welcome back to the Night Court, Nesta Archeron.

The familiar male’s gaze snagged on her. “What’s her business here?” Nesta gave him a secretive smile. “Witchcraft.

Mary stared at the dreamlike happenings on the page. Human figures faced each other; the man’s head was a golden ball with rays reaching up to huge stars and out to the distant mountains; the woman’s silver head was sickle-shaped and surrounded by birds like eagles with white beaks. Some of the black letters glowed because they had tips like tiny flames.

Because my Mate taught me well.

She turned her head so slowly it was like watching a puppet move. Her eyes met his. Death watched him. But Death had walked beside him every day of his life. So Cassian stroked his thumb along her palm and said, “Hello, Nes.

The cold of the gaps between stars, the cold of a world before light.

The book,” Nesta repeated to herself, staring at her porridge, “is about a book.” She cupped her forehead in her hands. “Idiot.

I wish for us to have the courage to go out into the world when we are ready, but to always be able to find our way back to each other. No matter what.

Ataraxia, she had named that magic sword. Inner Peace.

A rose by any other name Would get the blame For being what it is-- The colour of a kiss, The shadow of a flame. A rose may earn another name, So call it love; So call it love I will, And love is like the sea, Which changes constantly, And yet is still The same.

You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.

Gwyn whispered, "I am the rock against which the surf crashes." Nesta straightened at the words, as if they were a prayer and a summons. Gwyn lifted the blade. "Nothing can break me." Cassian's throat tightened, and even from across the ring he could see Nesta's eyes gleaming with pride and pain. Emerie said, "Nothing can break us ." The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. In a hunred years, a thousand, this moment would still be etched in his mind. That he would tell his children, his grandchildren, Right then and there. That was when it all changed. Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift. As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved.

She was a wolf who had never learned how to be a wolf, thanks to that cage humans called propriety and society. And like any maltreated animal, she bit anyone who came near.

And even if the laws had allowed it, he would never take that away from her: the chance to save herself.

I'm talking to the House. Which is a considerable step up from talking to you." "It doesn't talk back." "Exactly.

I want to take the road that no one dares travel, and I want to travel it with you two. No matter what may befall us. Not as Illyrians, not for their titles but as something new . To prove to them, to everyone, that something new and different might triumph over their rules and restrictions.

Az chuckled, the wind shifting the strands of his dark hair. “You two need a chaperone up here?” Yes. No. Yes. “I thought you were the chaperone.” Az threw him a wicked smile. “I’m not entirely sure I’m enough.

Say what I've guessed from the moment we met," he breathed. "What I knew the first time I kissed you. What became unbreakable between us on Solstice night." She wouldn't. "I am your mate , for fuck's sake!" Cassian shouted, loud enough for people across the river to hear. "You are my mate! Why are you still fighting it?

I am going to tell you that you will get through it. That you will face this, and you will get through it. That these tears are good, Nesta. These tears mean you care. I am going to tell you that it is not too late, not for any of it. And I can't tell you when, or how, but it will get better. What you feel, this guilt and pain and self-loathing- you will get through it. But only if you are willing to fight. Only if you are willing to face it, and embrace it, and walk through it, to emerge on the other side of it. And maybe you will still feel that tinge of pain, but there is another side. A better side.

You’re an arrogant bastard.” “And you’re a haughty witch. We’re evenly matched.

For it was music between their souls. Always had been. And his voice was her favorite melody.

I like to read. I cannot survive without reading.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

Some things are more important than fear.

Nesta laughed. The sound might well have been a lighting strike to his head for how much it rocked him, that laugh. Free and light and so unlike anything he'd ever heard from her that even Azriel blinked. A true laugh.

Your story is worth telling, you know.

Can I see it?" She knew what he meant, and had held up her hands before her. Ribbons and plumes and flowers of red and gold fire danced through his room, bright and glorious and elegant. Chaol's eyes had been lined with silver when the flames winked out. "it's lovely," he said at last.

She whispered, "And I am yours." Those golden threads between their very souls shone with the words, as they formed a harp strummed by a heavenly hand. For it was music between their souls. Always had been. And his voice was her favorite melody.

Then Rhys fell to his knees and took Nesta's hands in his, pressing his mouth to her fingers. "Thank you," he wept, head bowed. Cassian knew it wasn't in gratitude for Rhy's own life that he knelt upon the sacred tattoos inked upon his knees. Nesta dropped to the carpet. Lifted Rhy's face in her hands, studied what lay in it. Then she threw her arms around the High Lord of the Night Court and held him tightly.

Nesta gazed at her friends. And saw pain and sorrow in their tear-streaked faces, but also the openness of letting each other see the broken places deep inside. The understanding that they would not turn away.

Death watched him. But death had walked beside him everyday of his life. So Cassian stroked his thumb along her palm and said, “Hello Nes.

I have been broken once before,” Gwyn said, her voice clear. “I survived it. And I will not be broken again—not even by this mountain.

He had called her Lady Death, and he was her sword.

Busybody.” Az took a bite. “You let her suck your cock in the middle of the dining room. At a table I’m currently using to eat my dinner. I’d say that entitles me to an opinion.

Wrapped in black eternity, Nesta and the Cauldron twined, burning through the darkness like a newborn star.

Whatever you need to throw at me, I can take it. I won’t break.

The book,” Nesta said, a bit breathlessly, “is about …” Her nostrils flared and her eyes went a bit unfocused. “A book.” “Interesting,” Cassian murmured. “Sounds great.

Nesta tried—tried and failed—not to feel the blow, the sting of the words. Though she didn’t know why she was surprised by it. There were no paintings of her in this house, they did not invite her to parties or dinners anymore, they certainly didn’t visit—

I hate him,” she seethed. “Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.

Our stories are worth telling.

The world was beautiful, and she was so grateful to be in it. To be alive, to be here, to see this. She stuck out a hand over the railing, grazing a star as it shot past, and her fingers came away glowing with blue and green dust. She laughed, a sound of pure joy, and she cried more, because that joy was a miracle.

Hey." Leo grinned, which was unnerving in the flames, his teeth like molten silver ingots. "I told you I had a plan. When are you going to trust me? And by the way- I love you guys." Festus claw opened, and Jason and Piper fell. Jason had no strengh to stop it. He held on to Piper as she cried Leo's name, and they plummeted earthward.

Cassian blew out a breath, watching the flames leap and flutter. “We’re going to be uncles,” he said after a moment, unable to keep the wonder from his voice. Azriel’s face filled with pride and joy. “A boy.

The first time I saw that look on your face, you were still human. Still human, and I nearly went to my knees before you.

Rough year, he almost said. Because that beautiful face was indeed pale, thinner than it had been before the war, her lips bloodless, and those eyes… Cold and sharp, like a winter morning. No joy, no laughter, in any plane of her exquisite face.

She had been born wrong. Had been born with claws and fangs and had never been able to keep from using them, never been able to quell the part of her that raged at betrayal, that could hate and love more violently than anyone ever understood.

I grew up surrounded by monsters. I've spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You're not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male." Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris's curled lip. "You're just too much of a coward to act like one.

Every cloud has a silver lining. The edge of light that shines brightest holds a sliver of hope for a bright today & an even better tomorrow.

That's the key isn't it? To know the darkness will always remain, but how you choose to face it, handle it...that's the important part. To not let it consume. To focus upon the good, the things that fill you with wonder." She gestured to the stars zooming past. "The struggle with that darkness is worth it, just to see such things.

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.

All the things I’ve done before—” “Leave them in the past. Apologize to who you feel the need to, but leave those things behind.” “Forgiveness is not that easy.” “Forgiveness is something we also grant ourselves.

Never again. Never again would she be weak. Never again would she be at someone’s mercy. Never again would she failed.

There are temptations more attractive than angels. Liberty, Patriotism, the good of humanity – words like that are the silver scales of the Tempter’s flaming wings

Simon had never noticed before, but she wore a silver ring on her right hand, with a partner of flames around the band of it, and a carved L in the center. It reminded him of the ring Clary wore around her neck, with its design of stars. "It's the Lightwood family ring," she said, noticing where his gaze was fixed. "Every family has an emblem. Ours is fire.

I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he whispered into her palm. “Just don’t lock me out. You want to walk in silence for a week, I’m fine with that. So long as you talk to me at the end of it.

Cassian’s waiting for you, Nesta,” Azriel said—tone gentling. “Take off the Mask.” Nesta stayed silent, Ataraxia ready in her hand. One swipe, and Azriel would be dead. “He’s waiting for you at the House of Wind,” Azriel went on. “At home.” Another blink from Nesta. The silver fire banked a little. Like whoever Cassian was, and whatever the House of Wind was … they might be the only things capable of fighting the siren song of the Mask.

Azriel was nothing short of beautiful. Even with those scarred hands and the shadows that flowed from him like smoke, she’d always found him to be the prettiest of the three males who called themselves brothers.

Variation on the Word Sleep I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head. and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center. I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and you enter it as easily as breathing in I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.

We’ll make a coronation of it, Nes.” “I already have a crown,” she said. “I just want you.

She couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it. Not the flash of desire, but the smile that overtook her face. She huffed a laugh. Cassian stared like he hadn't seen her before.

But Nesta knew well how invisible wounds could be. How they could scar as deeply and badly as any physical breaking.

The High Lord would go to the ends of the world for a way to save Feyre.

Is it living though? To take the safe road?

So, the wooden stake through the heart thing is apparently a myth, but you can be killed by fire. Anything else?" "Should I be concerned that one of your first questions is how to kill me?" Her jaw dropped. "What? No! I didn't mean... I was just curious." He snorted. "Well you can remain so." "What about the sun?" she asked. "Extra toasty?" "I'm not going to burst into flames, but I avoid tanning beds." "Silver?" "Some of my favorite cufflinks." "Garlic?" "Please," he sneered. "I'm Italian.

That’s the key, isn’t it? To know the darkness will always remain, but how you choose to face it, handle it … that’s the important part. To not let it consume. To focus upon the good, the things that fill you with wonder.

Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder. Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. “You have no idea what you just started,” she said.

Cassian shoveled more eggs into his mouth and said around them, “Doesn’t count when you use your hands to do most of the work.” Nesta schooled her face into utter disdain, even as a hiss rose inside her. “I bet that isn’t what you’ve been telling yourself at night.

I watched, enthralled, as he painted a large silver heart with flames edging one side. The whole design was Celtic in style. It was beautiful. "Where did you get that from?" I asked in awe. I'd seen a lot of his work but never anything like this. His eyes were on his heart, completely caught up in his work. "Just something kicking around in my head. Reminds me of you. Fiery and sweet, all at the same time. A flame in the dark, lighting my way." His voice... his words... I recognized one of his spirit-driven moments. It should've unnerved me, but there was something sensual about the way he spoke, something that made my breath catch. A flame in the dark. He swapped out the silver paintbrush for a black one. Before I could stop him, he wrote over the heart: AYE. Underneath it, in smaller letters, he added: HONORARY MEMBER.

I've seen what you can do when you are willing to fight for the people you love. Why not apply that same bravery and loyalty to yourself? Don't say you don't deserve it. [...] Everyone deserves happiness. The road there isn't easy. It is long, and hard, and often traveled utterly blind. But you keep going. [...] Because you know the destination will be worthwile.

I'd sit around dreaming that the boys I saw at shows or at work - the boys with silver earrings and big boots - would tell me I was beautiful, take me home and feed me Thai food or omelets and undress me and make love to me all night with the palm trees whispering windsongs about a tortured gleaming city and the moonlight like flame melting our candle bodies.

Because to stand against it would be to provoke the Mask's wrath. To stand against it would be to stand against Death itself. Death herself. Azriel shook, weathering that primal power. But they were both Illyrian, whether Az liked it or not. And so they did what their people had always done before Death's beautiful face. They bowed.

The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

Cassian pulled back, and remained that way long enough that she opened her eyes again to find his face inches from her own. "You're not going to marry Eris," he said roughly. "No," she breathed. His eyes blazed. "There will be no one else. For either of us." "Yes," she whispered. "Ever," he promised. Nesta laid a hand on his muscled chest, letting the thunderous beating of the heart beneath echo into her palm. Let it travel down her arm, into her own chest, her own heart. "Ever," she swore.

Why do you think I shoved you away? Why do you think I wouldn't speak to you?" She put a hand on her aching chest. "After my father died, after I failed in so many ways- denying myself of you..." She sobbed. "It was my punishment. Don't you understand that?" She could barely see him through her tears. "From the moment I met you, I wanted you more than reason. From the moment I saw you in my house, you were all I could think about. And it terrified me. No one had ever held such power over me. And I am still terrified that if I let myself have you... it will be taken away. Someone will take it away, and if you're dead..." She buried her face in her hands. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "I do not deserve you, and I never, ever will.

She stared at him for long minutes, the unusual paleness of his face, the brows still scrunched with worry, as if he fretted for her even in his sleep. The sun gilded his dark hair and shone through his wings, bringing out undertones of reds and golds in both. Like a knight guarding his lady. She couldn't stop the image, sprung from the pages of her childhood books. Like a warrior-prince, with those tattoos and that muscle-bound chest. Her throat tightened unbearably, her eyes stinging. She would not let herself cry, not for herself or for the sight of him keeping watch beside her bed all night.

I feel nothing, Nesta said silently. Only the sight of Feyre on Death’s threshold kept her from forgetting why she was here, what she needed to do. Is that not what you wanted? To feel nothing? I thought that was what I wanted. Nesta surveyed the people around her. Her sisters. Cassian, who had been willing to plunge a dagger into his heart rather than harm her. But no longer. When the female voice didn’t press her, Nesta went on, I want to feel everything. I want to embrace it with my whole heart. Even the things that hurt and hunt you? Only curiosity laced the question. Nesta allowed herself a breath to ponder it, stilling her mind once more. We need those things in order to appreciate the good. Some days might be more difficult than others, but … I want to experience all of it, live through all of it. With them. That wise, soft voice whispered, So live, Nesta Archeron.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.” Nesta straightened at the words, as if they were a prayer and a summons. Gwyn lifted the blade. “Nothing can break me.” Cassian’s throat tightened, and even from across the ring, he could see Nesta’s eyes gleaming with pride and pain. Emerie said, “Nothing can break us.” The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. In a hundred years, a thousand, this moment would still be etched in his mind. That he would tell his children, his grandchildren, Right then and there. That was when it all changed.

for she is my love, and other women are but big bodies of flame. who in the world would have thot of her like that? when most people looked they only saw a certain collection of bones, a selection of forms filling space. but he saw past the mouth and the eyes. the archetecture of the body, her fleshy masquerade. other boys were happy enuf to enjoy the show, they just wanted to be entertained by the bodys shadow theater but he had to come backstage. he went down into the mines. into the dark, brot up the gold. your new self, a better self. but wat good was it if he was jus gonna leave her behind. his poets lady, his silver lilly. he was a boy who knew things, things that looked one way but proved to be another.

Quasida of the Woman Prone" To see you naked is to remember the Earth, the smooth Earth, clean of horses, the Earth without reeds, pure form, closed to the future, confine of silver. To see you naked is to understand the desire of rain that looks for the delicate waist, or the fever of the broad-faced sea that cannot find the light of its cheek. Blood will ring through the bedrooms and will come with flaming swords, but you will not know the hiding places of the violet or the heart of the toad. Your womb is a struggle of roots. Your lips are a dawn without contour. Under the lukewarm roses of the bed the dead men moan, awaiting their return.

A thought expressed is a falsehood." In poetry what is not said and yet gleams through the beauty of the symbol, works more powerfully on the heart than that which is expressed in words. Symbolism makes the very style, the very artistic substance of poetry inspired, transparent, illuminated throughout like the delicate walls of an alabaster amphora in which a flame is ignited. Characters can also serve as symbols. Sancho Panza and Faust, Don Quixote and Hamlet, Don Juan and Falstaff, according to the words of Goethe, are "schwankende Gestalten." Apparitions which haunt mankind, sometimes repeatedly from age to age, accompany mankind from generation to generation. It is impossible to communicate in any words whatsoever the idea of such symbolic characters, for words only define and restrict thought, but symbols express the unrestricted aspect of truth. Moreover we cannot be satisfied with a vulgar, photographic exactness of experimental photoqraphv. We demand and have premonition of, according to the allusions of Flaubert, Maupassant, Turgenev, Ibsen, new and as yet undisclosed worlds of impressionability. This thirst for the unexperienced, in pursuit of elusive nuances, of the dark and unconscious in our sensibility, is the characteristic feature of the coming ideal poetry. Earlier Baudelaire and Edgar Allan Poe said that the beautiful must somewhat amaze, must seem unexpected and extraordinary. French critics more or less successfully named this feature - impressionism. Such are the three major elements of the new art: a mystical content, symbols, and the expansion of artistic impressionability. No positivistic conclusions, no utilitarian computation, but only a creative faith in something infinite and immortal can ignite the soul of man, create heroes, martyrs and prophets... People have need of faith, they need inspiration, they crave a holy madness in their heroes and martyrs. ("On The Reasons For The Decline And On The New Tendencies In Contemporary Literature")