Tash Quotes

I have been wandering to find him and my happiness is so great that it even weakens me like a wound. And this is the marvel of marvels, that he called me Beloved, me who am but as a dog.

The bolt of Tash falls from above!' 'Does it ever get caught on a hook halfway?

Emeth came walking forward into the open strip of grass between the bonfire and the Stable. His eyes were shining, his face was solemn, his hand was on his sword-hilt, and he carried his head high. Jill felt like crying when she looked at his face. And Jewel whispered in the King's ear, "By the Lion's Mane, I almost love this young warrior, Calormene though he be. He is worthy of a better god than Tash.

I know what I want and what I don’t want. I’ve never wanted sex. Never. I’ve never understood why it has to be in every book and movie and television show ever made. I never figured out why porn is such a huge thing. I'll be fine if no guy ever takes his shirt off for me. I’m not scared, I just don’t want it.

If you want a chance at being happy, exist. Because yes, life can suck, but as long as you're alive, there's a chance you can be happy.

Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him. Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him. But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child? I said, Lord, though knowest how much I understand. But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.

Bitch please, your legs get spread more than peanut butter,” Nicole snaps at Tash and I want to laugh. “Well I never!” Tash whines back and her voice is so grating I cringe. “There are three words no one ever thought they’d hear out of your mouth.

COOL·NESS [KOOL-NIS] -noun CATCHING your mom gazing at the crazy crowd like she finally gets it WATCHING your dad head-banging like he’s Finn’s twin brother LEARNING that your new friends Tash and Kallie are a thousand times more complicated than you realized, and loving them for it FEELING every one of your boyfriend’s pounding drumbeats, and thinking it’s the most romantic music ever written REALIZING you’re completely unique . . . even in a crowd

Now, listen. I would. Rather. Hug you. Than be with. Anyone else. Just. Hug you. Do you. Want to. Hug me. Back.

Man is a restless creature, nomadic at heart.

As they say in Hollywood, that’s a wrap! And the oscar goes to Tudor North and Tash Munro for an outstanding debut performance in a sex scene!

Not a robot, not a freak, not confused. Just a girl.

My body has decreed that I shall nap, and nothing will stand in my way.

Only the wicked understand the ways of the wicked, my dear.

Oh, hell. You're a fairy," I said. "Yeah," he said. "You know, they call it 'being gay' nowadays, but sure, whatever.

You've always tried to pretend you don't need anyone, Tash, but you do. We all do. So just let me be there for you. -Sophie

Start her, now; give 'em the long and strong stroke, Tashtego. Start her, Tash, my boy--start her, all; but keep cool, keep cool--cucumbers is the word--easy, easy--only start her like grim death and grinning devils, and raise the buried dead perpendicular out of their graves, boys--that's all. Start her!

You can be okay here, Tash. If you’re getting tangled up in history, then you need to turn around, babe. You’re looking backwards.” He bent down, bringing his mouth to hers, leaving nothing but a few molecules between them. “Turn around, babe. See me.

Say what you want about fairies, but you haven't rocked out until you've heard Smoke on the Water played on a harpsichord. ~Harlow

Sometimes all we have is the knowledge that something extraordinary exists in the universe, even if we can't be the ones to claim it. Sometimes that has to be enough.

about “closure” and how worthless it was—why was it that everyone these days needed resolution, why couldn’t they just accept that life was messy, that it never ended neatly?

There were lots of things in this lifetime that I'd doubted, precious little I'd known for sure. But in that moment, I knew I would save her, or die trying.

For a moment, I felt like myself again. Not the new me, not the old me, just the real me.

So confusing. It was some kind of magic, I knew that for sure, but I didn't understand the subtleties of it all. You'd have thought all those years of HBO and shit would have prepared me better.

He was six years old this time, and ancient.

Goldenrod Moram had a first name that sounded like it belonged in the middle of a fairy tale, where she would be the dazzling princess in need of rescuing.

Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that the modern world is sorely lacking in imagination. And grown-ups are the biggest culprits of all.

They’re distracted. Good thing about living in the landfill,” he said. “Lots here to catch the attention of the fae. They’re so ADHD.

It's true - we never say what we mean. But for once, I want to.

For the first time in ages I felt a tiny pinprick in my heart--not like it was breaking, but like something small and unseen had begun sewing it closed again.

Happier than a bird with a french fry.

The bolt of Tash falls from above!" "Does it ever get caught on a hook halfway?" asked Corin. "Shame, Corin," said the King. "Never taunt a man save when he is stronger than you: then, as you please.

I heard Tash say: Nomi, you’re sad man. Get a grip. Walk away. What have I taught you? And I thought: You taught me that some people can leave and some can’t and those who can will always be infinitely cooler than those you can’t and I’m one of the ones who can’t because you’re one of the ones who did and there’s this old guy in a wool suit sitting in an empty house who has no one but me now thank you very, very, very much.

It seems, then,' said the Unicorn, 'that there is a real Tash, after all.' 'Yes,' said the Dwarf. 'And this fool of an Ape, who didn't believe in Tash, will get more than he bargained for! He called for Tash; Tash has come.

...my limbs became leaden, my head light as yarn on a weaver's spindle. My vision dazzled with the colours of richly shot silk; above me the sky was a tentative white canopy.

It was a crypt where music played to masses of the dead, and McJagger was their desolate pharaoh, a walking mummified king. I remembered it well.

I envisioned him tied in a chair, an iron arrow pointed at his brow. Ah, the power of positive thinking.

You know your marriage is in trouble when your wife would rather listen to a cackling drug lord than accept your apology.

A marriage could not be happy if the husband was prettier than the wife, that much she knew.

We're all constantly changing and evolving and growing up. You're a writer. You should get that more than anyone.

every second of the day offers a beautiful opportunity to achieve success. Therefore, you have 86,400 chances to change your life every day.

If he would see me again, I would die happy. In the meantime, I was merely dying.

I want you to say it, so I know you'll never forget. I want to hear you say my name.

I prefer what happens before the kiss: the accidental brush of a shoulder, the spark of a stolen glance, the seemingly throwaway comment that is steeped in history and means so much more.

Well, then. There's no aspiring about it. If you write, you're a writer. Maybe getting paid for it is a different can of worms, but being a writer itself? Don't doubt that's what you are" -Emmett

And who wouldn't wish that? Certainly everyone here- dressed up as aliens, and wizards, and zombies, and superheroes- wants desperately to be inside a story, to be part of something more logical and meaningful than real life seems to be. Because even worlds with dragons and time machines seem to be more ordered than our own. When you live for stories, when you spend so much of your time immersed in careful constructs of three and five acts, it sometimes feels like you're just stumbling through the rest of life, trying to divine meaningful narrative threads from the chaos. Which, as I learned the hard way this weekend, can be painfully fruitless. Fiction is there when real life fails you. But it's not a substitute.

Time — how it expands to fill the spaces you create; how it makes meagre experiences seem never-ending. Whenever he heard people talk about the ravages of time, about how it robbed and deprived, Justin always smiled; because for him, time was an accomplice, plugging the gaps and fleshing out morsels of memory so he would have something substantial to hang on to. That way, however little he had seen or felt, he would always feel as if he had more: a life far richer than the truth.

But for once, I see all those characters and I don't really envy them their fantasy worlds. I'm okay with my reality, as messy and imperfect as it may be. I don't really know what comes next, but honestly isn't that the best part of writing a story anyway? Maybe it's the best part of real life, too" -Graham

Tingllim Hjek keq por sё kthej te ti. Qe, lot`t i tera. Mbas tashit nji pikё lodje sё derdh pёr ty. S’ke mbet veç ti, ka edhe varza tjera, por nuk mё kan bamun dritё der’sot kёta sy. Kangёt qi t’i kndova ka me i tretun era. Emni i yt nё zembёr t’eme ka me u shlye. Ti duej ke tё duesh tash qi ka dalё prendvera. Se na lidh ma gja. U zgjidh, u zgjidh ky nye. Pertrihet nё ket stinё tё bukur marё natyra, dhe shpirti i em nё kto dit ka m’u pёrtri. E krejt jetёs s’eme do t’i ndrrojё, po, ftyra. Mbas tashit ti nё daç mё duej e nё daç mos mё duej, por lulet qi shpёrthejn sivjet nё kёt shtёpi, nuk çilin ma pёr ty. Janё tё tjetёrkuej.

When am I going to learn to stop questioning authority and just eat the Soylent Green?

I would have said sacrificing one of his own kind was a new low for Jag, but honestly? Jag was a bottomless pit of low.

There's no wrong way. Wherever you're at, you have to make it what you want it to be

Outlines of dead logs I hauled away remained impressed on the damp earth, scarring the ground with their funereal shapes.

Broken hearts mend.

What were you doing when you were eight, thirteen, fifteen, and eighteen? The answer is, I suspect: not very much.

He guffawed. Motherfucker seriously guffawed.

The woman gives me an unflinching glare. It’s faces like this that have me convinced people really did watch gladiators and public executions for fun.

You're too young to be so old.

But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me.

What are you going to do for school?" "Go to FSU with Tash." "What if there was no Tash? What would you do then?" "I don't know," she murmurs. "Maybe go wherever Gabe goes. Or come to New York with you." It fills me with warmth, running liquid through me, but it won't thaw my mind. "Why does it have to be, like, based off someone else? Why can't you just do what you want?" "What I want is to be around people I care about." "Oh." I blink at the ceiling once, twice, eyelids getting heavy, eyes getting fuzzy. It makes sense when she says it like that.

I wonder if this is how everyone is destined to live: hopping from familiar space to familiar space until all the familiar spaces turn into one big blurry memory of nothing in particular.

Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.

...a small piece of silk. It was at once iridescent and delicate, and shone with a colour no Occidental could ever have conceived....I held it in my hands, allowing it to cascade from my fingers. It was shot through with so many strands of colour that every time it moved its appearance changed: moonlight, emeralds and pearls all passed through my hands. This cold chameleon so transformed itself that I could scarcely believe it was the same piece of cloth.

It's impossible to find happiness if you're an orphan." "That's not true. Orphans are the only ones who are free to find their own happiness; they don't have their own history so they create it for themselves." "But, Z, that's just an illusion. Their lives are determined for them by people who have no relation to them whatsoever -- total strangers dictate their future. They have no attachment to anything, they stumble around in the dark until one day something happens to set them on a different, random path. I don't call that freedom." "But that's just what it's like for all of us!

...he returned to his barricaded silence, locking me out of his world. The unfathomable, inscrutable East, I thought. I was cut adrift from the shores of understanding. The sea spread itself before me, leading to a blank, blank horizon.

And now Tash's library is being pulled down. The village in Suffolk where Olivia grew up doesn't have a mobile library anymore either. How are kids meant to discover the joy of books when there aren't any libraries for them to disappear into?

Baby!” he hissed. “Silly little bleater! Go home to your mother and drink milk. What do you understand of such things? But the others, listen. Tash is only another name for Aslan. All that old idea of us being right and the Calormenes wrong is silly. We know better now. The Calormenes use different words but we all mean the same thing. Tash and Aslan are only two different names for you know Who. That’s why there can never be any quarrel between them. Get that into your heads, you stupid brutes. Tash is Aslan: Aslan is Tash

A sign read "Free drinks for billiards competitors only." Hand-lettered below read "All others will pay." It was written in blood. I could tell because a red fairy with what looked like black insect wings was writing it at the time, with his own dismembered finger.

The gorgeous breathlessness and thrilling pulse -- those are sensations that the years have layered on top of the initial emptiness, like sheet after sheet of silk covering a bare table. More than fifty years later I can only see the cloth; the table has been obscured.

You must appreciate that time is always against you. It is never kind or encouraging. It gnaws away invisibly at all good things. Therefore, if you have any desire to accomplish anything, even the simplest task, do it swiftly and with great purpose, or time will drag it away from you.

...my mother took a younger man as a lover. They spent all day in her boudoir, festering in each other's company.

Now is all we have, really. And we never know when now will be the instant that changes everything.

they will never mock her either, because all the things that she has, she can never lose.

fake leather looks great until you use it in demanding situations, and then it shows its true colors and lets you down.

in a place like China. People rush ahead of you; they have no time to look back.

This Byrd wants a Wren.

Maybe he would see me as weak and stupid. Maybe he was right.

Friendship is not necessary for closeness

Anginat logon ne duniya mein mohabbat ki hai Kaun kahta hai ki saadik na thay jazbey unkey? Lekin unke liye tash-heer ka saamaan nahin Kyunki woh log bhi apni hi tarah muflis thay . . . Yeh chamanzaar, yeh Jamuna ka kinaara, yeh mahal Yeh munak-kash daro-deewaar, yeh mehraab, yeh taak Ek shahenshah ne daulat ka sahaara lekar Hum gareebon ki mohabbat ka udaaya hai mazaak

Lagja e varfun Krahët e zez të një nate pa fund e varrosën lagjen pranë, dritë, jetë, gjallsi - askund, vetëm errsinë e skam. U harrue jeta e ditës ndër shtresat e natës, e pagja u derdh nga parzm' e errsinës... n'andrra përkundet lagja. Njerzit ndër shtëpia flejnë me gjoksa të lakurtë e të thatë e gratë... fëmi po u lejnë pa ushqim në gji, pa fat, Pushojnë gjymtyrt e shkallmueme në punën e ditës së kalueme, shërohen trutë e helmueme në gjumin e natës s'adhrueme. Veç zemrat e njerzve të lanun me të rektunt prralla rrfejnë: mbi barrat e jetës së namun që shpirt dhe korriz thejnë. Prralla mbi fëmij rrugaça barkjashtë e me hundë të ndyta, që dorë shtrijnë me vjedhë, me lypë e ngihen me fjalë të ndyta. Prralla mbi varza të fyeme me faqe e me buzë të thithna. Prralla mbi djelm, me të thyeme shprese, në burg me duer të lidhna, të cilt nesër para gjyqit për delikt do të përgjegjin, - vetëm dreqit e hyllit të gjith fajet tash ua mbshtesin. Kështu lagj' e varfun pëshpritë dhe errsinës hallet tregon. Një gjel i undshëm, me dritë të hanës i rrejtun, këndon. Hesht! or gjel kryengritës, i lagjës së varfun. - Këtu nuk zbardh për ty drita e dritës. i gjikuem je me ngordhë n'u.

Wagstaff was a trim little man in a dark-blue uniform with an armband embroidered with the words CIVIL DEFENSE. "Thank you, Headmaster, and good morning, young gentlemen. Yesterday, as I'm sure you'll remember, I spoke to you about the ways you can help your parents prepare their homes against the possibility of nuclear attack." Clem grinned, noting Tash Harmsworth's scowl. Tash was a bugger for an incorrect proposition.

For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted.

You're screwed, scum, and not in the way you'd like, either. Irony's a bitch, isn't it?" "You wouldn't say that if you knew who I am." Vol's bounty hunter laughs. "Trust me, I've seen an asshole before. Drop the sword now.

But I also know he'll probably be a more complex characters because of some of the things I've just gone through. Isn't that what writers are supposed to do? Gather life experience so that they can channel them and create great art?" -Graham

But I don't know if everything is going to be exactly like it was before. But come one, Graham - when is that ever true? We're all constantly changing and evolving and growing up. You're a writer. You should get that more than anyone" -Felicia

You're going to the ball?" "Aren't you? I was led to believe we had no choice in the matter." Vol cracks a wry smile. "Ah. You've met Kira, then." "If that self-congratulatory guinea pig in my doorway this morning was Kira, then yes. We're acquainted.

Although harmony with nature is of considerable importance in planning a garden, it must never be allowed to obscure what lies at the heart of the design;the salvation of the human spirit. In creating a garden, we acquire, by force, a patch of land from the jungle; we mould it so that it becomes an oasis amid the wilderness. It is an endless struggle. Turn our backs for a moment and the darkness of the forest begins its insidious invasion of our tiny haven. The plants that we insert -- artificially, it must be noted, for no garden is a work of Mother Nature -- must not only provide shelter for the soul, they must be able to absorb and then disperse the creeping darkness of the jungle around us. The decorations do not merely adorn, they protect. They create a place where, at the end of our lives, we may find peace.

I think about him all the time,’ Honey whispered, taking a second drink and then passing the bottle to Nell. ‘Everything reminds me of him. He’s everything I’d say I don’t want in a man, and yet I love him so much that I feel as if someone has scooped my heart out and put it back in the wrong way round,’ she said, her little girl lost voice echoing around the quiet lobby. ‘It hurts, right here.’ She put her hand over her heart, and leaned her head on Tash’s shoulder. ‘In fact, it hurts everywhere. I ache so much that my bones feel too heavy to get out of the bed in the morning.

When negative experiences such as having one's house shot at occur in my dad's life he tends to come alive. His confusion lifts. Pieces of life's puzzle fuse into meaning like the continents before that colossal rift. It's entirely logical to him that his house has been shot at and when he's able to spend a minute or two in a world that makes sense he appears almost happy. And when he gets happy he does decisive things like this time he went over to the bulletin board in the kitchen and took down the city bus schedule that we've had up there since Tash left and before the bus depot itself closed down. He put it in the garbage can under the sink. Phew. Done. Goodbye past. But then I imagined him on a day when shitty things weren't happening and he'd be feeling his usual mystified self and go to the dump and there he would see that little piece of paper with the schedule on it and it would bring him to his knees. Just destroy him for a minute or two and he'd probably pick it up and wipe whatever seagull crap there was on it and straighten it out with the side of his hand and bring it back to the kitchen bulletin board and ARRANGE it on there so you'd know it was the centerpiece of his life.

Kanga e përndimit Kangë Pëmdimi, kangë njeriu të dehun nga besimi në vete Kanga e tij një fe tjetër, me tempuj të tjerë, me meshë solemne, ku prej mëngjesit deri në mbramje shkrihen ndjesitë tmtë njerzore n'apoteozën e hekurit; shpirtënt përshkohen në tymore, të cilat në fishkllim i përqeshen zotit të vjetër edhe qiellit e me re të ndyt' tymi të dendun ndriçimin ia vrasin diellit. Fe tjetër, fe e çmendun e Pëmdimit të mrekullueshëm... 1 ekzaltuem shklet njeriu në delirium të pakuptueshëm. Dëgjon zanin q'i thotë feja. Plagos qiellën, e shpon tokën, i shkyn horizontet e bardhë, zhvesh natyrën - ia heq kotllën. Kult' i tij - kult i zhveshun! Nuk ia bren ma trutë enigmi - e varros, mbi varr ia vë një shej përbuzje o nderimi. Kangë Pëmdimi, kangë njeriu të dehun nga besimi në vete Kanga e tij shpres' e bukur, me flatra të një tjetërjete në të cilën dielli do ndrrojë udhën: ka për t'u lindë nga Pëmdimi - por deh! nga lumnia tash humb kokën rruzullimi. Me një "tango" qejfi tash ia ngatrron fijet zotit të vjetër ka me ia skandalizue të birtë besnikë në planetë të tjeter, Kanga Pëmdimi, kangë njeriu të dehun nga besimi në vete... Le të dëgjojmë kangën që mshtillet në shllung' avulli në pika djerse.

I reflect, not for the first time this week, that the twenty-first century is a screwed-up place to be. How is this even a normal human interaction? Back in the old days people waited weeks, even months, to receive letters, and that had to suck. But on a regular day, when they were out and about having normal chats, no one had to wait in crippling suspense to see if their conversation partner would deign to answer them. If said partner remained unresponsive for a full three minutes, the only possible explanation would be that they’d had a stroke, not that they’d heard the question and didn’t want to answer for another few hours.

I just . . . didn’t know we were the only ones.” “Well, you are,” I say. “And I don’t feel like I have to make that big a deal of it, or—or ‘come out’ in some big way or anything. I don’t want to.” “No, I get that. I’ve never had the urge to stand in a public square and say, ‘I wanna do the dirty with menfolk.’ ” “Exactly.

For one thing, my father doesn’t approve of Leo because he is so very Russian. Dad would rather I be infatuated with a nice Czech author like Václav Havel or Milan Kundera, who are perfectly decent boys and all, but have you tried reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being? More like The Unbearable Pretension of Pretentiousness, am I right?

I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honor) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him. Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him. But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child? I said, Lord, thou knowest how much I understand. But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.

There’s a certain brutality about repeating things to yourself, even if those things are good. After you stop purposefully reciting the words, they continue in an automatic loop, wearing down a groove in your brain. I’ve experienced this before with Taylor Mears’s video and with some texts from Thom. Certain words hop aboard the Endless Loop Train and go around the track again and again and again, draining the fuel of my very consciousness. And that’s when it’s good words. With bad words, it’s much, much worse.

You know,” he says, “people always say if they could take their loved one’s pain away, they would. But think about if you actually could. It’d be such a nightmare. You would take someone’s pain, but then they would love you, so they’d just take it back, or someone else you love would take it from you, and someone they love would take it from them, and it would go on like that until the pain ended up with some person who loved but wasn’t loved back. Some sad, unloved person. And they would get stuck with the pain.” “Damn, Paul. You go to dark places.

As he was raising his hand to his lips, it occurred to him that this was the first time in all his years that he had eaten something that was prepared by hands of unknown caste. Perhaps it was this thought, or perhaps it was just the smell of the food--it happened, at any rate, that he was assailed by a nausea so powerful that he could not bring his fingers to his mouth. The intensity of his body's resistance amazed him: for the fact was that he did not believe in caste, or at least he had said, many, many times, to his friends and anyone else who would listen. If, in answer, they accused him of having become too tash, overly Westernized, his retort was always to say, no, his allegiance was to the Buddha, the Mahavira, Shri Chaitanya, Kabir and many others such--all of whom had battled against the boundaries of caste with as much determinations as any European revolutionary. Neel had always taken pride in laying claim to this lineage of egalitarianism, all the more so since it was his prerogative to see on a Raja's guddee: but why, then, had he never before eaten anything prepared by an unknown hand?

When I heard the language of men uttered by my mare," continued Aravis, "I said to myself, the fear of death has disordered my reason and subjected me to delusions. And I became full of shame for none of my lineage ought to fear death more than the biting of a gnat. Therefore I addressed myself a second time to the stabbing, but Hwin came near to me and put her head in between me and the dagger and discoursed to me most excellent reasons and rebuked me as a mother rebukes her daughter. And now my wonder was so great that I forgot about killing myself and about Ahoshta and said, 'O my mare, how have you learned to speak like one of the daughters of men?' And Hwin told me what is known to all this company, that in Narnia there are beasts that talk, and how she herself was stolen from thence when she was a little foal. She told me also of the woods and waters of Narnia and the castles and the great ships, till I said, 'In the name of Tash and Azaroth and Zardeenah, Lady of the Night, I have a great wish to be in that country of Narnia,' 'O my mistress,' answered the mare, 'if you were in Narnia you would be happy, for in that land no maiden is forced to marry against her will.

We burnt paper-money – we thought it was our fault, that we hadn’t done enough to appease the heavens. Everyone said, If we were richer, we could make more donations to the temple, we’d have better catches. They didn’t realise that there was nothing they could do about all the pollution flushing down the river that went right through the cities and emptied into the sea in front of our houses. Or from the offshore prawn farms that had started further up the coast where the water was deeper – you could smell the chemicals sometimes, late in the afternoon when the wind was blowing in the right direction

Então prostrei-me aos seus pés, pensando: "Esta é certamente a hora da minha morte, pois o Leão (que é digno de toda a honra) bem saberá que, durante toda a minha vida, tenho servido a Tash e não a ele. No entanto, melhor é ver o Leão e depois morrer do que ser Tisroc do mundo inteiro e viver sem nunca havê-lo encontrado." Porém, o glorioso ser inclinou a cabeça dourada e me tocou a testa com a língua, dizendo: "Filho, sê bem-vindo!" Mas eu repliquei: "Ai de mim, Senhor! Não sou filho teu, mas, sim, um servo de Tash!" "Criança", continuou ele, "todo o serviço que tens prestado a Tash, eu o considero como serviço prestado a mim." Então, tão grande era o meu anseio por sabedoria e conhecimento, que venci o temor e resolvi indagar o glorioso ser: "Senhor, é verdade, então, como disse o macaco, que tu e Tash sois um só? O Leão deu um rugido tão forte que a terra tremeu (sua ira, porém, não era contra mim), dizendo: "É mentira! Não porque ele e eu sejamos um, mas por sermos o oposto um do outro é que tomo para mim os serviços que tens prestado a ele. Pois eu e ele somos tão diferentes, que nenhum serviço que seja vil pode ser prestado a mim, e nada que não seja vil pode ser feito para ele. Portanto, se qualquer homem jurar em nome de Tash e guardar o juramento por amor a sua palavra, na verdade jurou em meu nome, mesmo sem saber, e eu é que o recompensarei. E se algum homem cometer alguma crueldade em meu nome, então, embora tenha pronunciado o nome de Aslam, é a Tash que está servindo, e é Tash quem aceita suas obras. Compreendes isto, filho meu?" Eu respondi: "Senhor, tu sabes o quanto eu compreendo." E, constrangido pela verdade, acrescentei: Mesmo assim, tenho aspirado por Tash todos os dias da minha vida." "Amado", falou o glorioso ser, não fora o teu anseio por mim, não terias aspirado tão intensamente, nem por tanto tempo. Pois todos encontram o que realmente procuram.