This Woven Kingdom Quotes

I think I might fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again.

Though if you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly.

I hate you," he whispered. "I hate everything about you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your smile." His words grazed her skin when he said, softly, "I find your presence insufferable.

What a strange girl you are...to behold a rose and perceive only its thorns, never the bloom.

Was it worrisome that he felt nothing but pleasure to be held at her mercy?

You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you,” he said to her. “I feel now, in your presence, entirely strange. I think I might fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again.

For she had learned long ago that when a home was not found it was forged. Indeed it could be fashioned even from nothing

She saw an intensity in his stunning irises, something desperate straining against his control, and she swore in that moment she could almost feel his soul pressing against hers.

Who do you wish to be? he asked the barely woven tapestry within himself. Let the threads and knots take form, crafting the picture within his mind. Starting small.

Your name,” he said, and closed his eyes. He nearly fell over, catching himself at the last second. “I didn’t know your name for so long, angel. I love the way it feels in my mouth.

God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, his smile vanishing. “Even when you lie to me.

Take care, Cyrus," she chided him. "If you keep laughing like that, I'm liable to think you have a heart." "Oh, you needn't worry," he said, his smile fading. "I most certainly don't." The nosta went cold.

I would marry you,” he said, stepping closer again, coming dangerously within reach. “I’d marry you tomorrow. And then I’d take you to bed. For weeks.

You have no idea what I want. I have been in agony for eight months, Alizeh. Do you know how hard it’s been to pretend I don’t know you? To pretend I don’t want you? To act as if I haven’t known every inch of your body in my dreams? To learn that your heart has been entangled elsewhere? I look at you and I can’t breathe. In my mind, you are already mine.

Are you some kind of Diviner?” “No.” “A monster, then?” He almost smiled. “Don’t say you’ve been speaking with my mother?

Alizeh was so powerful she claimed the devil as a friend, knew the sovereign of an enemy nation as an ally.

Angel,” he breathed. “My angel.

I hate you,” he whispered. Alizeh blinked, her heart pounding too hard in her chest. “I know.” He leaned in then, his throat working, his gaze fixed entirely on her mouth. “I hate everything about you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your smile.” His words grazed her skin when he said, softly, “I find your presence insufferable.

I need you," he said roughly. "Don't run away from me." "How can you expect me not to run from you," said Alizeh, still trying to shake off her apprehension, "when you threatened just hours ago to have my eyes sewn shut?" He looked sharply away from her then, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I shouldn't have said that." "And then you threw me off a cliff," she said, her voice a bit breathless even to her own ears. "You wouldn't stop threatening to kill me," he said angrily, turning back to face her. "I was merely trying to change the subject.

Did you really feel it necessary to add that last part?” “Which part?” “And I will not care,” she said, echoing his emotionless tone. “Do you enjoy being needlessly petty?” “Yes,” he said. “I do.

Fire was her soul, but water was her life; it was all she needed to survive

Oh, she had never feared death. No, it was life that scared her, life that scarred her. It was the slow torture of consciousness that had done its utmost to crush her.

He was terrified she'd go and do something brutal, like smile at him.

What is your name?” “Of all the non sequiturs. Why do you need to know my name?” “So that I may hate you more informally.” “Ah. Well, in that case, you may call me Cyrus.” “Cyrus,” she said. “You insufferable monster. Where on earth are we going?

You act as if I’m intentionally cruel. As if I’m indifferent to you.” “Aren’t you?” “No,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Of course not.” Cyrus stared at her from where he stood, his chest heaving with barely leashed intensity. He devastated her with that look, even as he seemed planted in the ground, immovable. “Then be with me,” he said softly. “Let me worship you.

It is a dangerous thing to keep an intelligent woman from performing a single practical task,

You can’t lie to me forever, Cyrus. I’m going to find out the truth about you, and when I do, I promise you this: I’ll ruin him. I’ll make the devil regret the day he was born.

My kingdom," he said softly. "For your hand.

The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since.

Here, between angry and irritable, lies my charming personality. It does not change. You may be grateful that I am consistent, at least, in being boorish.

Though if you mean to take me captive, you ned only ask. I would come willingly.

This living, breathing world was hers to admire for this single moment in time, and she wanted to breathe it in; to luxuriate in the beating heart of civilization.

He came to life when she smiled, drew breath when her eyes brightened, died when she left a room.

He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to bring her tea and walk with her through the seasons. He wanted to watch her conquer the earth.

All for you. Do you really not see what you’ve done to me? In a matter of days you’ve stripped me down and upended my world. My hours are in disarray, my future is in chaos, and my head—my head—

So beautiful I could hardly look at you, even in my dreams. I thought my mind had magicked you to life as an antidote to my nightmares. I never dared to believe you might exist in real life.

It’s my own fault,” he said, and dragged both hands down his face. “I have only myself to blame. I knew better; I knew you were dangerous. You’ve had the upper hand from the moment I laid eyes on you. I saw you and saw right away that I was in hell, and I hated you for it, because I realized even then that you would be the end of me.

Her heart was beating so hard she could hardly hear her own thoughts. Cyrus had looked at her many times since she'd met him, and always with varying levels of intensity, but never quite like this. Never like he wanted to fall to his knees before her.

Alizeh,” he whispered. “Let me make you my queen.

This tremble inside him, this madness in his heart--it was all for her. All for her.

He wondered if she had any idea what he'd do for her, the worlds he'd destroy for her.

What worlds he might be inspired to give up, he wondered, in the pursuit of knowing more of her mind.

Cyrus had looked at her many times since she'd met him, and always with varying levels of intensity, but never quite like this. Never like he wanted to fall to his knees before her.

...for she had learned long ago that when a home was not found, it was forged; indeed, it could be fashioned from nothing

He shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath, unselfconsciously inhaling the scent of her. “Don’t be afraid of me, angel. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.

It occurred to him then, with a vague panic, that he'd follow her off a cliff if she were the one to lead him there.

You really do love her?" Cyrus said nothing. He didn't need to.

With all due offense, sire, please fuck off.

He laughed a little, like he was drunk. "I do say it a lot." "What?" she said, going briefly still. "Your name," he said, and closed his eyes. He nearly fell over, catching himself at the last second. "I didn't know your name for so long, angel. I love the way it feels in my mouth.

Fiction or not, she'd embedded inside him, replaced the air in his lungs. That she'd proven to be real--more exquisite than he'd dreamed--and entirely ignorant of him, had been more than he could bear.

But life cannot be experienced one emotion at a time. It is a tapestry of sensation, a braided rope of feeling. We must allow for reflection even when we suffer. We must reach for compassion even when we triumph. If you spend your days waiting for your sorrows to end so that you might finally live” – he shook his head – “you will die an impatient man.

If she hadn’t known it was fire beside her, Alizeh thought she might be convinced she was listening instead to the pitter-patter of a gentle rain; a staccato beat against the roof of her attic room. How bizarre, she found herself thinking, that elements so essentially different could ever sound the same.

I think I might fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again

Don't be afraid of me, angel. I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you.

Never before had he been so consumed by the thoughts of anyone.

He leaned in, so close that he could feel his whisper against her lips as he spoke. "Try to weaponize those eyes against me again and I will have them permanently sewn shut.

I need your help, sleepy boy. Can you do something for me? "Anything.

Should you marry me, it would be in title only. I have no interest in your companionship.” The nosta went cold.

Master yourself so that you will never be mastered. Know yourself so that you might live with conviction. Live with conviction so that your steps never falter.

What are friends for, if not to kill your enemies?

For as long as he lived he feared he'd know the scent of her, the sound of her walking toward him. She was a fool to think otherwise. He was a fool to think of her at all.

He might be driven to kill a man just to improve her view out a window. He might renege on the entire deal, just as the devil desired.

The constant, gnawing ache inside him---this pitiful need that grew only more fraught in the wake of every darkness that devoured him---he longed for her warmth, for her radiance.

God, you're so beautiful," he said, his smile vanishing. "Even when you lie to me.

Say you came back for me," he whispered. There was a thread of desire in his voice that threatened the good sense in her head, her very composure. "Tell me you came to find me. That you changed your mind." "How--how can you even say such things," she said, her hands beginning to tremble, "on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?" "I choose you," he said simply. "I want you.

You think compassion costs nothing,” his grandfather said sharply. “You think sparing an innocent life is easy; that to do otherwise is an indication only of inhumanity. You do not yet realize that you possess the luxury of compassion because I have carried in your stead the weight of every cruelty, of every mercilessness necessary to ensuring the survival of millions.

Well. You remember how I said I owed our mutual friend a very large debt?” “Yes.” “And that helping you was the only repayment he would accept?” She swallowed. “Yes.” “And do you remember how I told you that he wanted you to rule? To be a Jinn queen?” Alizeh nodded. “Well. You have no kingdom,” he said. “No land to lord over. No empire to lead.” “No,” she said softly. “I don’t.” “Well, then. You are coming to Tulan,” Cyrus said, taking a quick breath. “To marry me.

The official Islam of the kingdom was not any Islam, but Wahhabism, the ultraconservative and intolerant interpretation that was woven into the kingdom’s history.

Cyrus leaned in. “Relinquish the dream,” he said softly. “You have no hope of mastering me.

Oh, she had never feared death. No, it was life that scared her, life that scarred her.

I always thought you were some kind of an angel.

Cyrus," she said patiently, "you can't just ask a girl to marry you and then decline to answer a single question about yourself." "Try me.

I want it all, angel. Not just your joy but your sorrow. Not just your hope but your fear, I want your anger and disdain, your frustration and contempt--

Fate, he thought bitterly, was only romantic when one was destined to be the hero.

Every night a new facet of his soul died for her.

And I have a theory," she went on, "that if I were badly wounded, you would help me. True or false?" He went silent. He was silent so long Alizeh had time enough to watch a drop of dew drip off a glossy green leaf. "True or false, Cyrus?" She heard his uneven exhale, the raw edge to his voice when he said, irritably, "False." The nosta flashed cold. "Liar," she whispered.

You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you," he said to her. "I feel now, in your presence, entirely strange. I think I might fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again.

Tell me your name," he whispered. Slowly, very slowly, Alizeh touched her fingers to his waist, anchored herself to his body. She heard his soft intake of breath. "Why?" she asked. He hesitated, briefly, before he said, "I begin to fear you've done me irreparable damage. I should like to know who to blame.

Tell me your name," he whispered. Slowly, very slowly, Alizeh touched her fingers to his waist, anchored herself to his body. She heard his soft intake of breath. "Why?" she asked. He hesitated, briefly, before he said, "I begin to fear you've done me irreparable damage. I should like to know who to blame.

She saw an intensity in his stunning irises, something desperate straining against his control, and she swore in that moment she could almost feel his soul pressing against hers. Even then, he was breathtaking.

You have no idea what I could give you," he said, his own eyes blazing. "You have no idea what I want. I have been in agony for eight months, Alizeh. Do you know how hard it's been to pretend I don't know you? To pretend I don't want you? To act as if I haven't known every inch of your body in my dreams? To learn that your heart has been entangled elsewhere? I look at you and I can't breathe. In my mind, you are already mine.

She didn't know how to describe this feeling, this breathless languor. No one had ever looked at her the way he did, as if the sight of her might be fatal. Her lips had parted under the weight of his silent want, her mouth growing heavy with the sound of his name and a desperate, foolish impulse to whisper the word against his skin.

Master yourself so that you will never be mastered. Know yourself so that you might live with conviction. Live with conviction so that your steps never falter.” He paused. “The mastery of self means never fearing the consequences of doing what is right.

Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. He was close now, his eyes bright, burning. She'd never seen such tightly restrained emotion in his face or in the lines of his body. His desire was so potent it was intoxicating; she felt herself tremble under the weight of it. He wanted to touch her--she knew this, she saw it in the rigid control he maintained over his hands, in the stiffness of his stance, in the way he moved incrementally closer until she saw nothing but him. His eyes dropped to her lips and his own lips parted, drew breath. He exhaled shakily. She worried that if she said a word, she might combust.

empyreal

I haven't the slightest idea what we're doing," he said softly. "Though if you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly.

Do you really not see what you've done to me? In a matter of days you've stripped me down and upended my world. My hours are in disarray, my future is in chaos, and my head--my head--

Alizeh was no longer smiling. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might bruise. "What shall I say, then?" "Your name. I want to hear it from your lips." She took a breath. Released it slowly. "My name," she said, "is Alizeh. I am Alizeh of Saam, the daughter of Siavosh and Kiana. Though you may know me better as the lost queen of Arya." He stiffened at that, went silent. Finally he moved, one hand capturing her face, his thumb grazing her cheek in a fleeting moment, there and gone again. His voice was a whisper when he said, "Do you wish to know my name, too, Your Majesty?" "Kamran," she said softly, "I already know who you are." She was unprepared when he kissed her, for the darkness had denied her a warning before their lips met, before he claimed her mouth with a need that stole from her an anguished sound, a faint cry that shocked her.

I fear you might regret saying that,” he said, even as he almost smiled. “Be warned, Kamran. The terms of our agreement are nonnegotiable. Lift a finger against her prematurely and I won’t hesitate to kill you myself.

What are you talking about?" she asked, alarmed. "You speak as if I harmed you-" He laughed then, laughed like he might be coming unhinged. "Of course you don't know. Why would you? How could you pssoibly know the truth? That you've been haunting me for so long-tormenting me every night-" "Cyrus, stop it," she said. "You're not being fair-I never even knew you-" "You don't understand," he said, tortured. "I've been dreaming about you for months.

We are falling back into allegory," said the Captain, interrupting him. "If you mean by all that that the body is the most solid of realities, then say so." "No, not exactly," Zeno explained. "This body, our kingdom, sometimes seems to me to be made of a fabric as loosely woven and as evanescent as a shadow. I should hardly be more astonished to see my mother again (who is dead) than to come upon you around a corner as I did, your face grown older and its substance recomposed more than once in twenty years' time, with its color altered by the seasons and its form somewhat changed, but your mouth still knowing my name. Think of the grain that has grown and the creatures that have lived and died in order to sustain that Henry who is and is not the one I knew twenty years ago.

Every inch of the interior space, high and low, glittered with arrangements of star-like patterns, all interwoven into a series of larger geometric shapes. The soaring domed ceilings glimmered from high above, a mirage of infinity that seemed to reach the heavens. Two large windows were thrown open to grant entrée to the sun: sharp shafts of light penetrated the room, further illuminating constellation after constellation of shattered glow. Even the floors were covered in mirrored tiles, though the delicate work was protected by a series of rich, intricately woven rugs.

This was a habit Alizeh had mastered long ago. Cataloging moments of grace even in the midst of disaster often helped steady her mind; indeed there had been days in her life so bleak that Alizeh had resorted to counting her teeth if only to prove she still owned something of value. Just then she forced herself to listen to the susurrations of the wind, to appreciate that she'd never seen the moon so close, in all its unobstructed glory. She drew in a deep breath at the thought, tasting pure cold on her tongue, and lifted a searching hand to the night. The skies passed under her fingertips much like a cat, demanding to be pet.

He'd forgotten how beautiful she was. This revelation was astonishing to him, for he'd spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about the girl, conjuring her face when he closed his eyes at night. He did not think of himself capable of forgetting anything about her, and yet he must have, for he was struck stupid anew, drawing near her now like a hungry flame to tinder.

She saw an intensity in his stunning irises, something desperate straining against his control, and she swore in that moment she could almost feel his soul pressing against hers. Even then, he was breathtaking. Some quiet, foolish part of her wanted to rest her bones against his powerful body, feel the weight of his arms around her. She wanted to stroke his cheek one last time.

That night after my parents had kissed me good night and closed my door, I got out of bed and took from my shirt pocket the three seeds I had carried since we left the ant kingdom. Everything else I'd gathered, I realized, had been either given away or given back. Way back on my closet shelf was a tiny woven Indian basket with a cover. My grandfather had given me this when I was only nine years old, but it had always held some sort of secret for me. Into this basket I put the seeds, and hid it again. "We'll use them," I told Scuro as I got back into bed. "Just wait. We'll use them." He sighed and rearranged himself on his rug in the corner. I noticed then that the kitten-a shy little creature only recently come to our household and up till now afraid of everything including Scuro-was curled between Scuro's paws, purring in its sleep.

Thus it can be said that, until the fifteenth century, Black Africa never lost its civilization. Frobenius reports: Not that the first European navigators at the end of the Middle Ages failed to make some very remarkable observations. When they reached the Bay of Guinea and alighted at Vaida, the captains were astonished to find well-planned streets bordered for several leagues by two rows of trees; for days they traversed a countryside covered by magnificent fields, inhabited by men in colorful attire that they had woven themselves! More to the south, in the Kingdom of the Congo, a teeming crowd clad in silk and velvet, large States, well ordered down to the smallest detail, powerful rulers, prosperous industries. Civilized to the marrow of their bones! Entirely similar was the condition of the lands on the east coast, Mozambique, for example. The revelations of the navigators from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries provide positive proof that Black Africa, which extended south of the desert zone of the Sahara, was still in full bloom, in all the splendor of harmonious, well-organized civilizations. This flowering the European conquistadors destroyed as they advanced.

...You've known from the first that I am yoked to a ruthless master, that in fact I sought you out under his orders, that I disrupted my life and dishonored my home and tore myself open at his behest, all for you." He swallowed. "All for you. Do you really not see what you've done to me? In a matter of days you've stripped me down and upended my world. My hours are in disarray, my future is in chaos, and my head--my head--" He turned away and grimaced, his fists clenching, and Alizeh thought her heart might stop. "And instead of being angry," he went on, "instead of driving you away, instead of wishing we've never met--I keep staring at that fucking cut on your neck, Alizeh, and I want to die.

Our power connects us to life in ways ordinary people can never understand, her teacher had said. That’s why using our gift makes us stronger instead of depleting us. We are tied to the power of creation itself, the making at the heart of the world. For Corporalki, that bond is woven even more tightly, because we deal in life and the taking of it. The teacher had raised his hands, and Nina felt her pulse slow just slightly. The other students had released gasps and looked around at one another, all of them experiencing the same thing. Do you feel that? the teacher asked. All your hearts, beating in shared time, bound to the rhythm of the world? It had been the strangest sensation, the feeling of her body dissolving, as if they were not many students wriggling in their classroom chairs, but one creature, with a single heart, a single purpose. It had lasted only moments, but she’d never forgotten that sense of connection, the sudden understanding that her power would mean she was never alone.

May God’s people never eat rabbit or pork (Lev. 11:6–7)? May a man never have sex with his wife during her monthly period (Lev. 18:19) or wear clothes woven of two kinds of materials (Lev. 19:19)? Should Christians never wear tattoos (Lev. 19:28)? Should those who blaspheme God’s name be stoned to death (Lev. 24:10–24)? Ought Christians to hate those who hate God (Ps. 139:21–22)? Ought believers to praise God with tambourines, cymbals, and dancing (Ps. 150:4–5)? Should Christians encourage the suffering and poor to drink beer and wine in order to forget their misery (Prov. 31:6–7)? Should parents punish their children with rods in order to save their souls from death (Prov. 23:13–14)? Does much wisdom really bring much sorrow and more knowledge more grief (Eccles. 1:18)? Will becoming highly righteous and wise destroy us (Eccles. 7:16)? Is everything really meaningless (Eccles. 12:8)? May Christians never swear oaths (Matt. 5:33–37)? Should we never call anyone on earth “father” (Matt. 23:9)? Should Christ’s followers wear sandals when they evangelize but bring no food or money or extra clothes (Mark 6:8–9)? Should Christians be exorcising demons, handling snakes, and drinking deadly poison (Mark 16:15–18)? Are people who divorce their spouses and remarry always committing adultery (Luke 16:18)? Ought Christians to share their material goods in common (Acts 2:44–45)? Ought church leaders to always meet in council to issue definitive decisions on matters in dispute (Acts 15:1–29)? Is homosexuality always a sin unworthy of the kingdom of God (1 Cor. 6:9–10)? Should unmarried men not look for wives (1 Cor. 7:27) and married men live as if they had no wives (1 Cor. 7:29)? Is it wrong for men to cover their heads (1 Cor. 11:4) or a disgrace of nature for men to wear long hair (1 Cor. 11:14)? Should Christians save and collect money to send to believers in Jerusalem (1 Cor. 16:1–4)? Should Christians definitely sing psalms in church (Col. 3:16)? Must Christians always lead quiet lives in which they work with their hands (1 Thess. 4:11)? If a person will not work, should they not be allowed to eat (2 Thess. 3:10)? Ought all Christian slaves always simply submit to their masters (reminder: slavery still exists today) (1 Pet. 2:18–21)? Must Christian women not wear braided hair, gold jewelry, and fine clothes (1 Tim. 2:9; 1 Pet. 3:3)? Ought all Christian men to lift up their hands when they pray (1 Tim. 2:8)? Should churches not provide material help to widows who are younger than sixty years old (1 Tim. 5:9)? Will every believer who lives a godly life in Christ be persecuted (2 Tim. 3:12)? Should the church anoint the sick with oil for their healing (James 5:14–15)? The list of such questions could be extended.