Woven In Moonlight Quotes

The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.

Catalina says that people are like books. Some you want to read and enjoy; some you hate before you've even read a word.

Your job then, should you choose to accept it, is to keep searching for the metaphors, rituals and teachers that will help you move ever closer to divinity. The Yogic scriptures say that God responds to the sacred prayers and efforts of human beings in any way whatsoever that mortals choose to worship—just so long as those prayers are sincere. I think you have every right to cherry-pick when it comes to moving your spirit and finding peace in God. I think you are free to search for any metaphor whatsoever which will take you across the worldly divide whenever you need to be transported or comforted. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's the history of mankind's search for holiness. If humanity never evolved in its exploration of the divine, a lot of us would still be worshipping golden Egyptian statues of cats. And this evolution of religious thinking does involve a fair bit of cherry-picking. You take whatever works from wherever you can find it, and you keep moving toward the light. The Hopi Indians thought that the world's religions each contained one spiritual thread, and that these threads are always seeking each other, wanting to join. When all the threads are finally woven together they will form a rope that will pull us out of this dark cycle of history and into the next realm. More contemporarily, the Dalai Lama has repeated the same idea, assuring his Western students repeatedly that they needn't become Tibetan Buddhists in order to be his pupils. He welcomes them to take whatever ideas they like out of Tibetan Buddhism and integrate these ideas into their own religious practices. Even in the most unlikely and conservative of places, you can find sometimes this glimmering idea that God might be bigger than our limited religious doctrines have taught us. In 1954, Pope Pius XI, of all people, sent some Vatican delegates on a trip to Libya with these written instructions: "Do NOT think that you are going among Infidels. Muslims attain salvation, too. The ways of Providence are infinite." But doesn't that make sense? That the infinite would be, indeed ... infinite? That even the most holy amongst us would only be able to see scattered pieces of the eternal picture at any given time? And that maybe if we could collect those pieces and compare them, a story about God would begin to emerge that resembles and includes everyone? And isn't our individual longing for transcendence all just part of this larger human search for divinity? Don't we each have the right to not stop seeking until we get as close to the source of wonder as possible? Even if it means coming to India and kissing trees in the moonlight for a while? That's me in the corner, in other words. That's me in the spotlight. Choosing my religion.

Everything always seems sweeter in the minutes before darkness descends.

Because words empowered by justice can never be silenced

Dressed in his usual black ensemble, he reminds me of the perfect night. The kind of night that makes you want to get lost somewhere. The kind of night that invites adventure and misbehaving.

Despite the danger, my protest had burst from my lips, from my heart. Because words empowered by justice can never be silenced.

I didn't create the system- I was born into it

I want to be heard too. Sometimes, when my temper gets the best of me, I'm secretly pleased.That's the real me breaking through the mask.

I'm only a copy of someone else. Just a decoy. I'm not really her. I'm not me. I don't know who I am or where I belong, if anywhere at all.

Words empowered by justice can never be silenced.

Your people are conquerors. Destroyers of culture and traditions. Murderers and thieves.

Brave,” he says at last. “Determined. Intelligent. Unsure. Lost and angry. Sad, too, I think. But

Why is it so hard to believe that even enemies may want the same things?

We all want the same things: opportunities and means for everyone to earn their bread; freedom of self-expression without consequences; for all children, not just

We float between worlds, between two sides of a war, and the promises we've made to others. Everything fades away.

He showed me that he was truly the best of all men, of all gods. It was not just his stories; I had fallen for tales woven in the moonlight before and knew better than to trust a man’s account of himself.

Manuel’s chuckle dies as he catches sight of the expression on my face. He reads me easily, and his glowing eyes seem to dim. Or maybe I think they do because I want him to hold on to this moment and remember it forever, like I will.

Fanning my arms to the side, I draw my pointe shoe forward. As I make my way towards the sea, more twinkles of music unfurl with each step, adding to the present melody. I take a breath, mustering the courage to walk on water. An aquamarine ripple flecked with golden stardust flickers to life beneath me, glowing brightly. I drag my other foot forward. The ocean sparkles, as if accepting the magic I offer. When I find comfort on the water, I relevé--- bringing myself onto pointe. My arms extend in a port de bras, and I begin a series of quick bourrée steps. A ribbon of stardust unravels from my feet, kissing the ocean with that glittering aqua glow. I embrace the beauty I've created, tilting into an arabesque. When I send my arm into the sky, the night illuminates. Stars explode like a shimmering tapestry woven from my body. I smile--- proudly owning the stage--- or in this case, the sea. I ignite the ocean with a piqué manège before leaping into a grand jeté, sending shooting stars as I fly. When I land, I fall into a series of chaîné turns before transitioning into more bourrée steps. Every move leads me closer and closer to Damien. The emptiness between us disappears as I leap into his arms. He lifts me towards the sky, moonlight showering us, before I fall into a fish dive--- my face towards the sea and my legs swept into the air. I glide my fingertips through the water, painting even more color into the night. The ocean radiates with undernotes of jade and lavender, shimmers of bright cyan and pearl. He gently places me down, guiding me into a pirouette. I tether my vision to his as the symphony of the sea blooms into a crescendo. Together, we burst into an allegro--- our own medley of fast, brisk movement. I surrender to his familiar hands around my waist, feeling weightless as he lifts me, as if I'm becoming an angel myself. Damien gives me wings, and I fly across the ocean. The once-black waves have transformed entirely. Plumes of stardust swirl like milk in water, feathering out into a soft iridescence.

Draped in a gown woven from the fabric of dreams, the princess was a vision of ethereal beauty. Her attire, a long, light blue masterpiece, captured the essence of a tranquil sky at twilight. A sheer overlay added an enchanting touch, making her appear as if she were spun from threads of moonlight. The bodice, adorned with intricate beading that sparkled like distant stars, shimmered with every movement. Delicate lace sleeves, as fine as gossamer, adorned her arms. The skirt of her gown cascaded to the floor like a waterfall of dreams, its craftsmanship a testament to the artistry of the realm. A beaded belt cinched her waist, accentuating her graceful figure, while the sheer fabric, adorned with a silver glitter pattern, cast a radiant glow as she moved. With every step, her presence was a living painting from a fairy tale, a royal woven into the enchantment of the room.

He had become aware of the eyes of the Daylight Folk on him. Hopeful, expectant, suspicious or dazed, they watched him from the parapet and from the crenellations of the Natural History Museum, their wings spread like banners against the sky. And now he could see the Midnight Folk, too, drawn by whatever mystery had been at work on these rooftops: Atlas, and Luna, and Diamondback, and Cinnabar. For a moment, Cinnabar stood aloof on the parapet. Then Brimstone held out his hand to her, and she went to join him. My people, Tom thought to himself, and put up his hand to cover a smile. It was ridiculous, of course, and yet it felt so natural. As natural as being in love. As natural as flying. Spider pulled at the silver thread again. Between his fingers, Tom now saw an intricate cat's cradle of light that seemed to extend in multiple directions. 'With this, you can go anywhere,' said Spider, lifting the cradle of light. 'You could stay here, in London Before. You could go back to the London you know. Or you could reclaim your Kingdom, and lead your people home. Your choice.' He passed the cat's cradle over Tom's head. As it touched him, the net of light settled over Tom's shoulders, becoming a kind of mantle: golden, soft as spider silk, light as woven thistledown. He made the same gesture over Charissa, and she too was draped in gossamer. And with the mantle came a scent of green woods and of summertime; of distant spices, unnamed blooms, and blackberries, and honeycomb.

What he found was astonishing. Every wall was plastered with posters and flyers. Some were like the ones he'd seen on the brick wall at King's Cross; others seemed to advertise specific market traders. Some were old and faded; some seemed much more recent. Some sounded quite ordinary-- Cocksfoot & Sable: Fine Ales and Cheeses; Clancy's Rustic Furnishings-- and some were more unusual. Tom frowned over Yellow Belle's Night-Woven Yarns, and felt his heart beat faster at Spindle Ermine's Love Spells. What kind of a market was this? He thought he understood Bird-Cherry's Flowers and Fruits, or Straw Dot's Most Accurate Timepieces, and even Scarlet Tiger Sleeve Tattoos-- but what was he to make of Pretty Pinion Wing Repairs or Mother Shipton, Laundress of Dreams, or Pale Eggar's Glamours and Charms, or Dusky Sallow's Evercoats?

Catalina says that people are like books. Some you want to read and enjoy; some you hate before you’ve even read a word.

Roses and they She had shown him many things, She had made him feel joys of many springs, They had been to many places together, They had found love in each other, He had believed in her and her every word, He had erected on the highways of his heart her every memories’ billboard, She had travelled on them for many years, She had never let time’s brevity be the reason for her fears, So they felt every passing day, they experienced life of love, So much, that they even felt loved by the feeling of love, She waited for him in every moment, She felt it was him whenever a leaf fell or she felt some movement, He too felt the same; the way she felt, He too with her in his own heart dwelt, They lived a life that was unlamented by all virtues, They were kissed by life’s joys and and beauty’s all possible hues, He was unremitting when it came to loving her, He always wanted to be with her, forever together, Then one day they slept under a rose bush in full bloom, Then I beheld them being woven together on the life’s loom, He now lives within her and she lives within him, She is the rose bush that radiates with a different light under the moonlight dim, He is these roses which only bloom for her, And she is the rose bush that only grows for him forever!

Roses and they She had shown him many things, She had made him feel joys of many springs, They had been to many places together, They had found love in each other, He had believed in her and her every word, He had erected on the highways of his heart her every memories’ billboard, She had travelled on them for many years, She had never let time’s brevity be the reason for her fears, So they felt every passing day, they experienced life of love, So much, that they even felt loved by the feeling of love, She waited for him in every moment, She felt it was him whenever a leaf fell or she felt some movement, He too felt the same; as she felt, He to with her in his own heart dwelt, They lived a life that was unlamented by all virtues, They were kissed by life’s joys and and beauty’s all possible hues, He was unremitting when it came to loving her, He always wanted to be with her, forever together, Then one day they slept under a rose bush in full bloom, Then I beheld them being woven together on the life’s loom, He now lives within her and she lives within him, She is the rose bush that radiates with a different light under the moonlight dim, He is the roses which only bloom for her, And she is the rose bush that only grows for him forever!

Catalina says that people are like books. Some you want to read and enjoy; some you hate before you’ve even read a word. Rumi has become a book I want to read.

I don’t care un pepino what these people think about me.

He claims to want to help Llacsans and the Lowlanders, his people, then he plans for a road to cut through their territory, destroying homes and wildlife, all to easily export the koka drug to neighboring countries. Gratification, wealth, and notoriety are his real gods, and his greed invites dangerous criminals from powerful countries into Inkasisa who worship at the same altar.

I’ve forgotten how loud the jungle is, the constant thrum of activity and life, bursting and straining like a bird clamoring against its cage, desperate for freedom.

Of course not,” she says. “We’re human. How can we fully know the ways of the gods? For now we must be open and listen, and be thankful for their gifts.

you sleep on the ground, you’ll wake up with several nasty bed companions. Scorpions, snakes, and spiders.” He finishes tying each end, and somehow the rope doesn’t slide. “Still think it’d be easier?

The sharp trill of birds and buzzing locusts are the only sounds coming from the jungle fringes, but even I know there are monsters lurking beneath the vivid green canopy.

Why is she pregnant?” “Because the tribes believe she’s a symbol of motherhood and fertility. The earth gives life every season.

I let out a humorless laugh. Considering that my people are miles and miles away, living under the reign of a new queen, do I still have the right to be called by my birthright?

I’m starting to think that maybe her choice was warranted.

He studies me carefully and quietly. As each second passes, dread pools in my belly. I know where this conversation is going, and I’m not prepared for it. I’d hoped finding the flower in the city would be enough to prove myself. I don’t want to marry him, but I do need his army.

It's strange I don't fit into the box you made for me?" The smallest of smiles. "Everyone makes boxes. It's human, I think. You made one for Llacsans.

Catalina says that people are like books. Some you want to read and enjoy; some you hate before you've read a word.

I didn't create the system - I was born into it.

I didn't create the system- I was born into it," I say at last. It feels like a fair thing to say. His face seems to be at war. A flash of anger, a sharp narrowing of his gaze, then a slight pull of his eyebrows- exasperation maybe, but smoothed away to make room for a clenched jaw. "Please stop talking before I do something I regret. Por favor." "What did I say that was so terrible?" My hands fly to my hips. "If you don't explain it to me, how am i supposed to know-" "I'm a little tired of explaining myself," Rumi says flatly. "Have been for years. And you all never listen. Do your own reading on the subject, why don't you? And then come back and we'll discuss whatever you like.

I didn’t personally mistreat the Llacsans. It’s not like I’d been cruel to my nanny. I cared for her. I gave some of my money to the homeless Llacsans I saw in La Ciudad—and that was after the revolt. After my parents died

Catalina never had the same education in survival. She was whisked away from the horror and kept safe and fed, adored child that she was. She never had to fight for a loaf of bread. Perhaps we’d done her a disservice by keeping her so sheltered? If we hadn’t, she’d have at least learned how to be strong.