He remembers when he was very small his mother once said she wished happiness and adventure for him. If this does not count as adventure, he is not sure what does.
He remembers when he was very small his mother once said she wished happiness and adventure for him. If this does not count as adventure, he is not sure what does.
It's too late. It was too late by the time I arrived in London to turn your notebook into a dove; there were too many people already involved. Anything either of us does has an effect on everyone here, on every patron who walks through those gates. Hundreds if not thousands of people. All flies in a spiderweb that was spun when I was six years old and now I can barely move for fear of losing someone else.
The silence that falls between them is a comfortable one. He longs to reach over and touch her, but he resists, fearful of destroying the delicate camaraderie they are building. He steals glances instead, watching the way the light falls over her skin. Several times he catches her regarding him in a similar manner, and the moments when she holds his eyes with hers are sublime.
He spends the majority of the evening in the company of Celia Bowen, whose elaborate gown changes color, shifting through a rainbow of hues to compliment whoever she is closest to.
Like stepping into a fairy tale under a curtain of stars.
The truest tales require time and familiarity to become what they are.
Her father picks different names for her as they change locales, but he uses Miranda often, presumably because he knows how much it annoys her.
Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case.
They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, and I am simply a bird in their midst.
I am haunted by the ghost of my father, I think that should allow me to quote Hamlet as much as I please.
Natural talent is a questionable phenomenon. Inclination perhaps, but innate ability is extremely rare.
This is, in part, why there is less magic in the world today. Magic is secret and secrets are magic, after all, and years upon years of teaching and sharing magic and worse. Writing it down in fancy books that get all dusty with age has lessened it, removed its power bit by bit.
I cannot let a place that is so important to so many people fade away. Something that is wonder and comfort and mystery all together that they have nowhere else. If you had that, wouldn't you want to keep it? p.316
Once they were librarians, but that is a subject they will only discuss if heavily intoxicated.
Trespassers Will Be Exsanguinated.
I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what I wanted to be real.
People don't pay much attention to anything unless you give them reason to
We are two different people, Ethan. Just because you could never decide which one of us you were in love with does not make us interchangeable.
I didn't know your identity, but I had an impression of who my opponent was, being surrounded by things you made.
People see what they wish to see. And in most cases, what they are told that they see.
We lead strange lives, chasing our dreams from place to place
A woman I should like to think I know rather well and a woman I had always considered a mystery, are in fact the same person.
I do not like sitting idly by when something clearly isn't right. I feel... not trapped but something like it, and I don't know what to about.
Scent is often underestimated, when it can be the most evocative.
Wine is bottled poetry, he thinks.
And then he tells her stories. Myths he learned from his instructor. Fantasies he created himself, inspired by bits and pieces of others read in archaic books with crackling spines.
I have been surrounded by love letters you two have built each other for years, encased in tents.
She turns her head, Bailey catches her eye, and she smiles at him. Not in the way that one smiles at a random member of the audience when one is in the middle of performing circus tricks with unusually talented kittens but in the way that one smiles when one recognizes someone they have not seen in some time.
You prefer not to see the gears of the clock, as to better tell time.
And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead.
I have read for countless people on innumerable subjects and the most difficult thing to understand within the cards is always the timing. I knew that, and still it surprised me. How long I was willing to wait for something that was only a possibility. I always thought it was just a matter of time but I was wrong.
Someone needs to tell those tales...There's magic in that. It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words.
Better to have a single perfect diamond than a sack of flawed stones.
I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.
That's the beauty of it. Have you seen the contraptions these magicians build to accomplish the most mundane feats? They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, I am simply a bird in their midst.
But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.
I have you here, all around me. I sit in the Ice Garden to get a hint of this, this way that you make me feel. I felt it even before I knew who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.
The boy spends most of his time reading. And writing, of course. He copies out sections of books, writes out words and symbols he does not understand at first but that become intimately familiar beneath his ink-stained fingers, formed again and again in increasingly steady lines.
But you built me dreams instead.
I mean only that I hope they find darkness or paradise without fear of it, if they can.
The circus arrives without a warning.
Everything I have done, every change I have made to that circus, every impossible feat and astounding sight, I have done for her.
I saw in details while she saw in scope. Not seeing the scope is why I am here and she is not. I took each element spearately and never looked to see that they never did fit together properly
The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones.
Follow your dreams Bailey. Be they Harvard or somehing else entirely. No matter what that father of yours says, or how loudly he might say it. He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself
I think looking forward will be better than looking back.
The most difficult thing to read is time. Maybe because it changes so many things.
Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon . . . is not the dragon the hero of his own story?
If she were gone I would be nothing. You should think better of yourself than to settle for that.
The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it's still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories