I also felt guilty about the three pens I'd stolen, but only for a second. And since there was no convenient way to give them back, I stole a bottle of ink before I left.
I also felt guilty about the three pens I'd stolen, but only for a second. And since there was no convenient way to give them back, I stole a bottle of ink before I left.
It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.
Too much of honesty makes you sound insincere
I believe it, Chronicler found himself thinking. Before it was just a story, but now I can believe it. This is the face of a man who has killed an angel.
Its like he knows he's better than you, but doesn't look down on you for it because he knows it's not your fault.
Too much truth confuses the facts. Too much honesty makes you sound insincere
I guess I'm destined to be loveless
Just pity him, my boy. Tomorrow we'll be on our way, but he'll have to keep his own disagreeable company until the day he dies.
Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating ... but there are other ways to understanding.
I have known her longer, my smile said. True, you have been inside the circle of her arms, tasted her mouth, felt the warmth of her, and that is something I have never had. But there is a part of her that is only for me. You cannot touch it, no matter how hard you might try. And after she has left you I will still be here, making her laugh. My light shining in her. I will still be here long after she has forgotten your name.
My parents danced together, her head on his chest. Both had their eyes closed. They seemed so perfectly content. If you can find someone like that, someone who you can hold and close your eyes to the world with, then you're lucky. Even if it only lasts for a minute or a day. The image of them gently swaying to the music is how I picture love in my mind even after all these years.
We all become what we pretend to be.
A poet is a musician who can't sing.
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me.
No hard feelings about that time in the Crucible when you mixed my salts and I was nearly blind for a day. No. No, really, drink up!
We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.
Anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a mon to wondrous things.
I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned
Old Cob tucked away his bowl of stew with the predatory efficency of a lifetime bachelor.
When left to its own devices it tends to make me look as if I've been set afire.
Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever.
I needed to let them know they couldn't hurt me. I've learned that the best way to stay safe is to make your enemies think you can't be hurt.
Only priests and fools are fearless and I've never been on the best of terms with God.
You are not wise enough to fear me as I should be feared.
By your logic I should also be in charge of Solinade dances, needlework, and horse thieving.
I only know one story. But oftentimes small pieces seem to be stories themselves.
Owls are wise. They are careful and patient. Wisdom precludes boldness. That is why owls make poor heroes.
You lack the requisite spine and testicular fortitude to study under me.
Call a jack a jack. Call a spade a spade. But always call a whore a lady. Their lives are hard enough, and it never hurts to be polite.
I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing I had seen in three years. That the sight of her yawning to the back of her hand was enought to drive the breath from me. How I sometimes lost the sense of her words in the sweet fluting of her voice. I wanted to say that if she were with me then somehow nothing could ever be wrong for me again.
Remember this, son, if you forget everything else. A poet is a musician who can't sing. Words have to find a man's mind before they can touch his heart, and some men's minds are woeful small targets. Music touches their hearts directly no matter how small or stubborn the mind of the man who listens.
You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while.
Congratulations. That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen. Ever.
If I'd been whoring before class and waved a corset at him, no one would have thought twice about it!
Roses! I swear you men have all your romance from the same worn book. Flowers are a good thing, a sweet thing to give a lady. But it is always roses, always red, and always perfect hothouse blooms when they can come by them.
Damn chicken. Come eat your dinner. I'm cold.
If there is one thing I will not abide it is the folly of a willful pride.
She taught me I should never do anything in private I did not want talked about in public, and cautioned me not to talk in my sleep.
Do you just want to get by? Or do you want to make me proud?
If you are going to impose your will on the world, you must have control over what you believe.
Si estad leyendo esto, seguramente estoy muerto
Everyone knew what he was thinking. Certainly there were demons in the world. But they were like Tehlu's angels. They were like heroes and kings. They belonged in stories. They belonged out there. Taborlin the Great called up fire and lightning to destroy demons. Tehlu broke them in his hands and sent them howling into the nameless void. Your childhood friend didn't stomp one to death on the road to Baedn-Bryt. It was ridiculous.
I'll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it while I dance.
Some of my Arcanum bunkmates taught me a card game called dogs-breath. I returned the favor by giving an impromptu lesson in psychology, probability, and manual dexterity. I won almost two whole talents before they stopped inviting me back to their games.
Everything said, you couldn't hope for a nicer day to have a half dozen ex-soldiers with hunting bows relieve you of everything you owned.
It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.
The boy grows upward, but the girl grows up.
Fear tends to come from ignorance. Once I knew what the problem was, it was just a problem, nothing to fear.
It wasn't even a good note.'If you are reading this I am probably dead.'What sort of a note is that?
There are two sure ways to lose a friend, one is to borrow, the other is to lend.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories