Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air.
Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air.
Whatever can die is beautiful ù more beautiful than a unicorn, who lives forever, and who is the most beautiful creature in the world. Do you understand me?
I always say perseverance is nine-tenths of any art ù not that it's much help to be nine-tenths an artist, of course.
You pile of stones, you waste, you desolation, I'll stuff you with misery till it comes out of your eyes. I'll change your heart into green grass, and all you love into a sheep. I'll turn you into a bad poet with dreams.
I am what I am. I would tell you what you want to know if I could, for you have been kind to me. But I am a cat, and no cat anywhere ever gave anyone a straight answer.
Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.
I fear it, for her sake. It would mean that she too is a wanderer now, and that is a fate for human beings, not for unicorns. But I hope, of course I hope.
I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, although I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret.
I think love is stronger than habits or circumstances. I think it is possible to keep yourself for someone for a long time and still remember why you were waiting when she comes at last.
ItÆs a rare man who is taken for what he truly is.
Men have to have heroes, but no man can ever be as big as the need, and so a legend grows around a grain of truth, like a pearl.
Only to a magician is the world forever fluid, infinitely mutable and eternally new. Only he knows the secret of change, only he knows truly that all things are crouched in eagerness to become something else, and it is from this universal tension that he draws his power.
Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.
Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.
The last unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone.
The magician stood erect, menacing the attackers with demons, metamorphoses, paralyzing ailments, and secret judo holds. Molly picked up a rock.
The moon was gone, but to the magician's eyes the unicorn was the moon, cold and white and very old, lighting his way to safety, or to madness.
Beyond the town, darker than dark, King Haggard's castle teetered like a lunatic on stilts...
The most professional curse ever snarled or croaked or thundered can have no effect on a pure heart.
For a moment she turned in a circle, staring at her hands, which she held high and useless, close to her breast. She bobbed and shambled like an ape doing a trick, and her face was the silly, bewildered face of a joker's victim. And yet she could make no move that was not beautiful. Her trapped terror was more lovely than any joy that Molly had ever seen, and that was the most terrible thing about it.
The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories