Perhaps, after all, this world was made of dreams, and an old man had merely found the words for them.
For far too long she’d made herself small, made herself fit into their world.
Fox squeezed past him, feeling his warmth like a home.
Death has white hounds.
And the pain was back again, and time, and longing too.
Sometimes we think we know people at first sight,” he said. “As though we’d met them a hundred times before, in another life, in another world. And then we realize that we know nothing. How did they look as children? What dreams startle them from their sleep?
It was like a promise that wishes could come true, that desire might lead to more than yearning.
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
And this time he would have said it, right? I love you. So much. Too much. But that was forbidden. For all time. The Elf would take his heart in payment.
My darling,” she said at last, “are you sure you don’t mind being a mouse for the rest of your life?” “I don’t mind at all,” I said. “It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like so long as somebody loves you.
A child in the woods. A child with an army.
Mortimer!” Orpheus produced a derisive smile, although with some difficulty. “Is your head buried so deep in your wine jug that you don’t know what’s going on in this world of yours? He’s not doing any reading now. The bookbinder prefers to play the outlaw these days – the role you created especially for him.
The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.
Fox could’ve kissed him on the mouth just to taste the smile on his lips. Forbidden. She’d almost forgotten.
It was far easier to believe in unhappiness than in happiness.
In fairy tales, the heroes are punished when they run away from a task. The heroes, not their younger brothers...
Truth or lie... he had always chosen the lie, to spare his little brother any unpleasant truth.
Liebe ist eben genauso ungerecht verteilt auf dieser Welt wie Regen. Die einen kriegen entschieden zu viel davon ab und die anderen zu wenig.” – Frieda.
Every soldier had to battle his weaker self. His weaker self had brought Donnersmarck to his knees, trembling. He had screamed it away, he had outrun it, he had drowned it in the blood of others. And he had always defeated it.
Oh yes, he was an idiot. He’d always been frightened by how much he needed her. And now it was too late.