Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while.
They seemed to be good people. Most people are if given the chance.
He drew a slow, deliberate breath before speaking. “Quiet is not stupid,” he said, his voice flat. “You? Always talk. Chek chek chek chek chek.” He made a motion with one hand, like a mouth opening and closing. “Always. Like dog all night barking at tree. Try to be big. No. Just noise. Just dog.
He had an easy manner and an honest smile. He seemed an earnest man. I did not like him.
I’m so tired of being appreciated for my intellect.” She leaned back and stretched her arms over her head. “When will I be able to find a nice boy who just wants me for my body?
It is easier to understand if you think of it in terms of music. Sometimes a man enjoys a symphony. Elsetimes he finds a jig more suited to his taste. The same holds true for lovemaking. One type is suited to the deep cushions of a twilight forest glade. Another comes quite naturally tangled in the sheets of narrow beds upstairs in inns. Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made.
No matter where you are, people are basically the same. Besides, anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to wondrous things.
We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love.
As he sorted and packed, the red-haired man seemed content. But if you looked more closely you might have noticed that while his hands were busy, his eyes were far away. And while his expression was composed, pleasant even, there was no joy in it. He did not hum or whistle while he worked. He did not sing.
I would have more luck trying to steal the moon. At least I knew where to look for the moon at night.
My head felt clear and light, like a leaf floating on the wind.
Reputation is like a sort of armor, or a weapon you can brandish if need be.
I have always thought,” Alveron said at last, introducing the topic of our discussion, “that everyone has a question that rests in the center of who they are.” “How do you mean, your grace?” “I believe everyone has some question that drives them. A question that keeps them awake nights. A question they worry at like a dog with an old bone. If you understand a man’s question, it brings you closer to understanding the man himself.
Asking to hold a musician’s instrument is roughly similar to asking to kiss a man’s wife. Nonmusicians don’t understand. An instrument is like a companion and a lover.
It means I breathe the free air and walk where my feet take me. I do not cringe and fawn like a dog at a man’s title. That looks like pride to people who have spent their lives cultivating supple spines.” Sleat gave a lazy.
He gestured at the brief and brutal lay of stones between us. “Look at that. Why would I ever want to win a game such as this?” I looked down at the board. “The point isn’t to win?” I asked. “The point,” Bredon said grandly, “is to play a beautiful game.” He lifted his hands and shrugged, his face breaking into a beatific smile. “Why would I want to win anything other than a beautiful game?
There was a pointed silence from Ambrose, so I lowered my shirt and turned to face Fela, ignoring him entirely. “My lady scriv,” I said to her with a bow. A very slight bow, as my back wouldn’t permit a deep one. “Would you be so good as to help me locate a book concerning women? I have been instructed by my betters to inform myself on this most subtle subject.” Fela gave a faint smile and relaxed a bit.
He barely even owned his own name, and even that had been worn thin and threadbare through the years.
Next came, as near as I could tell, the journal of a madman. While it sounds interesting, it was really only a headache pressed between covers.
Auri merely stood there for a long moment. She thought that she might cry, but when she felt around inside herself she found she had no crying left. She was full of broken glass and burrs.