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8e78b20
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"They say you cannot love two people equally at once," she said. "And perhaps for others that is so. But you and Will--you are not like two ordinary people, two people who might have been jealous of each other, or who would have imagined my love for one of them diminished by my love of the other. You merged your souls when you were both children. I could not have loved Will so much if I had not loved you as well. And I could not love you as I do if I had not loved Will as I did."
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epilogue
james-castairs
jem-castairs
tessa
theresa-gray
william-herondale
the-infernal-devices
tessa-gray
infernal-devices
will-herondale
jem
will
soul
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Cassandra Clare |
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102b7cf
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Don't forget to give Neville our love!' Ginny told James as she hugged him. 'Mum! I can't give a professor !' 'But you Neville-' James rolled his eyes. 'Outside, yeah, but at school he's Professor Longbottom, isn't he? I can't walk into Herbology and give him ....
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harry-potter
humor
hogwarts
jk-rowling
nineteen-years-later
neville
epilogue
professor
later
deathly-hallows
school
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J.K. Rowling |
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aecb7ed
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I have not stopped loving her, nor my parabatai; love does not stop when someone dies.
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love
page-718
the-beauty-of-a-thousand-stars
epilogue
city-of-heavenly-fire
the-mortal-instruments
parabatai
jem-carstairs
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Cassandra Clare |
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2d7e098
|
For the fragment of a life, however typical, is not the sample of an even web: promises may not be kept, and an ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent powers may find their long-awaited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand retrieval.
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finale
epilogue
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George Eliot |
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ee109a4
|
"Yet the enslavement of Africans--over 20 percent of the population--served as the linchpin of American democracy; that is, the much-heralded stability and continuity of American democracy was predicated upon black oppression and degradation. Without the presence of black people in America, European-Americans would not be "white"--they would be only Irish, Italians, Poles, Welsh, and others engaged in class, ethnic, and gender struggles over resources and identity. What made America distinctly American for them was not simply the presence of unprecedented opportunities, but the struggle for seizing these opportunities in a new land in which black slavery and racial caste served as the floor upon which white class, ethnic, and gender struggles could be diffused and diverted. In other words, white poverty could be ignored and whites' paranoia of each other could be overlooked primarily owing to the distinctive American feature: the basic racial divide of black and white peoples. From 1776 to 1964... this racial divide would serve as a basic presupposition for the expansive functioning of American democracy, even as the concentration of wealth and power remained in the hands of a Few well-to-do white men."
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slavery
american-democracy
political-struggle
white-race
epilogue
white-supremacy
racism-in-america
|
Cornel West |
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906f293
|
"Stop! Stop!" Sophie shrieked with laughter as she ran down the stone steps that led to the garden behind Bridgerton House. After three children and seven years of marriage, Benedict could still make her smile, still make her laugh . . . and he still chased her around the house any chance he could get. "Where are the children?" she gasped, once he'd caught her at the base of the steps. "Francesca is watching them." "And your mother?" He grinned. "I daresay Francesca is watching her, too." "Anyone could stumble upon us out here," she said, looking this way and that. His smile turned wicked. "Maybe," he said, catching hold of her green-velvet skirt and reeling her in, "we should adjourn to the terrace." The words were oh-so-familiar, and it was only a second before she was transported back nine years to the masquerade ball. "The private terrace, you say?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. "And how, pray tell, would you know of a terrace?" His lips brushed against hers. "I have my ways," he murmured. "And I," she returned, smiling slyly, "have my secrets." He drew back. "Oh? And will you share?" "We five," she said with a nod, "are about to be six." He looked at her face, then looked at her belly. "Are you sure?" "As sure as I was last time." He took her hand and raised it to lips. "This one will be a girl." "That's what you said last time." "I know, but--" "And the time before." "All the more reason for the odds to favor me time." She shook her head. "I'm glad you're not a gambler." He smiled at that. "Let's not tell anyone yet." "I think a few people already suspect," Sophie admitted. "I want to see how long it takes that Whistledown woman to figure it out," Benedict said. "Are you serious?" "The blasted woman knew about Charles, and she knew about Alexander, and she knew about William." Sophie smiled as she let him pull her into the shadows. "Do you realize that I have been mentioned in Whistledown and thirty-two times?" That stopped him cold. "You've been counting?" "Two hundred and thirty-three if you include the time after the masquerade." "I can't believe you've been counting." She gave him a nonchalant shrug. "It's exciting to be mentioned." Benedict thought it was a bloody nuisance to be mentioned, but he wasn't about to spoil her delight, so instead he just said, "At least she always writes nice things about you. If she didn't, I might have to hunt her down and run her out of the country." Sophie couldn't help but smile. "Oh, . I hardly think you could discover her identity when no one else in the has managed it." He raised one arrogant brow. "That doesn't sound like wifely devotion and confidence to me." She pretended to examine her glove. "You needn't expend the energy. She's obviously very good at what she does." "Well, she won't know about Violet," Benedict vowed. "At least not until it's obvious to the world." "Violet?" Sophie asked softly. "It's time my mother had a grandchild named after her, don't you think?" Sophie leaned against him, letting her cheek rest against the crisp linen of his shirt. "I think Violet is a lovely name," she murmured, nestling deeper into the shelter of his arms. "I just hope it's a girl. Because if it's a boy, he's never going to forgive us . . ."
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epilogue
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Julia Quinn |