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b86d3ab
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No, my friend," he responded finally. "I am not God, no more than you. But I think you and I are equally part of God as we stand here," and he swept his arm wide to take in all the slow, dark shiver of the sea as it breathed under the blue and silver morning. "Surely we two are not merely surrounded by this divine splendor--we both belong to it, we are of it, now and for always. How else should it be?"
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Peter S. Beagle |
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e977322
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she was no longer the careless color of sea foam, but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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478401c
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You think this is living? This is eating, nothing else.
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living
life
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Peter S. Beagle |
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88d2bea
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It's not you worries me. The king is a good man, and an old friend, but it has been a long time, and kings change. Even more than other people, kings change.
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kings
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Peter S. Beagle |
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2fc6a3d
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The universe lies to our senses and they lie to us, and how can we ourselves be anything but liars? For myself, I trust neither message nor messenger; neither what I am told, nor what I see. There may be truth somewhere, but it never gets down to me
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Peter S. Beagle |
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70e6da3
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She has a newness," he said. "Everything is for the first time. See how she moves, how she walks, how she turns her head--all for the first time, the first time anyone has ever done these things. See how she draws her breath and lets it go again, as though no one else in the world knew that air was good. It is all for her. If I learned that she had been born this very morning, I would only be surprised that she was so old."
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Peter S. Beagle |
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3d37611
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I would enter your sleep if I could, and guard you there, and slay the thing that hounds you, as I would if it had the courage to face me in fair daylight. But I cannot come in unless you dream of me." Before"
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Peter S. Beagle |
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99b94bf
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The sight of men filled her with an old, slow, strange mixture of tenderness and terror.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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45ff322
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She came very close, and looking into my eyes, she said, "My Jenny," and then she bent her head and kissed me--here, on the left-hand corner of my mouth. And nobody knows better than I that I couldn't have felt anything, because Tamsin was a ghost--but nobody but me knows what I felt. And I'll always know."
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love-quotes
love
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Peter S. Beagle |
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4960276
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for the first time she began to feel the minutes crawling over her like worms.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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f351dea
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You can love, and fear, and forbid things to be what they are, and overact. Let it end here then, let the quest end. Is the world any the worse for losing the unicorns, and would it be any better if they were running free again? One good woman more in the world is worth every single unicorn gone. Let it end. Marry the prince and live happily ever after." The"
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Peter S. Beagle |
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a5e0d79
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The secret of my long life is that nothing has ever been dull for me. For all my life I have been interested in everything I saw and been anxious to see more. But I cannot stand to be bored, and I will not go to parties at which I expect to be bored, especially if they are my own. Therefore, to my next ball I shall invite one guest I am sure no one, not even myself, could possibly find boring. My friends, the guest of honor at my next party..
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Peter S. Beagle |
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056ba84
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Real magic can never be made by offering up someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back. The true witches know that." A"
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Peter S. Beagle |
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1ceb1c2
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Always, always," it sighed, "faithfulness beyond any man's deserving. I will keep the color of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name. There is no immortality but a tree's love."
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Peter S. Beagle |
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d51d0f8
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love was generous precisely because it could never be immortal,
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Peter S. Beagle |
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23a0055
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This body is dying. I can feel it rotting all around me. How can anything that is going to die be real? How can it be truly beautiful?
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Peter S. Beagle |
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5034b9f
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There is only one spot in me that is as warm and placid as those cattle, and that is the part that knows quite surely that I will always be cold, that there will always be a wind hunting through me, and that I will always be hurrying before the coming darkness in search of a place that is not there.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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6b67673
|
I fall in love with one special hat, but it happens to be on the head of the old Indian who is waiting on us. It is an old black hat, broken with white lines where it must have been crumpled and stepped on and kicked, and its brim droops like a hound's ear all along one side, but it is a wonderful hat, a magic hat. D'Artagnan wore a hat like that when he came up from Gascony, and Don Quixote wore a hat like that when he went home at last. A..
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Peter S. Beagle |
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fc6c0d6
|
She is a rarer creature than you dare to dream. She is a myth, a memory, a will-o'-the-wish.
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myth
she
memory
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Peter S. Beagle |
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657cd6b
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I am a king's daughter, And if I cared to care, The moon that has no mistress Would flutter in my hair.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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0b246d7
|
Where you are going now,' Schmendrick answered, 'few will mean you anything but evil, and a friendly heart-- however foolish -- may be as welcome as water one day. Take me with you, for laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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8aa327e
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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.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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7380967
|
to the magician's eyes the unicorn was the moon, cold and white and very old, lighting his way to safety, or to madness.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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20f7977
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she is a story with no ending, happy or sad. She can never belong to anything mortal enough to want her." Most"
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Peter S. Beagle |
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3e3feed
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Outside, the night lay coiled in the street, cobra-cold and scaled with stars. There
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Peter S. Beagle |
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5564cb9
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The universe and Claudio Bianchi had agreed long ago to leave one another alone, and he was grateful, knowing very well how rare such a bargain is, and how rarely kept. And if he had any complaints, he made sure that neither the universe nor he himself ever knew of them.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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311013b
|
I've always thought cemeteries were like cities. There are streets, avenues--you've seen them, I think, Michael. There are blocks, too, and house numbers, slums and ghettos, middle-class sections and small palaces.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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45c8240
|
As to your first question, no cat out of its first fur can ever be deceived by appearances. Unlike human beings, who enjoy them.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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d016fa8
|
You deserve the services of a great wizard," he said to the unicorn, "but I'm afraid you'll have to be glad of the aid of a second-rate pickpocket."
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Peter S. Beagle |
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1641c71
|
He ran," the unicorn said. "You must never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention." Her voice was gentle, and without pity. "Never run," she said. "Walk slowly, and pretend to be thinking of something else. Sing a song, say a poem, do your tricks, but walk slowly and she may not follow. Walk very slowly, magician."
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Peter S. Beagle |
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32f70e8
|
She leaned forward and put her arms around me. Sometimes it used to make me prickly when she did that, and I'd turn into a bag of knees and elbows. . .
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Peter S. Beagle |
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e6a7dd9
|
When I was eighteen or twenty, I knew everything except what I wanted. I knew all about people, and poetry, and love, and music, and politics, and baseball, and history, and I played pretty good jazz piano. And then I went traveling, because I felt that I might have missed something and it would be a good idea to learn it before I got my master's degree. (...) And the older I grew, and the farther I traveled, the younger I grew and the less..
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youth
wisdom
traveling
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Peter S. Beagle |
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c50fd25
|
Unicorn, mermaid, lamia, sorceress, Gorgon--no name you give her would surprise me, or frighten me. I love whom I love.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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27dcabb
|
When the wind changes, and you smell the new moon and dance off over the hills and far away, the only heart broken around here will be the goat's. I want you to understand that. You are a miracle, yes, truly--the one miracle of my life--but miracles do not break the heart. Foolish, ridiculous things do that, songs do that, smells do that, everyday stupidities do that...
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Peter S. Beagle |
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873a7f2
|
I promised only that you would see some sign of unicorns, and so you have. Your realm is blessed beyond any land's deserving because they have passed across it in freedom. As for you and your heart and the things you said and didn't say, she will remember them all when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits. Think of that, and be still.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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446b812
|
As for you and your heart and the things you said and the didn't say, she will remember them all when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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e6c4e2b
|
and even the feral, near-wild Third Cat, whose true name he had never discovered, as one has to do with cats, trailed
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Peter S. Beagle |
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aa2324e
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How can we delight in our good fortune when we know that it must end, and that one of us will end it? Every day makes us richer, and brings us one day nearer to our doom.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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6d3d6bf
|
And Hagsgate, alas, paid her no heed. She was treated politely and referred to the proper authorities, whereupon she flew into a fury and screamed that in our eagerness to make no enemies at all, we had now made two.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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9cded90
|
Prodigies began to waken somewhere southwest of his twelfth rib, and he himself- still mirroring the Lady Amalthea- began to shine.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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35d51a6
|
my experience is that if you need a wagonload of weaponry to feel secure, you are likely doomed before your bespoke sword clears the scabbard.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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ca5dcc1
|
This body is dying. I can feel it rotting all around me.
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Peter S. Beagle |
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6574ce4
|
After the third [San Miguel], I am likely to announce that all writing is fantasy anyway: that to set any event down in print is immediately to begin to lie about it, thank goodness; and that it's no less absurd and presumptuous to try on the skin of a bank teller than that of a Bigfoot or a dragon.
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writing
fantasy
authorship
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Peter S. Beagle |
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eaedffe
|
There was nothing for it now but to throw himself on Campos's mercy, and it had been Mr. Rebeck's experience of mercy that it had a tendency to buckle under the weight of a human soul.
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Peter S. Beagle |