Johnny Temple
“Between midnight and dawn, baby we may ever have to part
But there’ one thing about it, baby, please remember I’ve always been in your heart!”
Farkettiğim ilginç bir şey var. Biz şehitlerimizin arkasından ne deriz? Veya şehitliklere ne yazarız? “Sizi Asla Unutmayacağız!”. Batıda “We'll always remember you.” “Sizi Daima Hatırlayacağız!” diyorlar, 'Daima hatırlamak' 'Asla unutmamak'tan daha iyi değil mi?
Reklam
“remember two things: i. that everything has always been the same, and keeps recurring, and it makes no difference whether you see the same things recur in a hundred years or two hundred, or in an infinite period; ii. that the longest-lived and those who will die soonest lose the same thing. the present is all that they can give up, since that is all you have, and what you do not have you cannot lose.”
“what we do now echoes in eternity.”
"thou must be like a promontory of the sea, against which though the waves beat continually, yet it both itself stands, and about it are those swelling waves stilled and quieted."
“the blazing fire makes flames and brightness out of everything thrown into it.”
“the first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit. the second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are.”
“reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.”
“your days are numbered. use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. if you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it.”
“whenever you are about to find fault with someone, ask yourself the following question: what fault of mine most nearly resembles the one i am about to criticize?”
“death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.”
"within a very little while, thou wilt be either ashes, or a sceletum; and a name perchance; and perchance, not so much as a name. and what is that but an empty sound, and a rebounding echo? those things which in this life are dearest but vain, putrid, contemptible. tho most weighty and serious, if rightly esteemed, but as puppies, biting one another: or untoward children, now laughing and then crying. as for
Nox Owen Knows
“So, Erawan knows you’re not Aelin.”
She whipped her head to him. “What?” A quick, vague question to
buy herself time. Had Aedion risked telling him the truth?
Nox gave her a half smile. “I figured as much when I saw the surprise
on that demon’s face.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Am I? Or do you not remember me at all?”
She did her best to look down her nose at him, even as the messengerthief towered over her. Aelin had never mentioned a Nox Owen. “Why
should I remember one of Darrow’s lackeys?”
“A decent attempt, but Celaena Sardothien looked a little more
amused when she cut men into ribbons.”
He knew—who Aelin was, what she’d been. Lysandra said nothing,
and kept walking toward her tent. If she told Aedion, how quickly could
Nox be buried under the frozen earth?
“Your secret is safe,” Nox murmured. “Celaena—Aelin was a friend.
Is still one, I’d hope.”
“How.” She’d admit no more than that regarding her role in this.
“We fought in the competition together at the glass castle.” He
snorted. “I had no idea until today. Gods, I was there for Minister Joval
as a spy for the rebels. It was my first time out of Perranth. My first time,
and I wound up unwittingly training alongside my queen.” He laughed,
low and amazed. “I’d been working with the rebels for years, even as a
thief. They wanted me to be their inside eyes on the castle, the king’s
plans. I reported the strange goings-on until it became too dangerous.
Until Cel—Aelin warned me to run. I listened, and came back here.
Joval is dead. Fell in a skirmish with a band of rebels by the border this
spring. Darrow plucked me up to be his own messenger and spy. So here
I am.” A sidelong glance at her, awe still on his face. “I am at your
disposal, even if you’re not … you.” He angled his head. “Who are
The lords of the realm are proud men all, and little is gained by shaming them. A wise king will always let them keep their dignity. Show them a dragon, aye. They will remember. Speak openly of burning down their halls, boast of how you fed their own kin to your dragons, and you will only inflame them and set their hearts against you.
Riding a Dragon
The wind lashes at us as we soar, icy and sharp against my skin, but I
barely feel it. I’ve led us straight through the mystical veil toward
Avalon.
The shadowed castle rises through the fog ahead, looming like a halfremembered dream.
Talan slumps in front of me. I cling to him tightly, trying to keep him
upright. He’s slipping in and out of consciousness. His head rests back
against my shoulder.
“Can I help you find a book?” he mumbles in English, his voice soft.
He’s echoing phrases from my old life, which makes my heart splinter. I
am in his head, always.
His blood has soaked through his clothes. It’s warm against my hands,
and the fear inside me is sharp and wild, thorns that scrape inside my skull.
Up ahead, Avalon takes shape in the mist, and my heart races.
Last time I flew Tarasque, she knew exactly where to go. She carried
me right back to her home in the Lost Palace, where she belonged. But now,
we’re heading for Avalon, and I have no idea how to tell her that. The truth
is, I don’t know what I’m doing at all.
“Talan,” I say, my voice cracking, “can you guide her down to Avalon?”
Nothing.
His body is slack, the tension fading from his muscles, and I know with
sickening certainty that if I don’t get him help soon, he’ll die.
Tarasque veers suddenly, arcing away from the city, and I grit my teeth
in frustration, my hands shaking.
“Talan!” I’m screaming his name into the wind, my throat raw. “Please
wake up, for me. I love you.”
Still nothing.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until the world blurs. Talan’s body
trembles against mine, and my mind is chaos—wild, brambly, panicstricken.
The roaring wind fades to a hush, as if the sky is waiting for Talan to
speak again.
Reklam
Reklam