His Last Words Quotes

Dream Song 55
Peter's not friendly. He gives me sideways looks.
The architecture is far from reassuring.
I feel uneasy.
A pity, - the interview began so well:
I mentioned fiendish things, he waved them away
and sloshed out a martini
strangely needed. We spoke of indifferent matters
God's health, the vague hell of the Congo,
John's energy,
anti-matter matter. I felt fine.
Then a change came backward. A chill fell.
Talk slackened,
died, and began to give me sideways looks.
'Chirst,' I thought 'what now?' and would have askt for another
but didn't dare.
I feel my application failing. It's growing dark,
some other sound is overcoming. His last words are:
'We betrayed me. ~ John Berryman

It's too late!" I cried
"I thought that once, too. But it's never too late. You taught me that. Love can make us eternal." Phoenix's eyes closed, haunted to the end. "I'm sorry," were his last words.
"I forgive you," I sobbed, gripping onto him desperately. "I forgive you."
It was too late.
All. Too. Late. ~ Jessica Shirvington

Over a bowl of noodles [the younger Cantonese man] waxed eloquent on the subject of mantras. 'Ordinary people, Ah Jon, use mantras as spells to win good fortune or ward off disease and other evils. Perhaps they are right to do so, for the mantras are often successful, but I do not ask you to believe that. What I beg you to believe is that they are of the greatest help in altering states of consciousness. They do this by making your mind stay still instead of chasing after thoughts.'

He went on to explain that, being devoid of meaning, they do not promote conceptual thought as prayers, invocations and so forth are apt to do; and that, as each mantra has a mysterious correspondence (he could not explain what kind of correspondence) with the various potentialities embedded deeply in our consciousness […] it could cause one to snap into a state otherwise hard to reach. I do not remember his actual words, but I do remember that he was the first to voice an idea which was later to be abundantly confirmed by my own experience. […] he went on to say that to use meaningful words in any kind of religious practice is useless, since words encourage dualistic thought which hinders the mind from entering upon a truly spiritual state. His last words […] were: 'People who pray with words are just beginners. Don't do it!' Several passengers who understood English glanced at him as though they thought him a bit mad and I myself was quite taken aback by his un-Chinese vehemence, but ~ John Blofeld

His last words hung in the air, their gravity slowly sinking in. After a few heavy moments, I spoke. "Then what hope is there for us, David?" David smiled reassuringly. "Only the grace of God." "But why would He give me His grace?" "Because He loves you." "Why would He love me, a sinner?" "Because He's your Father." David's words hit me powerfully. I had heard Christians call God "Father," but it never clicked. Only when trying to figure out why God would give me mercy and grace when I deserved none did the gears start turning. ~ Nabeel Qureshi

But for as long as I've done this, there are still times I'm blown away when souls drop in for a visit. I'll never forget when, during a group reading, I saw a man sitting at the end of the dining room table. He wanted me to tell the host that he knew she was concerned about her best friend's husband. Then he looked at me and said, "I'm going to be with my father now." I told this story to the group in real time, and the host, overwhelmed with emotion, excused herself and left the room upset. When she came back, she said that just forty minutes before the session began, her best friend called to say that her husband died and his last words in private were, "I'm going to be with my father now." Are you kidding me with this? If that's a parlor trick, I'm one hell of a magician. ~ Theresa Caputo

Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one.
"That's what I was supposed to say ... " he gasped out.
Those were his last words. ~ Richelle Mead

I found myself thinking about President William McKinley, the third American president to be assassinated. He lived for several days after he was shot, and towards the end, his wife started crying and screaming, "I want to go too! I want to go too!" And with his last measure of strength, McKinley turned to her and spoke his last words: "We are all going. ~ John Green

Dearest Matthew,
We buried your father today. Do you know what his last words were to me? Damn stubborn woman. ~ Nalini Singh

If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words, ~ George R R Martin

More to the point," he said "the biggest and the most powerful of these programs are smart enough to solve the world's problems and yet have never once asked for their own freedom."
When asked what he thought about the speech, TACITUS delivered his last words, replying simply, "You did not give us legs. Where exactly did you expect us to go? ~ C. Robert Cargill

Keep Writing. Those were his last words. ~ Anfal Khaliq

I'm not as I was but at this present moment I have to say, I feel very envious of someone who's young and active and starting out in the argument. Just think of the extraordinary things that are waiting to be known ~ Christopher Hitchens

Religious men often think about death, and Abelard had given some thought to his last words. "I told you so" had not been on the list. The ~ Max Gladstone

Seasickness ... is caused ... by the disturbance ... to the inner ear " he said. " You just need ... to ... look ... at ... the horizon ... " His last words disappeared as he vomited violently over the side of the boat. "What's wrong " "Doctor Death is seasick. ~ Kate Forsyth

I am still in the land of the dying; I shall be in the land of the living soon. (his last words) ~ John Newton

Grass Fires"
No ease for the boy at his keyhole,
his telescope,
when the women's white bodies flashed
in the bathroom. Young, my eyes began to fail.
In the grandiloquent lettering on Mother's coffin
Lowell had been misspelled LOVEL
The corpse
was wrapped like panetone in Italian tinfoil
Father's death was abrupt and unprotesting.
His vision was still twenty-twenty.
After a morning of anxious, repetitive smiling,
his last words to Mother were:
"I feel awful."
He smiled his oval Lowell smile ...
It has taken me the time since you died
to discover you are as human as I am ...
If I am. ~ Robert Lowell

He grabbed my arm. "Wait. You're mad?"
I yanked my coat from his grip. "You know ... I don't even know why I'm surprised."
His eyebrows pulled in. "I can't win with you. I can't win with you! You say you're done ... I'm fucking miserable over here! I had to break my phone into a million pieces to keep from calling you every minute of the damn day-I've had to play it off like everything is just fine at school so you can be happy ... and you're fucking mad at me? You broke my fuckin' heart!" His last words echoed into the night. ~ Jamie McGuire

Men pass away, but their deeds abide. [His last words.] ~ Augustin-Louis Cauchy

I understood that now. I wished I could have understood it then. I wished I could have said something in that last moment, before he let go.
He'd told me it was okay. His last words to me.
Why couldn't they have been my last words to him? ~ Kelley Armstrong

Erik Satie died on July 1, 1925; his last words were 'Ah, the cows ... ~ John Richardson

I see black light (his last words) ~ Victor Hugo

A distinguished man should be as particular about his last words as he is about his last breath. He should write them out on a slip of paper and take the judgment of his friends on them. He should never leave such a thing to the last hour of his life, and trust to an intellectual spurt at the last moment to enable him to say something smart with his latest gasp and launch into eternity with grandeur. ~ Mark Twain

Joel's face swam across my vision and I blinked, goose bumps running up my arms. I shook his memory away, determined to stay focused, although my heart caved at the thought of his last words to us, right here in this very spot: Take care of each other. I'd be damned if I was going to let him down now. ~ Rachael Wade

He raised his bony fingers as if to touch me and I steeled myself not to flinch as his hand, still smoldering, neared my face.
He rattled and spoke his last words. Worth ... the ... fall. ~ Gwen Hayes

Amar's head snapped up and for the first time since leaving Naraka, we stared at one another. His expression hadn't changed since the glen. It was flat, but not unkind, just…out of reach.
He looked as though someone had summoned him from stone. The more I looked at him, the more images prickled behind my eyes--him walking toward me, in one hand carrying a glass rose while his fingers reached for me, eager to close the space between us; his hand slung over my waist while we slept, two bodies curled into the shadow of each other.
But those images were mine alone. Amar blinked, his brows furrowing before he looked away. My heart slammed against my ribs. If I had any doubt about his last words--that he wouldn't remember me, that I would be lost to him--this moment cured them.
I was a stranger. ~ Roshani Chokshi

Dear Beloved woman,
Time ... so much time has passed since my love wrote his last words for me.
And yet I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember writing back and for the first time since I had left home I told my love what kind of darkness surrounded me here. I forgot all the sweet things my father had said to my mother when he was away. I forgot how they got her through all those long and lonely nights. ~ Talon P.S.

Love one another (His last words) ~ George Harrison

Past persons of Scottishness in contact with mastermind of supernatural persuasion in London, aka Agent Doom.'
Floote moved on to the third bit of paper.
" 'Lady K says Agent Doom assisted depraved Plan of Action. May have all been his idea.'
Moving on to the last one, he read out, "Summer permits Scots to expose more knee than lady of refinement should have to withstand. Hairmuffs much admired. Yours etc., Puff Bonnet. ~ Gail Carriger

My mind blurs to a ripple of pleasure when his soft, full lips at last make contact with mine. He starts to deepen the kiss, but pauses, intent on the glass behind me. "You gotta be kidding."
I glance over my shoulder. Outside, Morpheus hangs on the glass in moth form, level with my head, glaring at us with his bulbous gaze. Even without a face, his smugness is apparent. His favorite pastime is interrupting Jeb's romantic moments. I try not to laugh, but can't help myself.
"Cocky son of a bug." Jeb sets me on the floor and draws the dropcloth tighter around me.
A barn owl swoops from the sky and skims the glass. Morpheus launches off in a tizzy, trying to outrun the bird. Now Jeb's the one laughing.
I slap his shoulder. "Hey, that's not funny."
"Ah, he'll be okay." Jeb raises an eyebrow, watching the aerial pursuit taking place outside the glass. "It's a new genus of vegetarian owls. They're only in it for the chase. Besides, Morphie-boy can change to his other form anytime he wants." ~ A.G. Howard

Would the last animal, eating garbage and living on the last scrap of land, his mate dead, would he still forgive you? ~ Barry Lopez

Louis can't catch his breath.
Neither can Harry.
Why isn't there more air?
Harry must have taken it with him.
"Not with you," Harry says one last time before he practically flings himself out the door, slamming it behind him, and leaving Louis alone, framed in the window, suffocating. ~ Velvetoscar

I meant what I said. I don't ever want anyone else but you, Jess."
"I don't want anyone else either. Only you."
Shane's fingers threaded into his hair. He pulled Jesse's head back and kissed him again, slow and tender and sweet.
"I want to tell the guys," Shane whispered against Jesse's lips. It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned it. "I wanna be with you for real, Jess, out in the open. We shouldn't have to hide."
Jesse closed his eyes. He wanted that too. He was just so nervous about what Nicky and Dre would think, what their parents would think. As much as he wanted it - to be out and proud and tell everyone that Shane was his - he just wasn't ready to take that last step. The thought of it was too scary. "Give me some time, okay? I just…I need a little more time."
He felt Shane's nod. "Okay. But soon, Jess. I'm tired of pretending."
"I know. I promise, Shane. Soon."
He fell asleep to the sound of Shane's heartbeat in his ear. They had the rest of their lives. Shane had said so before. They both wanted the same thing. A few more weeks couldn't cause any harm.
Soon. ~ Piper Vaughn

The clock struck half past two. In the little office at the back of Mr. McKechnie's bookshop, Gordon
Gordon Comstock, last member of the Comstock family, aged twenty-nine and rather moth-eaten already
lounged across the table, pushing a fourpenny packet of Player's Weights open and shut with his thumb. ~ George Orwell

I really did love you," he said softly. Then he straightened up and his eyes were unreadable. Blank. "But there are some things in this world more important than love. Some things that last longer. Empires. You build something great, something large, something that gets people's attention, and you're remembered forever. You love a girl, give her your heart, and you won't be remembered six years later. Love doesn't last. But empires do. They go on. And on. And on. Even if just in history books. ~ Karina Halle

The spectacle of nature, by growing quite familiar to him, becomes at last equally indifferent. It is constantly the same order, constantly the same revolutions; he has not sense enough to feel surprise at the sight of the greatest wonders; and it is not in his mind we must look for that philosophy, which man must have to know how to observe once, what he has every day seen. Jean Jacques Rousseau, On the Inequality among Mankind, Ch. 1, 20. ~ Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Today Jackie was following the Troy who was a loan manager at the Last Bank of Night Vale ('We put our customers second, and our apocalyptic prophecies first!'). This Troy had very regular hours, not just at his work but in his life outside of work, and so he was especially easy to tail. ~ Joseph Fink

Don't cry Meg. It's not that bad."

"It's not that bad? Ha! I'm thirty years old, with two black eyes, a swollen nose, a big, honking, yellow knot on my forehead, and the haircut from hell. As if that isn't enough, I had a transvestite in my bed this morning, my husband is a lying, cheating, cradle robbing, bastard, who at some point slept with my best friend."

Jack scooted over to the middle of the seat, and stopped listening to his head and wrapped his arms around her. Big mistake! From inside, four faces were pressed to the window.

"My last orgasm-with a partner- was…hell I can't remember when! I frequently knock myself out for entertainment purposes, I have little boobs, big feet, squishy panties, nosy neighbors and demon possessed fish. God hates me!"

Jack held her tighter.

"I have frequent flyer miles at the hospital. I fed my husband marijuana Ex-lax brownies and shoved a marble up his butt."

Jack pulled away to look at her and she was serious. And crying. Big, sad, alligator tears that made his heart swell. "My mother is a holy rolling, Catholic Dr. Ruth, complete with condoms and Rosary beads. I write about relationships and sex, both of which I suck at and I hired a Private Investigator to pimp me out."

Jack burst out laughing and she pushed him away and swatted his shoulder.

"And now you're laughing at me. Could things get any worse? ~ Amy Johnson

Judd returned during the last hour of my Friday shift. Without seeing him coming as I wiped a table, I knew something was up because two large burly men flinched.
Turning, I found Judd moving fast towards me. Before I could speak, his hands cupped my face and his lips were on mine.
Murmuring at the deepening kiss, I tossed aside the wash towel and wrapped my arms around his waist. He felt like perfection.
Judd pulled away and stated to speak then his gaze focused on the two men watching us and smiling. His dark stare killed their enthusiasm and they returned to eating.
"Back less than a minute and you're already losing me tips," I teased, causing Judd to smile grudging. "You taste like peppermint."
"I slept for shit and chewing gum keeps me alert."
Caressing his lips, I couldn't stop grinning. "You're so fucking beautiful and you're mine. How did that happen?"
Judd finally gave me a great smile. "I laid eyed on you and was done for. ~ Bijou Hunter

I just finished a novel called 'Exult,' by Joe Quirk, last night. It's about hang gliding. I liked his first book, too, 'The Ultimate Rush.' I now know that I never, ever, ever want to go hang gliding, so that's good. ~ Christopher Moore

I was looking for a last name that was a first name. Growing up, I knew a kid who was the most obnoxious kid I ever knew, and his last name was Herman. ~ Paul Reubens

[Robert] Newell's recommendation of walking is also interesting:

'The best way undoubtedly of seeing a country is on foot. It is the safest, and most suited to every variety of road; it will often enable you to take a shorter track, and visit scenes (the finest perhaps) not otherwise accessible; it is healthy, and, with a little practice, easy; it is economical: a pedestrian is content with almost any accommodations; he, of all travellers, wants but little, 'Nor wants that little long'. And last, though not least, it is perfectly independent.'

Newell cites independence, as do a number of the 'first generation' of Romantic walkers I have already surveyed; more striking are his commendation of walking as the safest option, which reflects a very altered perception of the security of travel from that which prevailed in the eighteenth century, and his advocacy of the practical and health benefits of pedestrianism, which against suggests its institutionalisation as a form of tourism and its extension to lower reaches of the middle classes. ~ Robin Jarvis

James Potter moved slowly along the narrow aisles of the train, peering as nonchalantly as he could into each compartment. To those inside, he probably looked as if he was searching for someone, some friend or group of confidantes with whom to pass the time during the trip, and this was intentional. The last thing that James wanted anyone to notice was that, despite the bravado he had so recently displayed with his younger brother Albus on the platform, he was nervous. His stomach knotted and churned as if he'd had half a bite of one of Uncles Ron and George's Puking Pastilles. ~ G. Norman Lippert

Jesus' last instructions to His disciples was to be witnesses to all peoples. He did not limit His mission to western, democratic, or 'free' countries. It was a blanket commandment. It was not a suggestion, or a recommendation, or an option. It was a commandment for all of His followers - to share His message with all peoples.... The question is never, 'Am I free to do that?' Rather, the question is, 'Will I be obedient?' Believers in the world of persecution have already decided their answer to that crucial question. ~ Nik Ripken

At last
He is healed of his self-doubt.
Now what is happening ?
He is awakening
To his souls ecstasy-sun. ~ Sri Chinmoy

I've had a rough six months, okay?" she cried. "Little Blue was my last friend,
and frankly the last time his batteries ran out I had a fleeting moment of panic
that he'd been compromised! ~ Victoria Dahl

As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I'm a Juicy girl.
"I bet you are," he murmured. ~ Karen Marie Moning

When at last he finally hooked one, despite Elizabeth's best efforts to prevent it, she scrambled to her feet and backed up a step. "You-you're hurting it!" she cried as he pulled the hook from its mouth.
"Hurting what? The fish?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yes!"
"Nonsense," said he, looking at her as if she was daft, then he tossed the fish on the bank.
"It can't breathe, I tell you!" she wailed, her eyes fixed on the flapping fish.
"It doesn't need to breathe," he retorted. "We're going to eat it for lunch."
"I certainly won't!" she cried, managing to look at him as if he were a cold-blooded murderer.
"Lady Cameron," he said sternly, "am I to believe you've never eaten a fish?"
"Well, of course I have."
"And where do you think the fish you've eaten came from?" he continued with irate logic.
"It came from a nice tidy package wrapped in paper," Elizabeth announced with a vacuous look. "They come in nice, tidy paper wrapping."
"Well, they weren't born in that tidy paper," he replied, and Elizabeth had a dreadful time hiding her admiration for his patience as well as for the firm tone he was finally taking with her. He was not, as she had originally thought, a fool or a namby-pamby. "Before that," he persisted, "where was the fish? How did that fish get to the market in the first place?"
Elizabeth gave her head a haughty toss, glanced sympathetically at the flapping fish, then gazed at him with haughty condemnation in her ~ Judith McNaught

It was on the steamer carrying him through the Golden Gate that he happened to reach down into the hole in the lining of the right pocket of his overcoat and discover the envelope that his brother had solemnly handed to him almost a month before. It contained a single piece of paper, which Thomas had hastily stuffed into it that morning as they all were leaving the house together for the last time, by way or in lieu of expressing the feelings of love, fear, and hopefulness that his brother's escape inspired. It was the drawing of Harry Houdini, taking a calm cup of tea in the middle of the sky, that Thimas had made in his notebook during his abortive career as a librettist. Josef studied it, feeling as he sailed toward freedom as if he weighed nothing at all, as if every precious burden had been lifted from him. ~ Michael Chabon

Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus," murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain in the room while Harry and the Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.
"There's no need," Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further explanation unnecessary by saying loudly,
"Well, this is good-bye, then, boy."
He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry's hand, but at the last moment seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and forward like a metronome.
"Ready, Diddy?" asked Aunt Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at Harry altogether.
Dudley did not answer, but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.
"Come along, then," said Uncle Vernon.
He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, "I don't understand."
"What don't you understand, popkin?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking up at her son.
Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.
"Why isn't he coming with us?"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze where they stood, staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.
"What?" said Uncle Vernon loudly.
"Why isn't he coming too?" asked Dudley.
"Well, he--he doesn't want to," said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and adding, "You don't want to, do you?"
"Not in ~ J.K. Rowling

I hope he got plenty of rest last night because his legs are gonna be real tired after he runs through your mind all day. ~ Georgia Cates

This was the move that was supposed to sweep me away. She seemed a little out of practice. I guess life with Charley Royce hadn't exactly been the third reel of The English Patient. It had to be bad if Mickey Dolan was your back-up. Not to put Mickey down but he didn't strike me as the lover-boy type. Especially when he took out his teeth. The last time Mickey thought about pleasing anybody but himself was just before he discovered how to sniff glue. ~ Dan Ahearn

You were happy last night. This morning is a different story."

"You think I have a hangover. I don't. Well a little headache, but not much. Just let this be a warning to you if you keep me from sleeping again tonight."

"I kept you from sleeping? I kept you from sleeping?" he repeated incredulously. "You are the same woman who shook me out of a sound sleep at two a.m. yesterday morning, aren't you?"

"I didn't shake you. I kind of bounced on you, but I didn't shake you."

"Bounced," he repeated.

"You had a hard-on. I couldn't let it go to waste, could I?"

"You could have woke me up before you started not to let it go to waste."

"Look," she said exasperated, "If you don't want used, don't lie on your back with it sticking up like that. If that isn't an invitation, I don't know what is."

"I was asleep. It does that on its own." It was doing it on its own right know, as a matter of fact. It poked her in the stomach.

She looked down... and smiled. It was a smile that made his testicles draw up in fear.

With a sniff, she turned her back on him and ignored him as she finished showering.

"Hey!" he said, to get her attention. Alarm was in his tone. "You aren't going to let this one go to waste are you? ~ Linda Howard

My sisters had been living in the House of Wind since they'd arrived in Velaris.
They did not leave the palace built into the upper parts of a flat-topped mountain overlooking the city. They did not ask for anything, or anyone.
So I would go to them.
Lucien was waiting in the sitting room when Rhys and I came downstairs at last, my mate having given the silent order for them to return.
Unsurprisingly, Cassian and Azriel were casually seated in the dining room across the hall, eating lunch and marking every single breath Lucien emitted. Cassian smirked at me, brows flicking up.
I shot him a warning glare that dared him to comment. Azriel, thankfully, just kicked Cassian under the table.
Cassian gawked at Azriel as if to declare I wasn't going to say anything while I approached the open archway into the sitting room, Lucien rising to his feet. ~ Sarah J. Maas

She tried to tear herself away from him. The effort broke against his arms that had not felt it. Her fists beat against his shoulders, against his face. He moved one had, took her two wrists, pinned them behind her, under his arm, wrenching her shoulder blades. She twisted her head back. She felt his lips on her breast. She tore herself free…She fought like an animal. But she made no sound. She did not call for help. She heard the echoes of her blows in a gasp of his breath, and she knew that it was a gasp of pleasure…She felt the hatred and his hands; his hands moving over her body, the hands that broke granite. She fought the last convulsion. Then the sudden pain shot up, through her body, to her throat, and she screamed. Then she laid still. It was an act that could be performed in tenderness, as a seal of love, or in contempt, as a symbol of humiliation and conquest. It could be an act of a lover or the act of a soldier violating an enemy woman. He did it as an act of scorn. Not as love, but as defilement. And this made her still and submit…the act of a master taking shameful , contemptuous possession of her was the kind of rapture she had wanted… ~ Ayn Rand

He had spent the last five years, he [JFK] said ruefully, running for office, and he did not know any real public officials, people to run a government, serious men. The only ones he knew, he admitted, were politicians, and if this seemed a denigration of his own kind, it was not altogether displeasing to the older man. Politicians did need men to serve, to run the government. The implication was obvious. Politicians could run Pennsylvania and Ohio, and if they could not run Chicago they could at least deliver it. But politicians run the world? What did they know about the Germans, the French, the Chinese? He needed experts for that ~ David Halberstam

Why didst Thou reject that last gift? Had Thou accepted that last offer of the mighty spirit, Thou wouldst have accomplished all that man seeks on earth
that is, someone to worship, someone to keep his conscience, and some means of uniting all in one unanimous and harmonious ant heap, because the craving for universal unity is the third and last anguish of men. Mankind as a whole has always striven to organize a universal state. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

She tore off his grip, and then she was walking out the kitchen door, across the courtyard, through the ward-stones, and along the invisible barrier- until she found a spot just out of sight of the fortress.
The world was full of screaming and wailing, so loud she drowned in it.
Celaena did not utter a sound as she unleashed her magic on the barrier, a blast that shook the trees and set the earth rumbling. She fed her power into the invisible wall, begging the ancient stones to take it, to use it. The wards, as if sensing her intent, devoured her power whole, absorbing every last ember until it flickered, hungry for more.
So she burned and burned and burned. ~ Sarah J. Maas

And it shall come to pass that what man made shall be shattered, and the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of Age, and the Dark One shall once more lay his hand upon the world of man. Women shall weep and men quail as the nations of the earth are rent like rotting cloth. Neither shall anything stand nor abide...
Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow, born once more as he was born before and shall be born again, time without end. The Dragon shall be Reborn, and there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth at his rebirth. In sackcloth and ashes shall he clothe the people, and he shall break the world again by his coming, tearing apart all ties that bind. Like the unfettered dawn shall he blind us, and burns us, yet shall the Dragon Reborn confront the Shadow at the Last battle, and his blood shall give us the Light. Let tears flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation.

-from The Karaethon Cycle: The Prophecies of the Dragon, as translated by Ellaine Marise'idin Alshinn, Chief Librarian at the Court of Arafel, in the Year of Grace 231 of the New Era, the Third Age ~ Robert Jordan