House Of Hades Quotes

Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilleus and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians, hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting 5 of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished ~ Homer

In that moment, he chose Greek. He threw in his lot with Camp Half-Blood-and the horses changed. The storm clouds inside burned away, leaving nothing but red dust and shimmering heat, like mirages on the Sahara. ~ Rick Riordan

Bob says hello," he told the stars. ~ Rick Riordan

Yes, Jason Grace." Favonius arched an eyebrow. "I fell in love with a dude. Does that shock you? ~ Rick Riordan

She grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, which effectively shut him up. ~ Rick Riordan

He scowled at Jason. And please, I don't like being touched. Don't ever grab me again. ~ Rick Riordan

Tell the sun and stars hello for me. ~ Rick Riordan

Jason always tried to build a good relationship with his team. He'd learned the hard way that if somebody was going to have your back in a fight, it was better if you found some common ground and trusted each other. But Nico wasn't easy to figure out. ~ Rick Riordan

Nico di Angelo has warned them: the House of Hades would stir their worst memories, make them see things and hear things from the past Their ghosts would become restless. ~ Rick Riordan

Nico drank from the chalice, then offered it to Jason. "You asked me about trust, and taking a risk? Well, here you go, son of Jupiter. How much do you trust me?"
Frank wasn't sure what Nico was talking about, but Jason didn't hesitate. He took the cup and drank. ~ Rick Riordan

Frank, how did you do that?" Jason yelled.
Frank's head swam with pain. He forced himself not to pass out. "I'm the ranking Roman officer," he said. "They- uh, they don't recognize you. Sorry."
Jason grimaced, but he didn't look particularly surprised. "How can we help? ~ Rick Riordan

No!" Leo yelled.
"Uhhh," Nico groaned from the floor.
"Piper!" Jason cried.
"Monkey!" Frank yelled.
"Not monkeys," Hazel grumbled. "I think those are dwarfs."
"Stealing my stuff!" Leo yelled, and ran for the stairs. ~ Rick Riordan

The way Leo figured it, he spent more time crashing than he did flying. If there were a rewards card for frequent crashers, he'd be, like, double platinum level. Leo couldn't fly. He had a couple of minutes at most before he'd hit the water and go ker-splat. He decided he didn't like that ending to the Epic Ballad of Leo. ~ Rick Riordan

Pain was unimportant. Failure was unthinkable. ~ Rick Riordan

Oh, he's not like that," said Favonius.
Jason flinched. "You can read my mind?"
"I don't need to." Favonius tossed his bronze hoop in the air. "Everyone has the wrong impression of Cupid ... until they meet him. ~ Rick Riordan

You guys are so ... dark. Even if I used flash, I'm not sure it would come out."
"Y-yeah," Percy managed. "You guys aren't photogenic. ~ Rick Riordan

The Romans move east from New York. They advance in your camp, and nothing can slow them down.
"Nothing can slow them down," Leo mused. "I wonder..."
"What?" Jason asked.
Leo looked at the dwarfs. "I'll make you a deal."
Akmon's eyes lit up. "Thirty percent?"
"We'll leave you all the treasure," Leo said, "except the stuff that belongs to us, and the astrolabe, and this book, which we'll take back to the dude in Venice."
"But he'll destroy us!" Passolos wailed.
"We won't say where we got it," Leo promised. "And we won't kill you. We'll let you go free."
"Uh, Leo...?" Jason asked nervously.
Akmon squealed in delight. "I knew you were as smart at Hercules! I will call you Black Bottom, the Sequel!"
"You, no thanks," Leo said. "But in return for us sparing your lives, you have to do something for us. I'm going to send you somewhere to steal from some people, harass them, make life hard for them any way you can. You have to follow my directions exactly. You have to swear on the River Styx."
"We swear!" Passalos said. "Stealing from people is our specialty!"
"I love harassment!" Akmon agreed. "Where are we going?"
Leo grinned. "Ever heard of New York? ~ Rick Riordan

Oh, did you expect me to play fair?" Cupid laughed. "I am the god of love. I am never fair. ~ Rick Riordan

Now fight me! For today thee House of Hades will be called the saviors of Olympus. ~ Rick Riordan

Dude." Jason gave Percy a bear hug.
"Back from Tartarus!" Leo whooped. "That's my peeps! ~ Rick Riordan

About five meters ahead, Nico was swinging his black sword with one hand, holding the scepter of Diocletian aloft with the other. He kept shouting orders at the legionnaires, but they paid him no attention.
Of course not, Frank thought. He's Greek.
[ ... ]
Jason's face was already beaded with sweat. He kept shouting in Latin: "Form ranks!" But the dead legionnaires wouldn't listen to him, either.
[ ... ]
"Make way!" Frank shouted. To his surprise, the dead legionnaires parted for him. The closest ones turned and stared at him with blank eyes, as if waiting for further orders.
"Oh, great ... " Frank mumbled. ~ Rick Riordan

You promised, Seaweed brain. We would not get separated! Ever again! ~ Rick Riordan

Nico, you can do this," Jason said. "It might be embarrassing, but it's for the scepter."
Nico didn't look convinced. In fact he looked like he was going to be sick. But he squared his shoulders and nodded. "You're right. I- I'm not afraid of a love god."
Favonius beamed. "Excellent! Would you like a snack before you go? ~ Rick Riordan

Nico had proven himself in other ways. He'd kept the camps' secrets for the best of reasons, because he feared a war. He had plunged into Tartarus alone, voluntarily, to find the Doors of Death. He'd been captured and imprisoned by giants. He had led the crew of the Argo II into the House of Hades ... and now he had accepted yet another terrible quest: raking himself to haul the Athene Parthenos back to Camp Half-Blood. ~ Rick Riordan

Please tell me your master isn't Aeolus."
"That airhead?" Favonius snorted. "No, of course not."
"He means Eros." Nico's voice turned edgy. "Cupid, in Latin."
Favonius smiled. "Very good, Nico di Angelo. I'm glad to see you again, by the way. It's been a long time. ~ Rick Riordan

The truth hit him. Jason wasn't quite Roman anymore. His time at Camp Half-Blood had changed him. Reyna had recognized that. Apparently, so did the undead legionnaires. If Jason no longer gave off the right sort of vibe, or aura of a Roman leader ... ~ Rick Riordan

To my wonderful readers:
Sorry about that last cliff-hanger.
Well, no, not really. HAHAHAHA.
But seriously, I love you guys. ~ Rick Riordan

For a single path leads to the house of Hades. ~ Aeschylus

Nay if even in the house of Hades the dead forget their dead, yet will I even there be mindful of my dear comrade. ~ Homer

Hazel frowned. "Why that one?"
"You don't see the ghost?" Frank asked.
"Ghost?" Nico asked.
Okay ... if Frank was seeing a ghost that the Underworld kids couldn't see, something was definitely wrong. ~ Rick Riordan

Sucktastic!"-Leo ~ Rick Riordan

Achilleus started awake, staring, and drove his hands together, and spoke, and his words were sorrowful: Oh, wonder! Even in the house of Hades there is left something, a soul and an image, but there is no real heart of life in it. ~ Homer

Poor Nico di Angelo. The god's voice was tinged with disappointment. Do you know what you want, much less what I want? My beloved Psyche risked everything in the name of Love. It was the only way for her to atone for her lack of faith. And you- what have you risked in my name?
"I've been to Tartarus and back," Nico snarled. "You don't scare me."
I scare you very, very much. Face me. Be honest. ~ Rick Riordan

Monsters are eternal," she told him, trying to keep herself from sobbing. "We will remember you and Damasen as heroes, as the best Titan and the best giant. We'll tell our children. We'll keep the story alive. Someday, you will regenerate. ~ Rick Riordan

Nico drew his sword. His smile was even more unsettling than his scowl.
"Underground," he said. "My favorite place."
Underground was not Jason's favorite place. ~ Rick Riordan

Love is on every side, Cupid said. And no one's side. Don't ask what Love can do for you.
"Great," Jason said. "Now he's spouting greeting card messages. ~ Rick Riordan

Whenever he felt like giving up, plopping himself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), he reached over and took her hand, just to remember there was warmth in the world. ~ Rick Riordan

For one exciting minute, Percy felt like he was winning. ~ Rick Riordan

Yeah, okay. But, Nico, you do choose how to live your life. You want to trust somebody? Maybe take a risk that I'm really your friend and I'll accept you. It's better than hiding. ~ Rick Riordan

This is the sphinx of the hearthstone, the little god of domesticity, whose presence turns a house into a home. ~ Agnes Repplier

Look for it in the wintertime, if you want to find The Light Of The Season - the real light, not the Hallmark one. Look for the location of resistance. Look for the darkness in which you can be a spark. Look for the opportunity to be bright, to light someone else's way, to warm their hands, to shuttle them safely through the dark. Look for the crack you can fill or the shadow you can dispel by bringing a little bit of the light of resistance, carefully and precisely, to just the place where it is needed. Look for the place of being bright - of being bright and present outside your own house, or in the window, on the opposite side to the mezuzah, letting anyone who passes know. We are here. ~ S. Bear Bergman

Tall, narrow, and grand, the first house was a Victorian. Once loved by a family, it ended up a college rental. Dylan took it from rundown and abused to grand again.
"Could you see yourself living here?" he asked, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
"No," I said softly.
"Good. Me either, but I'd have moved in tomorrow if you said yes."
Squirming around to face him, I sighed. "You're so whipped."
"I know, but only when it comes to you."
"It's only fair since you own my heart and could destroy me if you wanted."
"Could, but never will," he said, taking my hand. "Let's go look at the midcentury house."
"What if I don't like that one either?"
Dylan opened the car door and shrugged. "Plenty of houses in Ellsberg that need love. We'll find one and make it ours. ~ Bijou Hunter

They were interrupted as a young girl walked along the pavement in front of the sessions house, calling, "Flowers! Fresh-cut flowers!" She stopped in front of them. "Posy for the lady, sir?"
Ransom turned to the girl, who wore a colorful scarf over her long dark hair and a patchwork apron over her black dress. She carried a flat basket filled with posyes, their stems wrapped with bits of colored ribbon.
"There's no need-" Garrett began, but Ransom ignored her, browsing over the tiny bouquets of roses, narcissus, violets, forget-me-nots, and dianthus.
"How much?" he asked the flower girl.
"A farthing, sir."
He glanced at Garrett over his shoulder. "Do you like violets?"
"I do," she said hesitantly.
Ransom gave the flower-girl a sixpence and picked out one of the posyes.
"Thank you, sir!" The girl scurried away as if fearing he might change his mind.
Ransom turned to Garrett with the cluster of purple blossoms. Reaching for the lapel of her walking jacket, he deftly tucked the ribbon-wrapped stem of the posy into a buttonhole.
"Violets make an excellent blood-purifying tonic," Garrett said awkwardly, feeling the need to fill the silence. "And they're good for treating cough or fever."
The elusive dimple appeared in his cheek. "They're also becoming to green-eyed women. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Tibet has not yet been infested by the worst disease of modern life, the everlasting rush. No one overworks here. Officials have an easy life. They turn up at the office late in the morning and leave for their homes early in the afternoon. If an official has guests or any other reason for not coming, he just sends a servant to a colleague and asks him to officiate for him.
Women know nothing about equal rights and are quite happy as they are. They spend hours making up their faces, restringing their pearl necklaces, choosing new material for dresses, and thinking how to outshine Mrs. So-and-so at the next party. They do not have to bother about housekeeping, which is all done by the servants. But to show that she is mistress the lady of the house always carries a large bunch of keys around with her. In Lhasa every trifling object is locked up and double-locked.
Then there is mah-jongg. At one time this game was a universal passion. People were simply fascinated by it and played it day and night, forgetting everything else - official duties, housekeeping, the family. The stakes were often very high and everyone played - even the servants, who sometimes contrived to lose in a few hours what they had taken years to save. Finally the government found it too much of a good thing. They forbade the game, bought up all the mah-jongg sets, and condemned secret offenders to heavy fines and hard labor. And they brought it off! I would never have believed it, but though everyon ~ Heinrich Harrer

Little minds instinctively seek to circumscribe the things around them, to pull in the walls to the size of their own small existence, to get everything squared off to their own scale so they can feel safe and snug. This process invariably means that a lot of the material used in their walls is from the last house they lived in, is very much what they were accustomed to before they moved, so to speak. Big minds, on the contrary, push the horizons further away, create new frontiers, leave room for growth. ~ Amatu'l-Baha Ruhiyyih Khanum

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled and twigs and leaves scuffled and rattled past the house. Mr and Mrs White sat in the parlour of their cosy home, in front of a blazing fire. Mr White played chess with his only son, Herbert. His wife sat in a rocking chair knitting and watching as they played. ~ W.W. Jacobs

I don't wish for the red house back, not really, yet in a way, I wish for everything back that ever was, everything that once seemed like forever and yet has vanished ... Standing here on an empty hilltop in New Hampshire, as a bulldozer slowly pushes the debris of a small red house into a neat pile, I allow, just for a moment, the past to push hard against the walls of my heart. Being alive, it seems, means learning to bear the weight of the passing of all things. It means finding a way to lightly hold all the places we've loved and left anyway, all the moments and days and years that have already been lived and lost to memory, even as we live on in the here and now, knowing full well that this moment, too, is already gone. It means, always, allowing for the hard truth of endings. It means, too, keeping faith in beginnings. ~ Katrina Kenison

The next morning, I went over to pick them up. I'd spent the night thinking of more things I should tell them--everything about Chris I thought they needed to know.
It was all too much.
"I don't know how to tell you everything," I confessed to Bradley as he got into the car. I started to cry. "There's so many things and we have such a short amount of time."
"Just being here is all we need," he said. "I'm not an impersonator. I'm just here to feel Chris's life--I feel him here with me right now."
Bradley put me at ease and I calmed down. Back at the house, he and Clint became almost like family. Little bits of their personality came out as well--and I saw a glimmer of Clint's famous Dirty Harry character later on in the day when I had to leave to go to Bubba's basketball game.
They'd talked about coming with me--which frankly would have created an impossible circus. But I did give them the option. As they stood trying to make up their minds, I snapped into anxious mom mode.
"All right," I told them both. "You're welcome to come. But if you're coming, we're leaving now."
I guess my tone was a little too strident.
"So you want to get tough with me, huh, lady?" said Clint in his best Dirty Harry voice as he raised his eyebrow.
It's amazing how threatening a simple facial tic can be.
I left them home to study some of Chris's replica guns and gear. Our own already had its ample share of lawmen. ~ Taya Kyle

Two Metro lines, two trains, two carriages, two people walking in parallel streets, two lives, couples criss-crossing without seeing each other, potential encounters, meetings which shall never take place. The imagination rewrites history. It modifies the local directory and the roll-call of those who frequent a town, a street, a house, a woman. It transfixes reflections in the mirror for all eternity. It hangs entire portrait galleries from the wall of our future memory on which magnificent strangers use a sharp knife to engrave their initials and a date. ~ Robert Desnos

For me a house or an apartment becomes a home when you add one set of four legs, a happy tail, and that indescribable measure of love that we call a dog. ~ Roger A. Caras

Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back you say? ... and now he's sending dismembers after you? ... I see. Well that settles it, YOU CAN GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE BOY! ~ J.K. Rowling

The alien laws collectively invested the president the authority to deport resident aliens he considered dangerous. The sedition bill criminalized free speech, forbidding anyone to "write, print, utter or publish ... any false, scandalous, and malicious writing or writings against the government of the United States, or either House of the Congress of the United States, with intent to defame ... or to bring them ... into contempt or disrepute, or to excite against them, or either or any of them, the hatred of the good people of the United States."16 So ~ Jon Meacham

But here in the present, my mother and I had no choice but to move ahead. We worked hard, me at school, her at outselling all the other builders. We parted our hair cleanly and stood up straight, greeting company - and the world - with the smiles we practiced in the quiet of our now-too-big dream house full of mirrors that showed the smiles back. But under it all, our grief remained. Sometimes she took more of it, sometimes I did. But always, it was there. ~ Sarah Dessen

About six in the evening I came out of the moorland to a white ribbon of road which wound up the narrow vale of a lowland stream. As I followed it, fields gave place to bent, the glen became a plateau, and presently I had reached a kind of pass where a solitary house smoked in the twilight. The road swung over a bridge, and leaning on the parapet was a young man. He was smoking a long clay pipe and studying the water with spectacled eyes. In his left hand was a small book with a finger marking the place. Slowly he repeated - As when a Gryphon through the wilderness With winged step, o'er hill and moory dale Pursues the Arimaspian. He jumped round as my step rung on the keystone, and I saw a pleasant sunburnt boyish face. 'Good evening to you,' he said gravely. 'It's a fine night for the road.' The smell of peat smoke and of some savoury roast floated to me from the house. ~ John Buchan

The girl-women scampered around a beach house in various states of preparative undress, wriggled into sundresses, shook out their hair ... They possessed a veneer of hotness, certainly, a sheen of sexual health. You could call them clean, chromatic, shapely, sun-kissed, and yes, even HOT
but you could never call them lovely, not in the way that Owen was lovely. ~ Chad Harbach

Roadblock #5: It's Unpredictable
By and large, human beings don't like surprises. I know that I don't. Okay, maybe I like that rare piece of unexpected good news or a letter from a friend or a thoughtful thank-you. But I'm willing to bet that people in funny hats jumping out of dark closets are responsible for more heart attacks than expressions of unbridled delight. When the doorbell rings late at night, I'm under no illusion that it's the Publisher's Clearing House Prize Patrol!
This, most likely, goes back to our caveman past when a big, exciting surprise was apt to be something like an 800-pound,snarling, saber-toothed tiger about to rip the head from our shoulders. Surprises were usually bad news. (Think about this the next time you're crouching in the dark in somebody's front hall closet with their raincoats and umbrellas.) ~ Paul Powers

Friedrich's soldiers saw them and started hooting and whistling. "I haven't convinced her yet! Stop carrying on, or she'll run the other way," he said as they stopped at a covered wagon. He plucked a sack from the driver's seat and led Cinderella on toward the front of the house. "What's ~ K.M. Shea

As a child I experienced loss for what I felt was withheld from me: the delicious milk, the mountains of flowers I could not roll in, the cousins I could not play with, a beautiful house on a plateau. As the years grew with me, I became aware of absences that impacted me directly and indirectly: the loss of place, of stories, of family and of citizenship. ~ Tsering Wangmo Dhompa

Within a quarter of an hour we came to Miss Havisham's house, which was of old brick, and dismal, and had a great many iron bars to it. Some of the windows had been walled up; of those that remained, all the lower were rustily barred. There was a courtyard in front, and that was barred; ~ Charles Dickens

I was tired of being a haunted house' he said. 'Thank you for coming home. ~ Mira Grant

Obviously, it's had a huge effect on repetitive music or dance music or house music. Ambient in the last ten years has infiltrated into all those repetitive musics. I don't know what part it plays in pop necessarily but I'm sure there's some connection. But in all the music that deals with experimental repetition, drum and bass, dub, various kinds of house music, there's always been a quality of atmosphere and ambience. I think it's infiltrated that pretty heavily. ~ Bill Laswell

If a seminary or Christian college has a wise provost or dean or department chair, he or she will realize that they need some faculty who are master teachers but publish little, and some scholars who can both teach and publish, and some who would be better just being research professors. It takes a variety of faculty to make up a good school. But alas, even in schools that have such administrators, promotion and sabbaticals are often based on publications or planned publications, not just on reviews of one's classroom performances. Thus, some scholars who find research and writing a huge cross to bear are forced to carry that cross all the way to Golgotha Publishing House in order to get promoted. It really ought not to be that way at a Christian school, where the main goal should be training students or budding clergy in the way that they should go. ~ Ben Witherington III

May the warm winds of heaven blow softly upon your house. May the Great Spirit bless all who enter there. May your mocassins make happy tracks in many snows, and may the rainbow always touch your shoulder. ~ American Indian Cherokee Blessing

Many of us vote under the assumption that if only the right man/woman/party/ideology could get seated in the White House, the Court House, or the School House then the Kingdom of God would come. That is an illusion. We do not look for the church to assist in or endorse the building of a made-in-America utopia which is only a Babylon with red, white, and blue curtains. We look for a city whose builder and maker is God. To him, and only him, we must pledge our primary allegiance. ~ Ronnie McBrayer

No one but she had realized that the ballroom bore a rather startling resemblance to the gardens at Charise Dumont's country house, and that the arbor at the side, with its trellised entrance, was a virtual replica of the place where she and Ian had first waltzed that long-ago night.
Across the room, the vicar was standing with Jake Wiley, Lucinda, and the Duke of Stanhope, and he raised his glass to her. Elizabeth smiled and nodded back. Jake Wiley watched the silent communication and beamed upon his little group of companions. "Exquisite bride, isn't she?" he pronounced, not for the first time. For the past half-hour, the three men had been merrily congratulating themselves on their individual roles in bringing this marriage about, and the consumption of spirits was beginning to show in Duncan and Jake's increasingly gregarious behavior.
"Absolutely exquisite," Duncan agreed.
"She'll make Ian an excellent wife," said the duke. "We've done well, gentlemen," he added, lifting his glass in yet another congratulatory toast to his companions. "To you, Duncan," he said with a bow, "for making Ian see the light."
"To you, Edward," said the vicar to the duke, "for forcing society to accept them." Turning to Jake, he added, "And to you, old friend, for insisting on going to the village for the servingwomen and bringing old Attila and Miss Throckmorton-Jones with you."
That toast belatedly called to mind the silent duenna who was standing stiffly beside them, ~ Judith McNaught

The site of his thinking and writing was a small office wedged in one corner of his shaggy house, on whose door he'd installed a lock to keep his sons out. They gathered wistfully outside it, his boys, with their chipped, heartbreaking faces. They were not permitted to so much as knock upon the door to the room in which he thought and wrote about art, but Ted hadn't found a way to keep them from prowling outside it, ghostly feral creatures drinking from a pond in moonlight, their bare feet digging at the carpet, their fingers sweating on the walls, leaving spoors of grease that Ted would point out each week to Elsa, the cleaning woman. He would sit in his office, listening to the movements of his boys, imagining that he felt their hot, curious breath. I will not let them in, he would tell himself. I will sit and think about art. But he found, to his despair, that often he couldn't think about art. He thought about nothing at all. ~ Jennifer Egan

Didn't It belong to her just a little bit, not in a material way but in the way a house always belonged to all those who have lived and loved and suffered in it? As if it had kept behind a small part of your soul. ~ Beatriz Williams

To the old saying that man built the house but woman made of it a 'home' might be added the modern supplement that woman accepted cooking as a chore but man has made of it a recreation. ~ Emily Post

Maybe real-life Mom didn't vacuum the house flawlessly arrayed in pearls and a pleated shirt like the mother on leave it to beaver. Maybe she flirted with the milkman or waited for the kids to go to bed so she could hammer back a couple of mugs of vodka pretending it was tea. But she was there to greet us when we came home from school in the afternoon. She made us dinner, kept watch on us through the kitchen window, put Band-Aids on our scrapes and bruises.
She was Mom and that was no small thing. ~ Andrew Klavan

Everyone wants to look for something of their own, a house of their own, a child of their own, a partner of their own, entirely for themselves alone. No one is satisfied with a room of their own any more. ~ Elfriede Jelinek

All those night long phone calls! All those secret visits to my house! All those secret walks! And you're fond of me! You think I'm being over dramatic! How about I break your face open for over dramatics!" ~Becca ~ Annabell Cadiz

In this jangle of causes and effects, what had become of their true selves? Here Leonard lay dead in the garden, from natural causes; yet life was a deep, deep river, death a blue sky, life was a house, death a wisp of hay, a flower, a tower, life and death were anything and everything, except this ordered insanity, where the king takes the queen, and the ace the king. Ah, no; there was beauty and adventure behind, such as the man at her feet had yearned for; there was hope this side of the grave; there were truer relationships beyond the limits that fetter us now. As a prisoner looks up and sees stars beckoning, so she, from the turmoil and horror of those days, caught glimpses of the diviner wheels. ~ E.M. Forster

But the young Count insisted on the Beauty selecting a flower for him. He was waiting impatiently for her second present, the promised kiss - her first kiss.

The Beauty looked at the flowers. Once again her face was darkened by a delicate shade of sadness. Suddenly, as if prompted by some strange will, she quickly stretched out a hand, so exquisite in its naked whiteness, and plucked a many-petaled flower. Her hand hesitated, and she bowed her head, and finally with an expression of shy indecision she approached the Count and placed the flower in a buttonhole of his cloak.

The powerful and pungent scent wafted into the young Count's face, which grew pale as his head reeled in languid impotence. Indifference and tedium overcame him. He was scarcely aware of himself, he hardly noticed that the Beauty took him by the arm and led him into the house, away from the fragrances of the wondrous Garden.

In one of the rooms of the house where all was bright, white and rosy, the Count came to himself. A youthful vitality returned to his face, his black eyes were aflame with passion once again, and he felt the joy of life and the surge of desire anew. But already the inescapable lay in wait for him. A white hand, bare, slender, lay on his neck; and the fragrant kiss of the Beauty was tender, sweet, long. The two blue lightnings of her eyes flashed close to his eyes and were masked with the subtle mystery of her long eyelashes. The sinister fires of some ~ Valery Bryusov

She really talks to you, doesn't she?" She asked. "it's not just you talking to her. She talks BACK."
"hel, half the time she starts it." I said, half-defensively. "I know it's weird."
"Well, yes, it's weird. Technically, I think it's insane. But who am I to judge?" Maggie shrugged. "I live in a house most people view as the setting of a horror movie waiting to happen, with an army of security ninjas and a couple dozen epileptic dogs for company. I don't think I'm qualified to pass judgement on 'weird'. ~ Mira Grant

I gave a talk on the Brontë girls once when it was my turn to speak. I'm sorry I can't send you my notes on Charlotte and Emily -- I used them to kindle a fire in my stove-- there being no other paper in the house. I'd already burnt up my tide tables, the Book of Revelation and the story about Job. (From Isola Pribby to Juliet) ~ Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows

In 1969 the Khmer Rouge numbered only about 4,000. By 1975 their numbers were enough to defeat the government forces. Their victory was greatly helped by the American attack on Cambodia, which was carried out as an extension of the Vietnam War. In 1970 a military coup led by Lon Nol, possibly with American support, overthrew the government of Prince Sihanouk, and American and South Vietnamese troops entered Cambodia.

One estimate is that 600,000 people, nearly 10 per cent of the Cambodian population, were killed in this extension of the war. Another estimate puts the deaths from the American bombing at 1000,000 peasants. From 1972 to 1973, the quantity of bombs dropped on Cambodia was well over three times that dropped on Japan in the Second World War.

The decision to bomb was taken by Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger and was originally justified on the grounds that North Vietnamese bases had been set up in Cambodia. The intention (according to a later defence by Kissinger's aide, Peter W. Rodman) was to target only places with few Cambodians: 'From the Joint Chiefs' memorandum of April 9, 1969, the White House selected as targets only six base areas minimally populated by civilians. The target areas were given the codenames BREAKFAST, LUNCH, DINNER, SUPPER, SNACK, and DESSERT; the overall programme was given the name MENU.' Rodman makes the point that SUPPER, for instance, had troop concentrations, anti-aircraft, artillery, rocket and mortar positions, ~ Jonathan Glover

Must have stayed that way for some time; I slept sometimes, dreaming of the last few days of the Jacobite Rising - I saw again the dead man in the wood, asleep beneath a coverlet of bright blue fungus, and Dougal MacKenzie dying on the floor of an attic in Culloden House; the ragged men of the Highland army, asleep in the muddy ditches; their last sleep before the slaughter. I would wake screaming or moaning, ~ Diana Gabaldon

Miyata was fluent and intelligent. Nothing was beyond his curiosity. He seemed to be above the confusion of life, as if he had been commissioned to spend his own in undisturbed judgement of the world about him, protected always by a mandate from the gods. They spoke briefly of Korea and then of the past war with the United States. Miyata had been in Japan for its entire duration and must have been deeply affected, but when he talked about it, it was without bitterness. Wars were not of his doing. He considered them almost poetically, as if they were seasons, the cruel winters of man, even though almost all the work he had done in the 1930s and early 1940s had been lost when his house was burned in the great incendiary raid of 1944. He described the night vividly, the endless hours, the bombers thundering low over the storms of fire. ~ James Salter

Here were shadows on the window blinds of guests assembling, and there a group of pretty girls, hooded and Ugg-booted and all chattering at once, tripping off lightly to some near neighbor's house where woe would befall the single guy who saw them enter - they were artful witches, and they knew it. ~ David Levithan