You may plant your acres again and raise up your fallen orchard and vineyards, but they will never flourish as they used to, never--until you learn to take joy in them, for no reason.
For no one can keep a unicorn in his head for long;
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.
She is a story with no ending, happy or sad. She can never belong to anything mortal enough to want her. Most
На хората им трябват герои, но никой човек не може да бъде толкова голям, колкото необходимостта от него, и така легендата се наслоява около песъчинка истина като перла.
And you are truly human now. You can love, and fear, and forbid things to be what they are, and overact.
Some things aren't any good unless they're shared. Sitting up all night would be pointless if somebody you loved wasn't sitting up with you, picking out music to play and helping you kill the bourbon....
Ah, love may be strong, but a habit is stronger,And I knew when I loved by the way I behaved.
And in the whiteness, of the whiteness, flowering in the tattered water, their bodies arching with the streaked marble hollows of the waves, their manes and tails and the fragile beards of the males b...
Anyone can say he’s a magician these days. The old standards are gone, the old values have been abandoned. Besides, a real magician has a beard.
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.
Claudio Bianchi did write poetry [...] He had no vanity about this, no fantasies of literary celebrity; he simply took pleasure putting words in order, exactly as he laid out seedlings in the spring,...
Do you know what I am, butterfly? the unicorn asked hopefully, and he replied. Excellent well, you’re a fishmonger. You’re my everything, you are my sunshine, you are old and gray and full of sleep, y...
For a moment she turned in a circle, staring at her hands, which she held high and useless, close to her breast. She bobbed and shambled like an ape doing a trick, and her face was the silly, bewilder...
He never allowed himself to grow less vigilant; but happiness is the old enemy of watchfulness, and Bianchi was practically happy. Growling contentment is not the same thing, but he hadn't known.
How can it be? she wondered. I suppose I could understand it if men had simply forgotten unicorns (...) But not to see them at all, to look at them and see something else — what do they look to one an...
How terrible to be forgotten by the god that made you, even if you're just a room. How could you love something that could do that anytime?
I am a hero. It is a trade, no more, like weaving or brewing, and like them it has its own tricks and knacks and small arts. There are ways of perceiving witches, and of knowing poison streams; there...
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 stepp...
I know exactly how you feel, Schmendrick said eagerly. The unicorn looked at him out of dark, endless eyes, and he smiled nervously and looked at his hands. It's a rare man who is taken for what he tr...
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