“I used to be ashamed
And now I am proud.
The world once was black
And now it is bright.
I used to walk head bent
And now I stand up tall.
I used to have dreams
But now I have hope.”
“She wept with shame for her lack of will and with fear for a love she couldn't control.”
“My darling Julie, I know you'll never see this letter, but it helps to write to you every day. It keeps you close to me. G-d, I miss you so. You haunt every hour of my life. I wish I'd never met you. No-I don't mean that! What good would my life be without my memories of you to make me smile.
I keep wondering if you're happy. I want you to be. I want you to have a glorious life. That's why I couldn't say the things I knew you wanted to hear when we were together. I was afraid if I did, you'd wait for me for years. I knew you wanted me to say I loved you. Not saying that to you was the only unselfish thing I did in Colorado, and I now I regret even that.
I love you, Julie. Christ, I love you so much. I'd give up all my life to have one year with you. Six months. Three. Anything.
You stole my heart in just a few days, darling, but you gave me your heart, too. I know you did- I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me.
I don't regret the loss of my freedom any more or rage at the injustice of the years I spent in prison. Now, my only regret is that I can't have you. You're young, and I know you'll forget about me quickly and go on with your own life. That's exactly what you should do. It's what you must do. I want you to do that, Julie.
That's such a lousy lie. What I really want is to see you again, to hold you in my arms, to make love to you over and over again until I've filled you so completely that there's no room left inside of you for anyone but me, ever. I never thought of sexual intercourse as 'making love' until you. You never knew that.
....
I wish I had time to write you a better letter or that I'd kept one of the others I've written so I could send that instead. They were all much more coherent than this one. I won't send another letter to you, so don't watch for one. Letters will make us both hope and dream, and if I don't stop doing that, I will die of wanting you.
Before I go--I see from the newspapers that Costner has a new movie coming out in the States. If you dare to start fantasizing over Kevin after you see it, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.
I love you, Julie. I loved in Colorado. I love you here, where I am. I will always love you. Everywhere. Always.”
“What's your favorite sport, Zack?"
Zack tipped her chin up. "My favorite sport," he said in an aching, husky voice he scarcely recognized as his own, "is making love to you."
Her eyes darkened with a love she wasn't trying to conceal from him anymore. "What's your favorite food?" she asked shakily.
In answer, Zack bent his head and touched her lips in a soft kiss. "You are.”
“Hayat her kesin kendine düşen rolü oynadığı bir tiyatro sahnesidir,.”
“What is it about you that demolishes my mind?”
“Despite all her diligent efforts to remake herself into a model of propriety, when it come to falling in love she'd reverted to from and fallen in love with a man who was a renegade, a black sheep, a daring, cynical, tough social outcast who in some ways reminded her of the boys she'd known on the Chicago streets.”
“Things change, but they stay the same.”
“The mild, spicy smell of old books hit him, and the smell was somehow like coming home.”
“I might be able to help, Daigian," Nynaeve said, leaning forward, laying her hand on the other woman's knee. "If I were to attempt a Healing, perhaps..."
"No," the woman said curtly.
"But—"
"I doubt you could help."
"Anything can be Healed," Nynaeve said stubbornly, "even if we don't know how yet. Anything save death."
"And what would you do, dear?" Daigian asked.
[...]
"I could do something," Nynaeve said. "This pain you feel, it has to be an effect of the bond, and therefore something to do with the One Power. If the Power causes your pain, then the Power can take that pain away."
"And why would I want that?" Daigian asked, in control once again.
"Well... well, because it's pain. It hurts."
"It should," Daigian said. "Eben is dead. Would you want to forget your pain if you lost that hulking giant of yours? Have your feelings for him cut away like some spoiled chunk of flesh in an otherwise good roast?"
Nynaeve opened her mouth, but stopped. Would she? It wasn't that simple—her feelings for Lan were genuine, and not due to a bond. He was her husband, and she loved him. Daigian had been possessive of her Warder, but it had been the affection of an aunt for her favored nephew. It wasn't the same.
But would Nynaeve want that pain taken away? She closed her mouth, suddenly realizing the honor in Daigian's words. "I see. I'm sorry.”
“Harry: This book belongs to Harry Potter.
Ron: Shared by Ron Weasley, because his fell apart.
Hermione: Why don't you buy a new one then?
Ron: Write on your own book, Hermione.
Hermione: You bought all those dungbombs on Saturday. You could have bought a new book instead.
Ron: Dungbombs rule.”
“Perhaps the magic would last, perhaps it wouldn't. But then again, what does?”
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