Walter Wangerin Jr. · 256 pages
Rating: (3.1K votes)
“Sorrow spoken lends a little courage to the speaker.”
“Her ballad did nothing to make the serpants lovely. Her ballad hid nothing of their dread. But the music itself spoke of faith and certainty; the melody announced the presence of God.”
“A grudge may be strong. But a grudge isn't strength!”
“How many battles make a war?”
“He went wordless, and wordless he sat beside her. He knew the size of her sorrow.”
“Aye. He wills that I work his work in this place. Indeed. I am left behind to labor. Right
'And one day he may show his face beneath his damnable clouds to tell me what that work might be; what's worth so many tears; what's so important in his sight that is needs to be done this way...
'O my sons!'Chauntecleer suddenly wailed at the top of his lungs, a light flaring before it goes out: 'How much I want you with me!”
“But a good novel is first of all an event; as distinguished from the continuous rush of many sensations and the messy overlapping experiences of our daily lives, it is a composed experience in which all sensations are tightly related, for which there is a beginning and an ending, within which the reader’s perceivings and interpretations are shaped for a while by the internal integrity of all the elements of the narrative.”
“WELL, THEN SHAG IT, YOU SUITCASE! GET OVER HERE!”
“: “Behold the Rooster who suffers much more than he must. Ah, Chauntecleer, Chauntecleer. Why do you suffer today and tomorrow?” oozed the compassionate voice. “Curse God. Curse him, and all will be done. Or, lest you forget the truth of things, remember: I am Wyrm. And I am here.”
“How can the meek of the earth save themselves against the damnable evil which feeds on them?”
“Almost as evil as the stench was the silence. Senex, however poorly he had ended his rule, had always remembered the canonical crows. He sang them, to be sure, in a disoriented manner; but he did sing them, keeping his animals that way, banding them, unifying them.
But Cockatrice never crowed the canon. So under him the day lost its meaning and its direction, and the animals lost any sense of time or purpose. Their land became strange to them. A terrible feeling of danger entered their souls, of things undone, of treasures unprotected. They were tired all the day long, and at night they did not sleep. And it was a most pitiful sight to see, how they all went about with hunched shoulders, heads tucked in, limping here and there as if they were forever walking into an ill wind, and flinching at every sound as if the wind carried arrows.”
“Her eyes were liquid with compassion—deep, deep, as the earth is deep. Her brow knew his suffering and knew, besides that, worlds more. But the goodness was that, though this wide brow knew so much, yet it bent over his pain alone and creased with it.”
“Mr. Upchurch,” she fumbled. “I . . . I must take my leave directly. But before I go, allow me to say how sorry I am for the callous way I treated you in the past. I regret it most keenly.”
His heart squeezed even as he felt his brows rise. “Do you?”
She swallowed. “I was wrong about you. I was wrong about a great many things.”
“And now I should kiss you again, I think. Isn’t that how it’s done?” Startled, she put her hand to her lips. But their rough, cracked surfaces made the very prospect seem ludicrous. “Yes, I suppose—in a gothic romance. But if you kissed me now, no doubt my lip would split open, and I’d bleed on you.” His shout of laughter was quickly restrained. “Well, all right. Since you put it so romantically. Someplace else. Shall I be adventurous?”
“I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her, and she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me”
“You’ve been punished.” Simus’s dark eyes twinkled as he changed the subject. “Speaking of that, have you started to work on the song?”
Joden nodded.
“Tell us the chorus at least, Joden.” Simus gestured with a hand, almost spilling my kavage. “Are we to wait until you perform it to hear it?”
“No.” Joden chewed on a chicken leg. “Yes.”
“No fair.” Simus turned to Keir. “You’re the Warlord. Order him to give us a hint.”
Keir snorted. “Order a singer?”
Simus leaned toward me, a wicked gleam in those dark eyes. “You’re the Warprize. You could…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“If she does,” Joden spoke calmly, “the verses will talk about a certain wounded warrior who got fat and lazy as he healed.”
Simus looked down at his third plate-full. “I need food to mend. Isn’t that right, little healer?”
I looked at him, keeping my face serious. “Simus, the entire army could heal on what you eat.”
Keir and Joden roared. Simus tried not to laugh as he objected to my statement.”
“There is never one absolutely right thing to do. All you can do is honor what you believe, accept the consequences of your own actions, and make the best out of what happens.”
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