“God wants us all to strive to grow more like Jesus, to become holy as he is holy, but God has a specific purpose for each person. How could it not be so? Everyone in a village cannot be a baker, because who would then make the candles or shoe the horses or grow the food? God says we are like a body. . . . Just as the villagers are part of a village and have different tasks, we all have tasks to do for the Lord God.”
“You tried to kill me with your dagger,” Valten said calmly. “I can get you disqualified from this tournament.” “Are you threatening me?” “Yes.”
“Some children at one of his tournaments in Burgundy had taken to calling him "Goliath". Not the most endearing biblical character.”
“Promise me that if you get a chance to escape without me, you will do it. He won't kill me. Go find your men and come back for me."
His eyelids and brows lowered. " You don't know me very well or you wouldn't say such a thing. I won't leave you.”
“You are brave and strong and good, noble and kind. I love you and I think you're...”
“For a man of action and few words, the ones he did say were quite lovely.”
“He bent lower to whisper in her ear," I love you, queen of beauty and love.”
“She whispered, "Even with a broken hand, you are the knight I'd most want and trust to rescue me-and I know you can do it. You are the boldest, bravest, most noble knight in the Holy Empire.”
“What had his life meant? All his success, all the tournaments he'd won...they were like dust and ashes. Meaningless. Without Gisela, his life was meaningless.”
“But I do care. The truth is, I love you.”
“The fierce look on his face softened to the look he wore for no one but her.”
“You like horses?” “More than people sometimes.” She sensed, by the way he was looking at her, that he felt the same way.”
“Ruexner will pay dearly for this," Valten promised, speaking to no one in particular, but imagining he had the fiend's neck between his hands. If he dared hurt Gisela...”
“Valten turned and stomped back to the Great Hall. He just might put his unbroken hand through someone’s face, if given the slightest bit of provocation.”
“At the same time, the thought of Gisela suffering at Ruexner's hands sent ice water through his veins, along with a stab of guilt. If Gisela should suffer pain or distress at Ruexner's hands, it would be his fault. Ruexner had only taken her because of his hatred for Valten. " God, I must save her. I must not fail.”
“Even a dozen soldiers couldn't make her feel as safe as Valten could.”
“I see there’s more cooking out here than the pheasant.” Valten leaned over to turn the roasting birds on the spit and mumbled, “Not anymore.”
“Don’t think I couldn’t see the love in his eyes when he looked at you. He would have fought to the death for you, that handsome Valten Gerstenberg.”
“He gave her a questioning lift of his eyebrows and held out his right arm. “May I? Wear your colors?”
“But I must say that I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you tonight.”
“She danced as if nothing had ever made her so happy. She smiled as if it was only for him. He hoped those smiles meant she liked him, because he hoped to dance only with her at the ball tomorrow night.”
“Ruexner chuckled and put away his knife. Gisela kept her eyes on Valten. Even though her bottom lip trembled, she still looked like the bravest woman he had ever seen.”
“His hands wrapped around her upper arms, holding her gently. "You are even more beautiful when you dance.”
“Valten's blood boiled at the thought of Ruexner holding Gisela, of him taking her by force, dragging her away from underneath Valten's nose, from his own home.”
“Valten paced the floor of the library, imagining the violence he would wreak on the person responsible for hurting Gisela.”
“When he reached her, he put his hand on her shoulder and searched her face in the dim light. “Valten.” She said his name on a happy sigh as she looked into his eyes. He put his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.”
“Valten’s hand tightened around Gisela arm, and he grunted in frustration. He brushed his finger over her cheek and whispered, “We will continue this conversation later.” “Yes, my lord.” The mischievous twinkle in her eye almost made him kiss her anyway, even though Rainhilda was staring at them from the Great Hall door.”
“Valten turned and grasped Gisela around the waist to help her down. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he set her on her feet, but slowly. After all, when one has a pleasant task to do, there’s no reason to rush it.”
“Well, he would share her, but only for a little while. When the ball was over, he would make sure she slept inside the castle tonight, with his sister Margaretha. In fact, he might just make sure she never left the castle. He didn’t intend for her to ever be without protection again.”
“Gisela. She was beautiful and easy to talk to. And unlike Rainhilda, she didn't prattle on and on about things Valten didn't care or know anything about. She talked about horses-a subject he was quite comfortable with. And he always thought a love of horses was sign of gentleness and good character.”
“I found that I couldn't muster any belief in a literal heaven or hell, anyway. I thought the best we could all do was to look after one another and clean up the various hells we've made right here on earth.”
“Dylan, while he is in the shower and he and Joss are only seperated by the curtain and his invisibility:
Dylan: "Maybe if you would come in here and scrub my back it would speed things up."
Joss: "I'm not invisible."
Dylan: "I know this.”
“When we pulled up to Marlboro Man’s house, I saw my Camry sitting in his driveway. I didn’t expect it to be there; I figured it was still on Marlboro Man’s parents’ road, sitting all crooked in the ditch where I’d left it the night before. Marlboro Man had already fixed it, fishing it out of the ditch and repairing the mangled tires and probably, knowing him, filling the tank with gas.
“Oh, thank you so much,” I said as we walked toward the front door. “I thought maybe I’d killed it.”
“Aw, it’s fine,” he replied. “But you might want to learn to drive before you get in it again.” He flashed his mischievous grin.
I slugged him in the arm as he laughed. Then he lunged at me, grabbing my arms and using his leg to sweep my supporting leg right out from under me. Within an instant, he had me on the ground, right on the soft, green grass of his front yard. I shrieked and screamed, trying in vain to wrestle my way out of his playful grasp, but my wimpy upper body was no match for his impossible strength. He tickled me, and being the most ticklish human in the Northern Hemisphere, I screamed bloody murder. Afraid I’d wet my pants (it was a valid concern), I fought back the only way I knew how--by grabbing and untucking his shirt from his Wranglers…and running my hand up his back, poking at his rib cage.
The tickling suddenly stopped. Marlboro Man propped himself on his elbows, holding my face in his hands. He kissed me passionately and seriously, and what started as a playful wrestling match became an impromptu make-out session in his front yard. It was an unlikely place for such an event, and considering it was at the very beginning of our night together, an unlikely time. But it was also strangely perfect. Because sometime during all the laughing and tickling and wrestling and rolling around in the grass, my worry and concern over my parents’ troubles had magically melted away.
Only when the chiggers began biting did Marlboro Man suggest an alternate plan. “Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’m cooking dinner.” Yummy, I thought. That means steak. And as we walked into the house, I smiled contentedly, realizing that the stress of the previous twenty-four hours had all but disappeared from view. And I knew it, even then: Marlboro Man, not only that night but in the months to come, would prove to be my savior, my distraction, my escape in the midst of troubles, my strength in the face of upheaval, my beauty in times of terrible, heartbreaking ugliness. He held my heart entirely in his hands, this cowboy, and for the first time in my life, despite everything I’d ever believed about independence and feminism and emotional autonomy, I knew I’d be utterly incomplete without him.
Talk about a terrifying moment.”
“Por lo que a las novelas largas se refiere, salvo por algunas excepciones, me mostraba bastante desconfiado. Pero 'Jean-Christophe' -de Romain Rolland-, con su empecinado individualismo, sin mezquindad alguna, fue para mí una saludable revelación. Sin él, nunca hubiera conseguido comprender el esplendor y la amplitud del individualismo. Hasta aquel encuentro robado con 'Jean-Christophe', mi pobre cabeza educada y reeducada ignoraba, sencillamente, que fuera posible luchar en solitario contra el mundo entero".”
“We float in language like icebergs – four-fifths under the surface and only one-fifth of us projecting into the open air of immediate, non-linguistic experience.”
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