The question is very understandable, but no one has found a satisfactory answer to it so far. Yes, why do they make still more gigantic planes, still heavier bombs and, at the same time, prefabricated houses for reconstruction? Why should millions be spent daily on the war and yet there's not a penny available for medical services, artists, or for poor people? Why do some people have to starve, while there are surpluses rotting in other parts of the world? Oh, why are people so crazy?
When they made love Geryon liked to touch in slow succession each of the bones of Herakles' back as it arched away from him into who knows what dark dream of its own, running both hands all the way down from the base of the neck to the end of the spine which he can cause to shiver like a root in the rain.
He said he loved me, she whispered. Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent. Someday, God willing, he’d have a daughter, and that daughter would look like the woman standing in front of him, and if ever she looked at him with that bewildered expression, whispering, He said he loved me . . . Nothing short of murder would be an acceptable response.
Anne, look here. Can’t we be good friends? For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert’s hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her carrots and had brought about her disdain before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!
Oh, Charlotta dear, I'd have told you all about it if it were my secret...but it's Miss Lavendar's, you see. However, I'll tell you this much...and if nothing comes of it you must never breathe a word about it to a living soul. You see, Prince Charming is coming tonight. He came long ago, but in a foolish moment went away and wandered afar and forgot the secret of the magic pathway to the enchanted castle, where the princess was weeping her faithful heart out for me. But at last he remembered it again and the princess is waiting still...because nobody but her own dear prince could carry her off." Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, what is that is prose?" gasped the mystified Charlotta.
Make them do as you want them to," she said. "I can’t," mourned Anne. "Averil is such an unmanageable heroine. She will do and say things I never meant her to. Then that spoils everything that went before and I have to write it all over again.
Daniel chuckled. Whoever that poor girl was, he hoped his family was paying her well. And then, finally, she lifted her fingers from the keys as Daisy began her painful violin solo. He watched her exhale, stretching her fingers, and then . . . She looked up. Time stopped. It simply stopped. It was the most maudlin and clichéd way of describing it, but those few seconds when her face was lifted toward his . . . they stretched and pulled, melting into eternity. She was beautiful. But that didn’t explain it. He’d seen beautiful women before. He’d slept with plenty of them, even. But this . . . Her . . . She . . . Even his thoughts were tongue-tied.
Have you seen Frances? He tilted his head to the right. I believe she’s off rooting about in the bushes. Anne followed his gaze uneasily. Rooting? She told me she was practicing for the next play. Anne blinked at him, not following. For when she gets to be a unicorn. Oh, of course. She chuckled. She is rather tenacious, that one.
Behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows. It was lonely but not forsaken. It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait. And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided their time.
It doesn't seem FAIR, said Anne rebelliously. Babies are born and live where they are not wanted-where they will be neglected-where they have no chance. I would have loved my baby so-and cared for it tenderly-and tried to give her every chance for good. And yet I wasn't allowed to keep her.
Then, with a cheeky quirk of his brows, he leaned forward and murmured, Would it be improper of me to admit that I am inordinately flattered by your attention to the details of my face? Anne snorted out a laugh. Improper and ludicrous. It is true that I have never felt quite so colorful, he said, with a clearly feigned sigh. You are a veritable rainbow, she agreed. I see red and . . . well, no orange and yellow, but certainly green and blue and violet. You forgot indigo. I did not, she said, with her very best governess voice. I have always found it to be a foolish addition to the spectrum. Have you ever actually seen a rainbow? Once or twice, he replied, looking rather amused by her rant.
This has been a perfect day," Anne said quietly. "Almost," Daniel whispered, and then she was in his arms again. He kissed her, but it was different this time. Less urgent. Less fiery. The touch of their lips was achingly soft, and maybe it didn't make her feel crazed, like she wanted to press herself against him and take him within her. Maybe instead he made her feel weightless, as if she could take his hand and float away, just as long as he never stopped kissing her. Her entire body tingled, and she stood on her tiptoes, almost waiting for the moment she left the ground. And then he broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. "There," he said, cradling her face in his hands. "Now it's a perfect day.
Finally, he reached his street. It was quiet, blessedly so, and the only sound was his own groan as he lifted his foot to the first stone step at the entrance to Winstead House. The only sound, that was, until someone whispered his name. He froze. Anne? A figure stepped out of the shadows, trembling in the night. Daniel, she said again, and if she said anything more, he did not hear it. He was down the stairs in an instant, and she was in his arms, and for the first time in nearly a week, the world felt steady on its axis.
They all turned to the dark-haired woman standing quietly to the side and slightly behind Aunt Charlotte. She was, in a word, gorgeous. Everything about her was perfection, from her shiny hair to her milky-white skin. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips full and pink, and her eyelashes were so long that Honoria thought they must touch her brows if she opened her eyes too wide. Well, Honoria murmured to Iris, at least no one will be looking at us.
Is that a hat?" I asked, pouring eight rounds of batter into the griddle. She grinned at me. "A sweater." She held it up -- it was triangular, made of speckled brown and white mohair. "For...a Muppet?" I asked. "For the naked chicken," she said, and snickered.
Tea? Daniel asked, signaling to the innkeeper. Please. Or anything that is hot. She pulled off her gloves, pausing to frown at a little hole that was growing at the tip of her right forefinger. That wouldn’t do. She needed all the dignity she could muster in that finger. Heaven knew she shook it at the girls often enough.
And as she looked at the pool she saw the waters gather up into a column, rushing up foaming and standing there before her startled eyes, and turn into the form of a man. Not a man, a god. So perfectly formed, so handsome, with such wisdom and desire in his eyes and such quiet joy on his lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful and Anne felt herself grow weak with some unnamable longing. His eyes met hers and caught her soul tight, and she could not look away as he read every thought in her mind. Come, he said to her in a voice like liquid silver, I know your mind, and it is one with mine. Anne could not speak, but she did not need to. Her eyebrows raised in question. He laughed, Why to love, of course.
… Birden ürperdi, şalına sarıldı. İnsan, annesinin öldüğü gece de üşüyordu. Artık birlikte üşüyemeyeceklerdi. Annesinin oturduğu koltukta sanki kocaman bir delik vardı artık. Sanki bir duvar yıkılmıştı: Gerisinde bu büyük ve karanlık ve ürkütücü boşluğun bulunduğu bir duvar. Bu duvar korumuştu onu yıllarca karanlıktan. Artık bir şey görmek mümkün değildi. Artık onu hiç kimse anlamayacaktı. Artık onunla rahatça alay edeceklerdi. Artık ona daha kolayca saldırabileceklerdi. Artık onu ezip geçebileceklerdi. Artık onun başına gelen haksızlıklara sessizce karşı çıkan tek varlık yok olup gittiği için (bunu düşünmek ne kadar günah da olsa evet yok olup gittiği için) onu dinleyemeyeceklerdi. Kelimeleri bulmakta zorluk çektiği zaman, içlerinden istihzayla gülümseyeceklerdi. Hem küçümseyeceklerdi, hem acıyacaklardı artık. Zavallı kız, diyeceklerdi; bir yandan da onun yanından kaçmak, onunla birlikte olmamak için can atacaklardı. Hayır, önce acıyacaklardı ve bu acımaları yüzünden onun daha küçülmesini, daha zavallılaşmasını bekleyeceklerdi. Çünkü, şiddeti artırmayan bir zavallılıktan çabuk usanılırdı; böyle bir insanın sağladığı heyecan, kısa bir süre sonra sönerdi. İnsan, kendisine acındıkça alçalmalıydı. Üstelik Sevgi’nin, bir de başını dik tutmaya çalıştığını görünce, omuzlarını silkerek uzaklaşacaklardı. Öksüz kalmak, işte bu demekti…
When a wisp of fog blew by her she laughed and reached out her hands to it. When the wind blew she turned to it and opened her bodice, letting it caress and kiss her breasts, for she never knew when it might be him, and still she wanted nothing more than to please him utterly.
Oh Angus, she moaned. Can’t you just use your…you know…your powers to clean this up? Angus was walking to the kitchen, wiping his face with a napkin. He laughed. Wouldn’t that be nice? he asked. ‘Mess: Clean yourself up!’ ‘Floor, sweep yourself and be quick about it! Anne Commands!’ No, Darling, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that! Not like that at all!
Cholernie dobrze wiem, jak być w pełni rozwiniętym, postrenesansowym, postdziewiętnastowiecznym, postmodernistycznym, postpopularnym pisarzem. Dekonstruować to nie ze mną, skarbie. Z tego wniosek, że ode mnie dostaniesz powieść jak się patrzy - z początkiem, środkiem i zakończeniem. Sięgając po mój produkt, możesz liczyć na wątek, krwiste (tak!) postaci, napięcie, pełny pakiet. Ze mną będzie ci jak w raju. Więc wyluzuj i łykaj stronkę za stronką. Nie pożałujesz. Myślisz, że nie pożądam nowych czytelników? No, to się dowiedz, skarbie, że na drugie imię mam 'Pożądliwy'. Muszę cię mieć!
ANNE Yüzümde duyuyorum Bakışını Uyurken de Ellerin Öyle sıcak ki Kış gecesinde Sen olmasan Kimden duyardım ben Yavrum kelimesini Evimiz senle dolu Sokaklar Niçin güzel Sana dönüşü var diye Anne Ne olur Eksilme hiç Başımızdan