I live on in the sweetness of old dayswith strangers who build new dwellingson blue hills up to the edge of the sky,I talk softly with the captured treesand comfort them sometimes.How slowly time consumes the core of things,and soundlessly treads fate’s heavy heel.

I live on in the sweetness of old dayswith strangers who build new dwellingson blue hills up to the edge of the sky,I talk softly with the captured treesand comfort them sometimes.How slowly time consumes the core of things,and soundlessly treads fate’s heavy heel.

Edith Södergran
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Well done girl, I . . I admire your treachery.' Ecruba hissed at Edith.

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...life makes ugly faces at us sometimes, I know.

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She would search for him. In the land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. But there was no way there.

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It was not a monster that lay sleeping on the white sheets. Nor a faceless horror. Nor even the white bear. It was a man.His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair, I suppose, but he was a stranger and that somehow was the greatest shock of all- that I had been lying all these months beside a complete stranger.

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Neither Rose nor Charles liked to talk much of their adventures with the trolls, but some of the so-called "softskins" whom they had brought out of Niflheim, as well as the crew of the ship Soren had hired to go north to find Rose, must have spread the story, because for many years afterward, there were tales of a race of trolls living on top of the world.Only Rose and her white bear know the whole truth of it.

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The blast that swept him came off New Hampshire snow-fields and ice-hung forests. It seemed to have traversed interminable leagues of frozen silence, filling them with the same cold roar and sharpening its edge against the same bitter black-and-white landscape.("The Triumph Of The Night")

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She became fascinated by the statue of Edith Cavell and would stand at the base of it in the freezing cold of a December morning, looking up: -Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness for anyone-. Sometimes those words made her cry. The tears would come uncontrollably and they would not stop. And in those moments Anna found forgiveness and it made her free. But they were only moments. Forgiveness is a hard thing to hang on to.

Miranda Emmerson, Miss Treadway and the Field of Stars
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We are expected to be pretty and well-dressed until we drop.

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Overhead hung a summer sky furrowed with the rush of rockets; and from the east a late moon, pushing up beyond the lofty bend of the coast, sent across the bay a shaft of brightness which paled to ashes in the red glitter of the illuminated boats.

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Oh, Gerty, I wasn't meant to be good.

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