85
" Jess Pepper's review of the Avalon Strings:
'In a land so very civilized and modern as ours, it is unpopular to suggest that the mystical isle of Avalon ever truly existed. But I believe I have found proof of it right here in Manhattan.
To understand my reasoning, you must recall first that enchanting tale of a mist-enshrouded isle where medieval women--descended from the gods--spawned heroic men. Most notable among these was the young King Arthur. In their most secret confessions, these mystic heroes acknowledged Avalon, and particularly the music of its maidens, as the source of their power.
Many a school boy has wept reading of Young King Arthur standing silent on the shore as the magical isle disappears from view, shrouded in mist.
The boy longs as Arthur did to leap the bank and pilot his canoe to the distant, singing atoll. To rejoin nymphs who guard in the depths of their water caves the meaning of life. To feel again the power that burns within.
But knowledge fades and memory dims, and schoolboys grow up. As the legend goes, the way became unknown to mortal man. Only woman could navigate the treacherous blanket of white that dipped and swirled at the surface of the water.
And with its fading went also the music of the fabled isle.
Harps and strings that heralded the dawn and incited robed maidens to dance evaporated into the mists of time, and silence ruled.
But I tell you, Kind Reader, that the music of Avalon lives. The spirit that enchanted knights in chain mail long eons ago is reborn in our fair city, in our own small band of fair maids who tap that legendary spirit to make music as the Avalon Strings.
Theirs is no common gift. Theirs is no ordinary sound. It is driven by a fire from within, borne on fingers bloodied by repetition. Minds tormented by a thirst for perfection.
And most startling of all is the voice that rises above, the stunning virtuoso whose example leads her small company to higher planes.
Could any other collection of musicians achieve the heights of this illustrious few? I think not.
I believe, Friends of the City, that when we witnes their performance, as we may almost nightly at the Warwick Hotel, we witness history's gift to this moment in time. And for a few brief moments in the presence of these maids, we witness the fiery spirit that endured and escaped the obliterating mists of Avalon. "
― Bailey Bristol , The Devil's Dime (The Samaritan Files #1)
93
" If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn red or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi (when it is caught in rush hour, that is). Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant. She is always carrying bags of clothes, bouquets of roses, take-out Chinese containers, or bagels. Museum tags fill her pockets and purses, along with perfume samples and invitations to art gallery openings. When she is walking to work, to ward off bums or psychos, her face resembles the Statue of Liberty, but at home in her candlelit, dove-colored apartment, the stony look fades away and she smiles like the sterling roses she has brought for herself to make up for the fact that she is single and her feet are sore. "
― Francesca Lia Block , I Was a Teenage Fairy
94
" It is a great wonder
How Almighty God in his magnificence
Favors our race with rank and scope
And the gift of wisdom; His sway is wide.
Sometimes He allows the mind of a man
Of distinguished birth to follow its bent,
Grants him fulfillment and felicity on earth
And forts to command in his own country.
He permits him to lord it in many lands
Until the man in his unthinkingness
Forgets that it will ever end for him.
He indulges his desires; illness and old age
Mean nothing to him; his mind is untroubled
By envy or malice or thought of enemies
With their hate-honed swords. The whole world
Conforms to his will, he is kept from the worst
Until an element of overweening
Enters him and takes hold
While the soul’s guard, its sentry, drowses,
Grown too distracted. A killer stalks him,
An archer who draws a deadly bow.
And then the man is hit in the heart,
The arrow flies beneath his defenses,
The devious promptings of the demon start.
His old possessions seem paltry to him now.
He covets and resents; dishonors custom
And bestows no gold; and because of good things
That the Heavenly powers gave him in the past
He ignores the shape of things to come.
Then finally the end arrives
When the body he was lent collapses and falls
Prey to its death; ancestral possessions
And the goods he hoarded and inherited by another
Who lets them go with a liberal hand.
“O flower of warriors, beware of that trap.
Choose, dear Beowulf, the better part,
Eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride.
For a brief while your strength is in bloom
But it fades quickly; and soon there will follow
Illness or the sword to lay you low,
Or a sudden fire or surge of water
Or jabbing blade or javelin from the air
Or repellent age. Your piercing eye
Will dim and darken; and death will arrive,
Dear warrior, to sweep you away. "
― Seamus Heaney
98
" Daylight fades away as I watch you.
Darkness claims the sky and I wish you knew
that nothing you can do can keep me from you.
But I stay out of sight and only whisper to you.
Words I can’t say. Words you don’t need to hear.
Words I can’t keep from tangling my way.
Now, I can’t stand alone.
Now, I am under your influence.
You’ve taken over me and Now, I can’t ignore what I’ve been shown.
You’ve claimed me and I don’t care who knows.
You’ve claimed me and I don’t care if it shows.
I’m weakened and I’m strengthened in your arms.
You’ve claimed me and I need to feel you close.”
“You stand wanting more than you could ever understand.
I stand helpless needing to give in to your every command.
Wanting to see you smile has consumed me and tied both my hands.
Nothing I offer could ever be worthy of your love.
It’s a miracle that you saw me and never ran.
I will spend my whole life trying to be the man you think I am.
Now, I can’t stand alone. Now, I am under your influence.
You’ve taken over me and Now, I can’t ignore what I’ve been shown.
You’ve claimed me and I don’t care who knows.
You’ve claimed me and I don’t care if it shows.
I’m weakened and I’m strengthened in your arms.
You’ve claimed me and I need to feel you close.”
“You hold fire within your gaze.
It mesmerizes everyone you allow into your maze.
I know nothing of your thoughts
but I need to bask within the warmth of your rays.
Nothing you do could ever be wrong.
You’re forever perfect in every way.
Now, I can’t stand alone. Now, I am under your influence.
You’ve taken over me and Now, I can’t ignore what I’ve been shown.
You’ve claimed me and I don’t care who knows.
You’ve claimed me and I don’t care if it shows.
I’m weakened and I’m strengthened in your arms.
You’ve claimed me and I need to feel you close.”
~ Dank "
― Abbi Glines , Predestined (Existence, #2)
