Світлана Целуйко

“There once was a girl,” he murmured, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King… and the monster they became.”
― Rachel Gillig, One Dark Window

“Then suddenly he beheld his sister Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white; and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while. A fey mood took him.
'Éowyn, Éowyn!' he cried at last: 'Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!'
Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew
a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: 'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'
And with that the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more.
Death they cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like
a great tide their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring
away southwards.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

“Our belief is often strongest when it should be weakest. That is the nature of hope.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn: The Final Empire

“Когда неожиданно умирает любимый человек, ты теряешь его не сразу. Это происходит постепенно, шаг за шагом, на протяжении долгого времени, — так перестают приходить письма, — вот улетучился знакомый запах из подушек, а потом из одежного шкафа и ящиков. Постепенно ты накапливаешь в сознании какие-то исчезающие частички этого человека; а потом наступает день, когда замечаешь: исчезло что-то особое, и охватывает щемящее чувство, что этого человека больше нет и никогда не будет; а потом приходит еще день, и оказывается, что исчезло что-то еще…”
― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany