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Quote by Peter S. Beagle

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The Last Unicorn

This novel is a tale of a magical creature, the last unicorn, who embarks on a journey to find her true self and the meaning of her existence amidst a changing world. The narrative intertwines elements of myth and legend, offering readers a richly imaginative world to explore. more

Author

Peter S. Beagle
Peter S. Beagle

Peter S. Beagle is an American author born on April 20, 1939. Known for his science fiction and fantasy literature, his works include classics such as 'The Last Unicorn' and 'The Golden Apples of the Sun'. His writing combines rich imagination with profound philosophical insights, making a significant impact on science fiction and fantasy literature. more

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“Therefore, when a person refuses to come to Christ it is never just because of a lack of evidence or because of intellectual difficulties: at root, he refuses to come because he willingly ignores and rejects the drawing of God's Spirit on his heart. No one in the final analysis fails to become a Christian because of a lack of arguments; he fails to become a Christian because he loves darkness rather than light and wants nothing to do with god.”

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“Hey, it's not a problem," she says, still smiling at me. "If you feel bad about it, pay me in cocoa and I'll do it with you all night if you want." Craig bursts out laughing and Maria looks up at him confused. I groan and press my face into my good hand. Even in college, we're still just a bunch of children sometimes. "What's so... eew!" gasps Maria as she finally gets it. Her face turns red as she covers her mouth with her hands to stifle her giggling.”

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“Beginning to feel that her brother was being rather too harsh on Lillian Bowman, Livia frowned. “She’s a very pretty girl, Marcus.” “A pretty facade isn’t enough to make up for the flaws in her character.” “Which are?” Marcus made a faint scoffing sound, as if Miss Bowman’s faults were too obvious to require enumeration. “She’s manipulative.” “So are you, dear,” Livia murmured. He ignored that. “She’s domineering.” “As are you.” “She’s arrogant.” “Also you,” Livia said brightly. Marcus glowered at her. “I thought we were discussing Miss Bowman’s faults, not mine.” “But you seem to have so much in common,” Livia protested, rather too innocently.”

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“Was she terribly ravishing in her underclothes?” Livia asked craftily. “Yes,” Marcus said without thinking, and then scowled. “I mean, no. That is, I didn’t look at her long enough to make an assessment of her charms. If she has any.” Livia bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Come, Marcus…you are a healthy man of thirty-five—and you didn’t take one tiny peep at Miss Bowman standing there in her drawers?” “I don’t peep, Livia. I either take a good look at something, or I don’t. Peeping is for children or deviants.” She gave him a deeply pitying glance. “Well, I’m dreadfully sorry that you had to endure such a trying experience. We can only hope that Miss Bowman will stay fully clothed in your presence during this visit, to avoid shocking your refined sensibilities once again.” Marcus frowned in response to the mockery. “I doubt she will.” “Do you mean that you doubt she will stay fully clothed, or you doubt she will shock you?” “Enough, Livia,” he growled, and she giggled.”

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“I've spent nearly three years managing a shipping firm," she pointed out. "After all the time I've spent around longshoremen, nothing could shock me now." "Maybe not," Luke conceded. "But Scotsmen have a special gift for cursing. I had a friend at Cambridge who knew at least a dozen different words for testicles." Merritt grinned. One of the things she enjoyed most about Luke, the youngest of her three brothers, was that he never shielded her from vulgarity or treated her like a delicate flower. That, among other reasons, was why she'd asked him to take over the management of her late husband's shipping company, once she'd taught him the ropes.”

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“Let's not pretend this visit has anything to do with me. You came here hoping for a glimpse of a certain bearded Scotsman." She lowered her voice as she asked, "Did he say anything to you?" "About what?" "About me." "Why, yes, we stopped in the middle of work to gossip over tea. Then we made plans to visit the milliner and try on bonnets together-" "Oh, hush," Merritt whispered sharply, both amused and annoyed.”

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“Luke, who had picked up a sandwich and was in the process of wolfing it down, volunteered with his mouth half full, "Dr. Gibson said the memory loss may be temporary." Nonplussed by her brother's oafish manners, Merritt said, "Dear, why don't you make yourself comfortable on the couch?" Luke gave her an unrepentant glance. "Sis, I know you'd prefer me to sit and eat like a civilized person. But if you knew everything these trousers have been through tonight, you wouldn't want them on your furniture.”

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“Tell me, Merritt, if someone you knew were carrying on like this over a stranger- one of our sisters, God forbid- what would you say to her?" At the moment, Merritt didn't feel like justifying her actions to anyone, least of all a younger sibling. But during the past year, she and Luke had formed a working partnership and friendship that made their bond unique. She would tolerate more from him than from nearly anyone else in her life. "I would probably caution her that she was acting impulsively," she admitted, "and advise her to rely on the counsel of those who love her." "All right, then. I'm counseling you to stay in London and let Ransom and Uncle Sebastian decide what to do with MacRae. Whatever it is you feel for him, it's not real. It happened too fast." In her weariness and strain, Merritt's temper had a lower flashpoint than usual. She could feel it beginning to ignite, but she grimly tamped it back down and managed a calm reply. "You may be right," she said. "But someday, Luke... you'll meet someone. And from one breath to the next, everything will change. You won't care whether it makes sense. All you'll know is that a stranger owns your every heartbeat." Luke's mouth twisted. "God, I hope not.”

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