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The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays

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George Webbe Dasent

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“When he heard these words, Loke ceased to look like a god, for the fury and hate of a devil were in his face. He cursed the gods until every face was pale with horror. Like an accusing conscience he told them all their faults and sins; he made them feel their weaknesses so keenly that Vidar, the silent god, rose to give him his seat and silence him, but now that his fury was let loose nothing could stop him. One by one he called each god by his name, and dragged his weaknesses into the view of all, and last of all he came to Sif, Thor's wife, and cursed her; and now a low muttering was heard afar off, and then a distant roll of thunder deepening into awful peals that echoed and re-echoed among the hills.”

MythologyThorLokiNorseLokeSif
Book:Norse Mythology: Great Stories from the Eddas
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“The implications of the true story are existential and corrosive to our larger national myth. To understand that the most costly war in this country's history was launched in direct opposition to everything the country claims to be, to understand that this war was the product of centuries of enslavement, which is to see an even longer, more total war, is to alter the accepted conception of America as a beacon of freedom. How does one face this truth or forge a national identity out of it?”

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Book:We Were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy
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“Vanessa’s scream of terror pierced the air, while the pegasi flapped their wings and whinnied. Andy looked to the sky. A flock of giant ebony swans flew toward the clearing, visible just beyond the tall trees. Their shiny feathers shifted between black and silver in the sunlight. Their beaks were a dull bronze, their red eyes gleaming with malice. Together they let out a screech, and the trees shook. Spencer’s jaw dropped. “That’s them. The Stymphalian Birds.”

FantasyAdventureMythologyYoung Adult FictionGreek MythologyYoung Adult FantasyMythology FictionFantasy AdventureThe Helm Of Darkness
Book:The Helm of Darkness
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“I could have screamed, but I didn't. I could have fought, but I didn't. I just lay there and let it happen, wathcing the winter-white sky go gray above me. One wolf prodded his nose into my hand and agianst my cheek, casting a shadow along my face. His yellow eyes looked into mine as the other wolves moved me this way and that. I held onto those eyes for as long as I could. Yellow. And, up close, flecked brillantly with every shade of gold and hazel. I didn't want him to look away, and he didn't. I wanted to reach out and grab a hold of his ruff, but my hands stayed curled to my chest, my arms frozen to my body. I couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm. Then he was gone, without him, the other wolves closed in, too close, sufficating. Something seemed too flutter in my chest. There was no sun; there was no light. I was dying. I couldn't remember what the sky looked like. But I didn't die, I was lost in a sea of cold, and then I was reborn into a sea of warmth. I remember this: his yellow eyes. I thought I would never see them again.”

RomanceWolves
Book:Shiver
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