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“There are other men who would be better suited to marrying Apicata. But I admire your gall. Give me one more reason why I should consider your petition, though it will likely not sway me." Casca paused, his eyes glancing somewhere in the vicinity of Apicius's knees. I thought he was going to falter but then he lifted his gaze, and when he spoke I knew that if Cupid was not with him, Venus certainly was. "Apicius, I should marry your daughter because we are meant to be. We are like rose wine and oysters, like truffles and pepper, like lentils and chestnuts or crane with turnip. We belong together like mullet and dill, milk and snails, suckling pig and silphium. You know the truth of their pairings and it is that truth I hold up to you now. Apicata and I are like spoon and plate. One is worth little without the other.”

Quote by Crystal King

Book:Feast of Sorrow
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Feast of Sorrow

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Crystal King

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First KissLydia And Jean PhilippeJean Philippe De SabranLydia Wilde
Book:Bellewether
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“From that position he had a clear view of Lydia within her garden, working with an admirably single-minded steadiness. She'd changed her hair. She normally pulled all of it straight back and off her face and bound it simply, letting part of its coiled length hang down beneath the plain white muslin of her cap. But on this morning she had not been so severe with it. He liked the fuller, softer waves of brown about her forehead and her temples. "So," he told Pierre, "it would be useful for me, while I'm here, to learn more English, so that in the future I can speak to those I capture." "You are maybe overconfident, Marine, to think you will return to war." "I'll be exchanged eventually." With a shrug he said, "So then in English, tell me, would you tell someone that it's nice, the way they wear their hair today?" Pierre's glance held amusement. "This is how you deal with men you capture, eh? You compliment their hair? It's very threatening and very tough, I'm sure it leaves them terrified." He hadn't had much cause for smiling since coming here, but Jean-Philippe felt his features relaxing now into a genuine smile at the other man's dry remark, and without meaning to, he looked again toward Lydia. And found her looking straight back at him. Once he'd been hit an inch under his heart with a bullet- there had been no pain but he'd lost all the wind from his lungs and been knocked right off balance, and what he felt now felt like that. This time, though, despite its swift and sudden strike, the feeling was decidedly more pleasurable. As he sent a nod across the clearing to acknowledge her, his smile of its own volition broadened like a schoolboy's. He was letting down his guard, he knew, allowing the Acadian to witness where his interest- and his weakness- lay, but for some reason, standing in the sunshine with her watching him, he'd ceased to care.”

AttractionLydia And Jean PhilippeLydia Wilde
Book:Bellewether
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“Do you ever feel your mother?" Lydia's pencil stilled. "Yes," she said, quietly. "Sometimes I do." Later that evening, when supper was finished, she took up her mending and curled herself into her mother's old chair with its leather seat slung in the low X-shaped frame like a welcoming lap. She could almost imagine her mother's arms holding her, here in the room with the warmth of the fire and the light of the candles, the wind rising hard at the glass of the window. The men were still sitting around the long table in cross conversations, her brother and Mr. Ramírez discussing the length of the Bellewether's deck, while her father and Mr. de Brassart debated the merits of some play by Shakespeare, and Mr. de Sabran sat back and observed. All the voices ran into and over each other and blended like billowy waves folding into the sea, and she struggled to stay on the surface while all of those waves with the troubles they carried went by. "Feel them passing?" her mother asked, rocking her gently. Except they weren't passing. They bore her relentlessly down like great weights on her shoulders until she was sinking. And then in place of her mother's arms she felt the strong ones of Mr. de Sabran, protecting her as they had done in New York, and it suddenly wasn't so terrible, drowning. She held him and drifted down into the dark.”

MotherWavesLydia And Jean PhilippeJean Philippe De SabranLydia Wilde
Book:Bellewether
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“I thought of To Kill a Mockingbird. I had finished reading it one night in a bunker, my knees bent and hunched together while mortars hit the ground, the glow of a cigarette and the moon as my only light. Standing there now, chain-smoking, I felt like I finally understood the ending.”

Michael AnthonyCivilianizedMassachusetts AuthorTo Kill A Mocking BirdIraq War DescriptionWar Writing
Book:Civilianized: A Young Veteran's Memoir
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