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“And then sometimes I think the people to feel saddest for are people who once knew what profoundness was, but who lost or became numb to the sensation of wonder – people who closed the doors that leads us into the secret world – or who had the doors closed for them by time and neglect and decisions made in times of weakness.”

“And then, suddenly, when the sun is beginning to warm my face, I'm there. In the zone where everything is perfect, and I'm drawing. Fingers, hand and charcoal pencil, even thought, are one and what I am, what I see, or part of it, is skimming across the page, darker here, lighter on the left, a smudging—deliberate—and feathering with spit. While inside, the crimson glow is burning, that bubble I carry within me where I store everything that happens, good or bad, where I can think about it when I'm alone, at night or on the street, waiting for the chance for cash and an easy screw. As the glow burns, it travels through my limbs, blood and bone, and into my head where something explodes like an electric shock, so I’m shivering, retching even as my hand still moves over paper, tasting vomit in my mouth but refusing to let it go, swallowing down the bitterness. And still I draw, sweat sticky on my forehead and under my arms, but the only part of me touching what I’m doing is my hand with its instrument for line and block and shadow. Nothing can harm me now.”

“And then swooping back in again, even faster, one long incredible fall through the human-shape of me and this time down past where I don't know how to go any smaller and I find myself somehow looping around to out-past-too-big again; so that everything seems to fit inside the smallest place in me and vice versa. And then for a while I'm not sure if I am inside the universe or the universe is inside me. The only thing that seems for sure is that somewhere in all the dancing around of whatever it is that dances, there's a human-shape of me, with either everything inside of it or it is inside of everything, or somehow - don't ask me how - both at the same time.”

“And then, that feeling comes again when you seem invincible and totally awesome. You simply can't hold it in and you just smile to everyone you come across; infectiously, they have no choice but to smile back. You are more than convinced in your guts that something beautifully indescribable is coming your way. You just drown yourself in the feeling of awesomeness. Faith, probably . . . or the hands of providence?”

“And then that voice from behind her said her name again. "Celaena." They had done this. Her bloody fingers slid down Dorian's face, to his neck. He just stared at her, suddenly still. "Celaena," a familiar voice said. A warning. They had did this. They had betrayed her. Betrayed Nehemia. They had taken her away. Her nail brushed Dorian's exposed throat. "Celaena," the voice said. Celaena slowly turned. Chaol stared at her, a hand on his sword. The sword she'd brought to the warehouse- the sword she'd left there. Archer had told her that Chaol had known they were going to do this. He had known. She shattered completely, and launched herself at him.”

“And then the bastard smiled at me. He smiled the same smile I’d seen a thousand times. A hundred thousand. It was the smile that said, 'I know best.’ The smile that said, ‘I’m better than you.’ The smile that said, 'I'm safe here and you're not.' The smile that said, 'I have a dick, so I win.’ Rage rolled up in me like the sea and I felt it sweep over my head, threatening to drown me. And then I heard a voice, small but still. A voice I hadn’t heard in forty years. I closed my eyes and listened. ‘It isn’t your anger that will make you good at this job, it is your joy.’ The rage ebbed and in its place, only happiness. Fierce, rampant happiness. It wasn’t the prettiest fight I’d ever been in but it was the most ferocious.”

“And then the dear Lord will take us to the new earth, surrounded by the new Heaven, and the holy New Jerusalem will come down from God out of Heaven. Then we will have an end of pain and sorrow and crying and death. All these, thank God, will be forever done! And then God Himself will wipe away our tears.”

“And then the queen wept with all her heart. Not for the cruel and greedy man who had warred and killed and savaged everywhere he could. But for the boy who had somehow turned into that man, the boy whose gentle hand had comforted her childhood hurts, the boy whose frightened voice had cried out to her at the end of his life, as if he wondered why he had gotten lost inside himself, as if he realized that it was too, too late to get out again.”

“And then the rose-border. What intensity in those odorous buds of the Bon Silene, making the very spirit bound as though a message had reached it from heaven. And the verbena bed is compassed with fitful fragrance. Even the pansies, with their dewy eyes, are ready to rival the violets now.... Nor must the purple buds of the calycanthus be forgotten. 'Sweet-scented shrub' indeed; for let me hide but a single one of these in some fold of my dress, and the spices of Araby will float around me till the evening.”

“And then the sea, bright and unreal as a painting. She's never seen so many shades of blue" gleaming turquoise near the breakers; further out, a blue so dark it's almost black. Lucy shivers, thinking of the world beneath the spangled waves. The coastline curves around, so that she can see the cliffs on the other side of the bay, honeycombed with caves. Devil's Lookout. It's the same view she's seen already, on Jess's postcard, but the photographer hadn't quite captured the eeriness of the cliff face. In person, the caves look deeper and darker; one in particular, closest to the waterline, is large enough that she can almost imagine a demon lurking there, surveying the sea below. A prickle starts at the base of Lucy's spine. Maybe it's the knowledge of what the water would do to her skin. She imagines the waves lapping at her like tongues, stripping her of flesh until she is nothing but bone, gleaming white. Or perhaps it's the podcast; the thought of all those missing men, presumed drowned. But with the prickling fear there's a strange pull, too. Lucy struggles to tear her gaze from the bright waves, mesmerized by the way they curl over the shore. A part of her wants to get closer, to feel spindrift on her face, slick rock beneath her palms.”

“And then the spirit brings hope, hope in the strictest Christian sense, hope which is hoping against hope. For an immediate hope exists in every person; it may be more powerfully alive in one person than in another; but in death every hope of this kind dies and turns into hopelessness. Into this night of hopelessness (it is death that we are describing) comes the life-giving spirit and brings hope, the hope of eternity. It is against hope, for there was no longer any hope for that merely natural hope; this hope is therefore a hope contrary to hope.”

“And then the stars came out. One by one they gleamed, bright and sharp like polished steel, but one burned a fierce amber, killing off all the winds in their paths. The last gust was barely stronger than a dying breath, a whisper that disappeared behind the trees. Riyan, he recalled suddenly. The dragon of the winds after which the amber star was named. Dragons had been dead for centuries, but the Annals insisted that when they left this world, their spirits became stars, changing in succession to protect their people.”

“And then the work bears a strong sense of leave-taking for me personally. It ends the work I began in the 1960s (paintings from black-and-white photographs), with a compressed summation that precludes any possible continuation. And so it is a leave-taking from thoughts and feelings of my own on a very basic level. Not that this is a deliberate act, of course; it is a quasi-automatic sequence of disintegration and reformation which I can perceive, as always, only in retrospect.”

“And then there are encouragements to use heterosexual pornography or heterosexual images to encourage heterosexual attraction. I find it a golden idol, honestly, where we have been hypocritical to ask people to resolve this issue in a way that we haven't encouraged other people with other struggles to resolve. I'm looking at offering biblical holiness, not an unrealistic expectation for people that will leave them disappointed.”

“And then there are my friends, and they have their own lives. While they like to talk everything through, to analyze and hypothesize, what I really need, what I'm really looking for, is not something I can articulate. It's nonverbal: I need love. I need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on. And I know it's around me somewhere, but I just can't feel it.”

“And then there are one's friends, good fellows, good fellows, great to be with them and talk, to have lunch together, dinner together, but all of it, I don't know, so sordid and pathetic and trivial, because even on the street we remain in the fabric warehouse, even overseas we're still seated before the Cashbook, and even in infinity we still have our boss. Everyone has an office manager with a joke that's out of place, and everyone has a soul that falls outside the normal universe.”

“And then there are the cravings.. Oh, la! A woman may crave to be near water, or be belly down, her face in the earth, smelling the wild smell. She might have to drive into the wind. She may have to plant something, pull things out of the ground or put them into the ground. She may have to knead and bake, rapt in dough up to her elbows. She may have to trek into the hills, leaping from rock to rock trying out her voice against the mountain. She may need hours of starry nights where the stars are like face powder spilt on a black marble floor. She may feel she will die if she doesn’t dance naked in a thunderstorm, sit in perfect silence, return home ink-stained, paint-stained, tear-stained, moon-stained.”

“And then there are the pure in heart, the ones for whom nothing is good enough, not even themselves. ("Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.") These are the perfectionists. They are a pain to everyone, themselves most of all. In religion they will certainly find errors in your doctrine, your practice, and probably your heart and your attitude. They may be even harder on themselves. They endlessly pick over their own motivations. They wanted Jesus to wash his hands even though they were not dirty and called him a glutton and a winebibber. Their food is never cooked right; their clothes and hair are always unsatisfactory; they can tell you what is wrong with everything. How miserable they are! And yet the kingdom is even open to them, and there at last they will find something that satisfies their pure heart. They will see God. And when they do they will find what they have been looking for, someone who is truly good enough.”