Read through the most famous quotes by topic #jewel
The Glass Cat is one of the most curious creatures in all Oz. It was made by a famous magician named Dr. Pipt before Ozma had forbidden her subjects to work magic. Dr. Pipt had made the Glass Cat to catch mice, but the Cat refused to catch mice and was considered more curious than useful. This astonishing cat was made all of glass and was so clear and transparent that you could see through it as easily as through a window. In the top of its head, however, was a mass of delicate pink balls which looked like jewels but were intended for brains. It had a heart made of a blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large emeralds. But, aside from these colors, all the rest of the animal was of clear glass, and it had a spun-glass tail that was really beautiful. ↗
He smiled at her, and Sophie’s emotions went to war. She had always admired Banallt’s intellect and his easy manner with her. He never had condescended to her or made her feel unworthy or insignificant. But how could she forget him arriving at Rider Hall with Tommy, drunk and with a woman who was not respectable? All the times he’d watched her with his unsettling eyes and then left with Tommy. The night he’d admitted he was unfaithful to his marriage and saw no reason to change. ↗
He headed for the door but stopped halfway. “I love you, Sophie. I love you with my soul.” Her bare arms held up the duvet. “Don’t ruin this, Banallt, please.” “I’m not a villain from one of your novels, Sophie.” She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Unlike them, I can change. I have changed.” Unfortunately, she didn’t believe him. ↗
He made a small movement of his head. "Do you love Pennhyll as well as you do the mountain upon which it sits?" "I find it much like you." His mouth quirked, and then, curved in another smile. She stared, transfixed by the sight. "Unpleasant and forlorn?" She tipped her head to one side, considering him. She felt an odd sensation of understanding this harsh man who was, in fact, a stranger to her. "Not entirely unpleasant, that I will admit. Nor forlorn, either." "Do not tell me you find me amiable." "Certainly not. Like Pennhyll, you are strong and fierce." She felt, ridiculous as it was, that she knew him better than she knew herself. "To make a life here is to have courage and heart, and those you surely have. ↗
Come here into the warmth," he said easily. He reached for her, taking her hand and pulling her toward him. "I've been waiting for you." He stroked her hair, shifting a bit to let the light fall on her. "For a very long time." She, too, reached for him, following a line in the air along the length of the forming scar that marred his chest. A corona flared around him until she moved past the point where the sunlight hit her eyes. She stared at his chest, at the gashed and ill-healed flesh, and he, seeing her attention, took her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. She felt the warmth of his breath, the pressure of his lips, soft and warm. "I wish you had never been wounded," she said. "Even though it brought you home to me. ↗
His eyes darkened. "You're in pain, aren't you?" He touched her temple, and she leaned her head against his hand. "Yes." The inside of her head felt stuffed full like an iron band slowly tightened around her brain. "Still having bad dreams?" "Nightmares." She put her palms flat to his chest and spoke to the buttons on his coat. "Always the same. A face looming over me. I can't breathe. I feel helpless. And frightened." "Hush, my heart." His fingertips nudged her chin up so that she looked into his face. "Hush." She leaned against him. "Why can't I remember?" "It isn't time, yet." His hands landed on her shoulders. ↗
Memories whirled in the back of her head. Not frightening this time. The owner of that voice made her smile. He protected her, and he loved her. When she was with him, the world felt right. As long as she was with him, she was safe. He entered the room, crossing at an angle to her so that she saw just his shoulders and a glimpse of flat stomach. Not a stitch of clothing covered him. Not one. She could see the backs of his thighs and his bare behind. Round and strong and firm. Dark hair cut short gave his profile greater sternness. She knew beyond certainty she had every right to be here, with him perfectly naked. Her heart swelled with joy, a feeling so intense she wanted to cry out to the world. He stopped at the window and stood there, one arm resting atop the sash, staring at the hills rising toward Scotland. His arm came forward on the sash, and he shifted so that he faced her. "Well," he said in a soft voice that made her breath catch. His voice was velvet, liquid velvet, and she was drowning in it, filled all the way to her soul. That voice, a woman could love. "Good afternoon." Bluer eyes she'd never seen. Nor more piercing ones. She drowned in eyes of an incredible, piercing blue. The light shimmered as a cloud crossed the sun. But this man, this man with eyes like frost on a window, whose eyes made battle-hardened men quail and who seemed so foreign to tenderness, made her complete... ↗
