E. K. Mosley
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The Last Stardog
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Bergère des étoiles
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“Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.”
...more Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi |
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“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi |
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“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi |
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"A simple story with OK writing but incredible, stunning artwork!"
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"the storytelling and representation in this made me very happy! I love anthologies because I get to discover so many new artists, and their personal stories captured through their art made this one even more special!"
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"This was pretty much all of my favourite things rolled into one!
The natural representation and humour of Lucie Bryon's Thieves, the wonderous adventure of Luke Pearson's Hilda, with the fantastical imagination of a Studio Ghibli movie. Rune tells th" Read more of this review » |
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E. K.
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The most heartbreaking yet heartwarming book. The story will pull you in and wrap you in a hug that will leave you smiling or even better, laughing. Heartfelt, uplifting, delightful. |
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E. K.
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“Stardog beheld a sight more wonderful than a dream… a place to call… home.”
― The Last Stardog
― The Last Stardog
“The other frogs all told me to stay safe in our well and to stop filling my head with, "Dangerous ocean nonsense!" But I could not forget...”
― The Last Stardog
― The Last Stardog
“Together these stars gave me the name, Stardog, keeper of stars and protector of dreams.”
― The Last Stardog
― The Last Stardog
“The sound of the trumpets died away and Orlando stood stark naked. No human being since the world began, has ever looked more ravishing. His form combined in one the strength of a man and a woman’s grace. As he stood there, silver trumpets prolonged their note, as if reluctant to leave the lovely sight which their blast had called forth; and Chastity, Purity, and Modesty, inspired, no doubt, by Curiosity, peeped in at the door and threw a garment like a towel at the naked form which, unfortunately, fell short by several inches. Orlando looked at himself up and down in a long looking-glass, without showing any signs of discompose, and went presumably, to his bath.
We many take advantage of this pause in the narrative to make certain statements. Orlando had become a woman - there is no denying it. But in every other respect, Orlando remained precisely as he had been. The change in sex, though it altered their future, did nothing whatever to alter their identity. Their faces remained, as their portraits prove, practically the same. His memory - but in the future we must, for convention’s sake, say ‘her’ for ‘his’, and ‘she’ for ‘he’ - her memory then, went back through all the events of her past life without encountering any obstacle. Some slight haziness there may have been, as if a few dark spots had fallen into the clear pool of memory; certain things had become a little dimmed; but that was all. The change seemed to have been accomplished painlessly and completely and in such a way that Orlando herself showed no surprise at it. Many people, taking this into account, and holding that such a change in sex is against nature, have been at great pains to prove (1) that Orlando has always been a woman, (2) that Orlando is at this moment a man. Let biologists and psychologists determine. It is enough for us to state the simple fact; Orlando was a man till the age of thirty; when he became a woman and has remained so ever since.”
― Orlando
We many take advantage of this pause in the narrative to make certain statements. Orlando had become a woman - there is no denying it. But in every other respect, Orlando remained precisely as he had been. The change in sex, though it altered their future, did nothing whatever to alter their identity. Their faces remained, as their portraits prove, practically the same. His memory - but in the future we must, for convention’s sake, say ‘her’ for ‘his’, and ‘she’ for ‘he’ - her memory then, went back through all the events of her past life without encountering any obstacle. Some slight haziness there may have been, as if a few dark spots had fallen into the clear pool of memory; certain things had become a little dimmed; but that was all. The change seemed to have been accomplished painlessly and completely and in such a way that Orlando herself showed no surprise at it. Many people, taking this into account, and holding that such a change in sex is against nature, have been at great pains to prove (1) that Orlando has always been a woman, (2) that Orlando is at this moment a man. Let biologists and psychologists determine. It is enough for us to state the simple fact; Orlando was a man till the age of thirty; when he became a woman and has remained so ever since.”
― Orlando
“Here was light, and flowers, and colours in profusion. There was a loom in the corner, and baskets of fine, thin thread in bright, bright hues. The woven coverlet on the bed, and the drapings on the open windows were unlike anything I had ever seen, woven in geometric patterns that somehow suggested fields of flowers beneath a blue sky. A wide pottery bowl held floating flowers and a slim silver fingerling swam about the stems and above the bright pebbles that floored it. I tried to imagine the pale cynical Fool in the midst of all this colour and art. I took a step further into the room, and saw something that moved my heart aside in my chest.
A baby. That was what I took it for at first, and without thinking, I took the next two steps and knelt beside the basket that cradled it. But it was not a living child, but a doll, crafted with such incredible art that almost I expected to see the small chest move with breath. I reached a hand to the pale, delicate face, but dared not touch it. The curve of the brow, the closed eyelids, the faint rose that suffused the tiny cheeks, even the small hand that rested on top of the coverlets were more perfect that I supposed a made thing could be. Of what delicate clay it had been crafted, I could not guess, nor what hand had inked the tiny eyelashes that curled on the infant’s cheek. The tiny coverlet was embroidered all over with pansies, and the pillow was of satin. I don’t know how long I knelt there, as silent as if it were truly a sleeping babe. But eventually I rose, and backed out of the Fool’s room, and then drew the door silently closed behind me.”
- Robin Hobb | Farseer Trilogy
Book 1 | Assassin’s Apprentice
Chapter Nineteen | Journey”
―
A baby. That was what I took it for at first, and without thinking, I took the next two steps and knelt beside the basket that cradled it. But it was not a living child, but a doll, crafted with such incredible art that almost I expected to see the small chest move with breath. I reached a hand to the pale, delicate face, but dared not touch it. The curve of the brow, the closed eyelids, the faint rose that suffused the tiny cheeks, even the small hand that rested on top of the coverlets were more perfect that I supposed a made thing could be. Of what delicate clay it had been crafted, I could not guess, nor what hand had inked the tiny eyelashes that curled on the infant’s cheek. The tiny coverlet was embroidered all over with pansies, and the pillow was of satin. I don’t know how long I knelt there, as silent as if it were truly a sleeping babe. But eventually I rose, and backed out of the Fool’s room, and then drew the door silently closed behind me.”
- Robin Hobb | Farseer Trilogy
Book 1 | Assassin’s Apprentice
Chapter Nineteen | Journey”
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“Nowhere is it written in stone that you must love in only one way, only one person, only one time. You haven't missed your shot at love, because love isn't just one thing.”
― Fire Becomes Her
― Fire Becomes Her
“But perhaps all pretty things have thorns. The best things, at least, most certainly do.”
― Tarnished Are the Stars
― Tarnished Are the Stars