ŷ������

“Childhood is bound like the Gordian knot with my memories of the Black Sea, and I still feel its waters welling up within me today. Sometimes these waters are leaden, as grey as the military ships that sail on their curved expanses, and sometimes they are blue as pigmented cobalt. Then would come dusk, when I would sit and watch the seabirds waver to shore, flitting from open waters to the quiet empty vastlands in darkening spaces behind me, the same birds Ovid once saw during his exile, perhaps; and the same waters the Argonauts crossed searching for the fleece of renewal.

And out in the distance, invisible, the towering heights of Caucasus, where once-bright memories of the fire-thief have transmuted into something weird and many-faceted, and beyond these, pitch-black Karabakh in dolorous Armenia.”
― Paul Christensen, The Heretic Emperor

“H--‐how did we get in the water?��

“You were burning. I needed to do something to cool you. As soon as I carried you in, though, you started flailing around. Scared me,�� he added on a whisper.

That explained the dream. But it didn’t change what she knew was coming. She pressed her face against his neck and drew in the sweet scent of his skin. Loved the rasp of his stubbly cheek against her flesh.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re holding something back?�� he asked softly.

Because he was smart. And because even in the short amount of time they’d been together, he’d learned more about her than anyone else in her entire life. “I believe in signs. I never did before but…I dreamed about you.��

“You did?��

She nodded. “I think I have for a while, I just…I didn’t know it was you. But now…��
She swallowed hard. “I should have waited for you. It’s the biggest regret I have. I’m sorry I didn’t wait.”
― Elisabeth Naughton, Bound

“Then, crouching low beneath the son of Aeson, he nocked the arrow midway up the string, and, parting bow and string with both hands, shot Medea.
Sudden muteness gripped her spirit.
The god, then, fluttered from the high-roofed hall, cackling, and the arrow burned like fire
deep, deep down beneath the maiden’s heart.

She fired scintillating glances over
and over at the son of Aeson.
Anguish quickened her heart and panted in her breast, she could think of him, him only, nothing but him, as sweet affliction drained her soul.
[...]
so all-consuming Eros curled around Medea’s heart and blazed there secretly.”
― Appolonius

“[...] He deftly strung his little bow
and from the quiver chose a virgin arrow
laden with future groans. His speedy feet
whisked him across the threshold, he himself
unnoticed as he keenly scanned the scene.
Then, crouching low beneath the son of Aeson,
he nocked the arrow midway up the string,
and, parting bow and string with both hands, shot
Medea. Sudden muteness gripped her spirit.
The god, then, fluttered from the high-roofed hall,
cackling, and the arrow burned like fire
deep, deep down beneath the maiden’s heart.

She fired scintillating glances over
and over at the son of Aeson. Anguish
quickened her heart and panted in her breast,
and she could think of him, him only, nothing but him, as sweet affliction drained her soul.
[...]
so all-consuming Eros curled around Medea’s heart and blazed there secretly.”
― Appolonius

“[...] He deftly strung his little bow
and from the quiver chose a virgin arrow
laden with future groans. His speedy feet
whisked him across the threshold, he himself
unnoticed as he keenly scanned the scene.
Then, crouching low beneath the son of Aeson,
he nocked the arrow midway up the string,
and, parting bow and string with both hands, shot
Medea. Sudden muteness gripped her spirit.
The god, then, fluttered from the high-roofed hall,
cackling, and the arrow burned like fire
deep, deep down beneath the maiden’s heart.

She fired scintillating glances over
and over at the son of Aeson. Anguish
quickened her heart and panted in her breast,
and she could think of him, him only, nothing
but him, as sweet affliction drained her soul.
[...]
so all-consuming Eros curled around Medea’s heart and blazed there secretly.”
― Appolonius

“He [Steve Ross] said he used to have the same prejudices against the game as most Americans: It was too slow, too "foreign," too difficult to understand what was really going on. But once he started watching the game, and had some friends explain it to him, he realized how fascinating soccer could be. He believed that it just needed the right conditions to thrive. In other words, he saw soccer like an entrepreneur, which of course was exactly what he was, and an excellent one at that. He spotted an unmet need, an undervalued asset, and made it his personal mission to make it succeed, come hell or high water. After the Cosmos struggled through its first few seasons, switching stadiums every so often and failing to generate much buzz, Steve purchased the team from its original investors for the grand price of one dollar. And then, for no good reason other than his own passion and drive, Steve decided to throw the entire commercial and marketing weight of Warner Communications behind the team. He would not only make the Cosmos a winner, but bring a "new" spectator sport to the American public.”
― �ʱ��é, Why Soccer Matters: A Look at More Than Sixty Years of International Soccer