Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“Forget your magic mirror," she decided to say. "If I lived here, I would spend my whole life in here, reading."
"They're just... books...."
He carefully lit the candelabra at the front and placed Lumière on the floor, dismissing him.
"Just books? That's like saying Alexandria is just a library." She ran over to the closest shelf and tilted her head, reading the titles. "You don't understand. I don't understand how you don't understand. Look- here's an ancient text in Greek about astronomy... and next to it is everything Galileo Galilei ever wrote!! This whole section is about the stars and planets and the entire universe!"
The Beast stood, looking slightly embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck with his hand.
Belle grabbed a book and ran over to him, shoving it in his face. "Up until this man, Copernicus, everyone thought the entire universe rotated around the earth- that we were the center of it all." She flipped open to a page that had an engraving of planets and their paths, little callouts to their names and the length of their orbits. "Thanks to men like him and Tycho Brahe and Kepler, we now know nothing revolves around the earth- except the moon.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“The Vintner's Guide to Precisely Categorizing the Wines of France mentioned all sorts of incredibly nuanced aromas in very expensive wine: slate, bark, cherries, strange herbs, all of which she had to imagine, since cidre and local vin ordinaire were all they had in the village.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“What if les charmantes think differently, act differently than humans who don't have magic? What if we behave instinctually in ways that are basically in ways that are basically anathema to normal society?"
Belle sighed. "What if you, Rosalind, my mother, act differently from humans- and everyone else? The villagers, the servants, the government? What if you personally hold yourself above the law- as a vigilante? What if it's just you? You're doing the same thing D'Arque did... applying the actions of one to a whole people. That's ridiculous. Whether you're Huguenot or Catholic or Jewish or gypsy or short or have dark skin- or blue skin. Everyone is different. Each person has his or her own destiny."
Rosalind gave her a sly look. "That's very wise, and clever. You're still an avid reader.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“the smear of red
on the seashell lining
of your skin is belle ±è´Çé²õ¾±±ð”
― Avijeet Das

“I'm the one who's different."
"A princess, you mean?"
She pinched his arm lightly as the carriage turned onto rue Dauphine. "Not a princess." Belle's refusal to take the title marriage to Lio would have afforded her was a touchy subject between them.
He mercifully let it go. "But certainly not the girl you were then."
She turned her attention to the wallpapered panel of the carriage, tracing the embossed flowers with the tip of her finger, unwilling to let him see her smile falter once more. She didn't know how to explain that she would always be that girl, that no titles or fine clothing would change her. In her bones, she was a poor, provincial peasant who had risen far above her station.”
― Emma Theriault, Rebel Rose

“Silverware was marching like little soldiers down the long length of the table toward Belle. Pieces of china were shoving each other precariously out of the way, vying to be in the single place setting in front of her. Little pots of mustard and chutney and other condiments hopped one after another off the shelves lining the room, landing surprisingly intact on silver trays.
Too many things were moving around the room- things that shouldn't have been moving at all. It was dizzying, and more than a little ominous.
"Really, this isn't necessary..." Belle said, getting ready to bolt. A fresh boule, the cracks in its crust emitting amazing-smelling steam, was carried to her by a spidery basket with alarming silver legs.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Try the ²µ´Ç³Ü²µÃ¨°ù±ð²õ," Lumière interrupted, popping one into her mouth before she could continue. It was warmed by his flame and melted on her tongue- nothing at all like the perfectly good but usually rock-hard ones she and her father baked.
"Ohhh..." she couldn't help saying.
"It's been so long since we had a guest!" Mrs. Potts danced around on the table happily, somehow managing to fold a napkin with her spout-nose. She tossed it into Belle's lap: a swan shape that gracefully unfolded as it fell, almost like it was flying. Belle shrank back, worried it was actually going to fly.
"I can't imagine why," she muttered.
And then she was distracted by the food.
Piles of it. More than a feast- a banquet.
There was a whole leg of lamb, multiple terrines and soufflés, three soup courses, a delicate fish in white wine broth, an orange ice in between to clear the palate...
There was a water glass, a golden glass for red wine, a crystal one for white, and a saucer for consommé. There were seven forks of descending size and different numbers of tines, the last three whose use she couldn't even begin to work out.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“The broth was nearly clear and colorless, singing with notes of the sea- and Belle had never actually been to the sea. When she broke her bread to dip, the crust shattered, the crumb inside moist to the point of almost being a custard.
The terrine was so rich she managed only one tiny demitasse spoonful.
She and her father didn't eat fancily but they ate well enough and even had meat once or twice a week. The herbs that still flourished in her mother's garden spiced up dishes more than it seemed like they should have. They supped well, like all Frenchmen and women.
But even Christmas was nothing compared to this.
Belle suddenly realized she was shoveling it all in like a character from one of those stories who was tricked into eating magic food until he exploded or grew too large to escape.
And a slightly more down-to-earth part of her spoke up warningly, in what she liked to pretend was her mother's voice: You are, at the very least, going to have an extremely upset stomach from this rich new food.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“But my father..." Belle began again.
"What about him?"
"He needs me...."
"He raised you by himself, didn't he? Seems like he's done a more than all right job. He'll be fine for a few days on his own," the Beast pointed out.
Belle glared at him.
Her father couldn't... he didn't...
...make their meals, tend their garden, earn coin for comestibles they couldn't grow or forage themselves, spend days inventing- all things he did before she was old enough to help him... when he was taking care of her....
Her lip quivered. Of course he was fine.
Wait...
"You think he did a more than all right job?" she couldn't help asking.
The Beast shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.
She found herself smiling.
Was he- was he almost smiling back? In his eyes, at least?”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Come on, let's get you an apron."
There probably wasn't any real point in making him wear something over his fur and ragged clothes. Still, she tied a tablecloth up and around his neck, trying not to make him look ridiculous.
Actually, if the thick white cloth had leather straps, he could easily be Hephaestus or one of his titan helpers working the forge on Olympus.
But they were going to make ratatouille, not swords for heroes.
"...And buckwheat crepes, and an onion tart, and coq au... um... Riesling, in a skillet," she added thoughtfully, looking at the time. The clock in the kitchen didn't talk, thankfully. "We don't have time for a true coq au vin or cassoulet. Oooh, and a tarte tatin for dessert!”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“This is nice," Beast said with a sigh. "Like... one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is reading to the gods and goddesses."
"And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated beast," Belle said teasingly.
"I am a prince," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated.
"Plus, nymphs are pretty," he added.
Belle laughed.
"I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left hers.
And Belle found she could look back. And not blush. And not have to look away.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“We're prisoners here."
"What would Jack do, Belle?"
When did he become the insightful one?
She mock pouted. "I suppose he would figure out some super clever way around it."
The Beast looked at her with wry amusement. "Since you're the clever one here and haven't come up with a cunning plan, I was going to suggest brute force. Like we're a castle under siege, fighting them off. That's what I know."
"That's a fair point," she ceded, smiling.
"We should... round up everything sharp and cutting," he said. "And hammers and mallets to smash the panes between them."
"Yes, sir, prince general, sir," Belle said, saluting him with a sparkle in her eye.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“She waved, hoping the little creatures sealed inside the glass and bone chrysalis could see her, and tried not to cry.
The Beast saw her.
"I'll come back. Whatever happens," he promised. "I'm... king now. I need to share the fate of my people."
Somehow that only made Belle want to cry more.
"You aren't out of danger yourself," the Beast reminded her gravely. "You're in the middle of the woods with a beast as the curse grows stronger. I won't be able to control it forever."
Belle had a sudden vision of her body, and blood-stained snow, like something out of a fairy tale gone wrong. She shook her head.
"No. You would never hurt me."
The Beast gave a wan smile.... and then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
"I would kill myself first," he whispered.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Coming back to the village through the snow, under the dark cloudy skies, Belle felt like she had been away for a lifetime. She had, in fact, never left the village by herself before this. There were a couple of overnight trips to fairs with her father, and once or twice during mushroom season they got swept up in the fury and spent a few nights in the forest, gathering morels and truffles and camping out. But that was all, and always with Papa.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Belle had to think fast. She couldn't talk- she couldn't argue rationally or plead poetically with her captors, two things she excelled at.
What did one do in these situations, without a hidden knife, or a ring of invisibility, or a plan?
What would the Beast do?
Oh...
Something she wouldn't normally do. Something he often did. Something she never did.
Lose control.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Belle," he whispered, almost a croak.
"You promised to give me my bookstore back," she said, trying not to cry. "You promised me. So I could read more stories about Jack. So I could read them... to you..."
The Beast's mouth opened strangely, his pointy teeth suddenly seeming too large and out of place inside of lips trying to form words it couldn't remember.
Then he suddenly shook himself- like a spooked cat or dog.
He looked down at Belle, his eyes now bright with intelligence.
"I did promise," he said, his voice growing stronger and more human. "And... a king keeps his promises.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Your curse still isn't really broken. The castle and everyone in it have been forgotten. No one remembers this place. You could find all les charmantes and bring them here. Bring them home. And get yourself... uncursed."
"Hmmm," Rosalind said, thinking. "Not bad. It's an odd idea, considering this is the place we almost came to our end... but it's intriguing. Yes, I like it. Go find everyone and bring them home. Really, it's the least you could do after what your parents did."
Maurice might have given Rosalind a little frown at that last bit, but she shrugged.
The Beast blinked. "Go... find them? Me?"
"Yes. Why not?" Belle said with a smile, reading his thoughts. "You would have to actually go out into the world that you've been watching for so long in your magic mirror."
"With you," the Beast said without missing a beat. "I could do anything, with you."
Belle grinned and started to answer...
... and then saw Maurice and Rosalind, who were both watching her to see what she would do.
Belle had a family again. She had a mother- the most interesting, perplexing mother in the world- whom she had just met. There was too much to ask her, to talk about.
But this was finally her chance to go out on those adventures she had always dreamed of. Abandoned Greek islands, the hearts of never-before-seen forests, even Paris and Rome.... They would travel the world looking for reclusive charmantes to bring home. Who knew what they might see!”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Would you come with me, Belle? Help me do this? We may not succeed... I may always be a beast."
"No," Belle said with a smile, touching him on the nose. "You will always be my prince."
"Well, you're not exactly what I wanted out of a son-in-law- because of your parents, not because of your form, I mean," Rosalind said quickly. "But you're certainly a fair bit better than that Gaston fellow... what is his story, if I may ask? Was he also a patient at the asylum?"
Belle almost choked on her laughter. "No, and that was not the first time he proposed to me."
"I think," Maurice said, putting his arms around the couple, "we should all have one last night together before you start out... just the four of us. There are a lot of stories to tell before we see you again."
"And most of them," Belle observed with a smile, "seem to almost have a happy ending.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Tiens, allons-y pour la septième raison de trouver que la vie est belle : cuisiner pour des gens qu’on aime en prenant son temps et en écoutant la radio.”
― Anne-Laure Bondoux, Et je danse, aussi

“Fireflies are free, so beautiful. (Les lucioles sont libres, donc belles.)”
― Charles de Leusse, Les Contes de la nuit

“I only gave my word to stay. Nothing else," Belle repeated firmly.
Nothing would stop her from satisfying her curiosity about the mist interesting thing that had ever happened to her.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“I only gave my word to stay. Nothing else," Belle repeated firmly.
Nothing would stop her from satisfying her curiosity about the most interesting thing that had ever happened to her.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“I---" the Beast coughed again. "I hope you like it here."

What?

He hoped she liked it here? Like a guest? What an odd thing to say to a prisoner.”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“I need some rope," she said to Cogsworth as she entered the study, shaking herself into action.
"Yes, of course, right away," the little clock said. "What?"
"I'm not letting him free until I get some answers," Belle said, gritting her teeth. "Help me tie him up."
"Tie up? The master?" Cogsworth stuttered.
"He threw my father into a cold prison cell, then took me in his place! I think tying him up in front of a warm roaring fire is plenty generous, considering!”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Belle examined the dresses skeptically. Of course, if things went the way they did in fairy tales, they would all fit her perfectly. The question was, was this a "Bluebeard's Wives" situation? Or something else?”
― Liz Braswell, As Old as Time

“Belle reveled in it now just as she had long ago, when she first saw it all from the back of her father's wagon, wedged between his inventions. She had tried and failed for so many years to convince herself that it hadn't been so grand, and that life in Aveyon hadn't been so comatose in comparison. She had strived to remember only the filth and stench of Paris, and those who remained, but beneath them was a city of people and industry and enlightenment, of poets and philosophers, and of scientists and scholars. It was a city that valued knowledge, no matter where it came from, unlike her own sleepy village of Plesance, where Belle was taunted for being different.”
― Emma Theriault, Rebel Rose

“It was blue like the gown she had discarded, but the fabric was cheap muslin that she covered with a thick white apron tied around her waist. In Paris she knew the style of dress was actually popular. It was called chemise à la reine, named after Queen Antoinette's fondness for all things pastoral. Only, Belle truly had fed chickens and washed laundry in hers. She thumbed the stubborn stain that had never come out, the one that Gaston had given her when he splashed her skirts with mud after his ill-fated proposal.”
― Emma Theriault, Rebel Rose

“Back home, she had become something larger than Belle. Whether they knew she broke the curse or not, the people of Aveyon viewed Belle as their savior. Some thought she had rescued them from an inattentive, reclusive prince; far fewer knew she had broken the curse that had been drowning the kingdom for a decade. Everyone wanted her to be their princess, to embrace her new role to the fullest extent.
But she couldn't bring herself to do that, not yet at least.”
― Emma Theriault, Rebel Rose

“She was heading to the Palais-Royal, armed with the piecemeal knowledge she had collected from travelers through Aveyon who told her Philippe, the duc d'Orléans, had opened the gardens to the public some years before. Belle had heard tell of the exchange of ideas that occurred there, and of the bookshops and cafés tucked into the covered arcades that surrounded the gardens. She had spent long nights imagining herself there, attending salons and taking part in lively debates with a more open-minded crowd than she could find in Aveyon. Each step she took was like walking through both a memory and a dream.”
― Emma Theriault, Rebel Rose

“Belle was an oddity: a peasant who was polite enough to dine with them without catastrophe. She didn't fit with their preconceived notions of how a peasant should behave, so they treated her like a rarity. It was absurd; Belle herself had grown up with many smart and worldly commoners, and met more than a few ignorant and dim nobles in just one night.”
― Emma Theriault, Rebel Rose