欧宝娱乐

“Bones are patient. Bones never tire nor do they run away. When you come upon a man who has been dead many years, his bones will still be lying there, in place, content, patiently waiting, but his flesh will have gotten up and left him. Water is like flesh. Water will not stand still. It is always off to somewhere else; restless, talkative, and curious. Even water in a covered jar will disappear in time. Flesh is water. Stones are like bones. Satisfied. Patient. Dependable. Tell me, then, Alobar, in order to achieve immortality, should you emulate water or stone? Should you trust your flesh or your bones?”
― Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

“Rattle his bones
over the stones
its only a pauper
who nobody owns”
― Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

“As if she had summoned them, a flurry of stones flew out of the darkness, striking his mail, pinging off his helm. One hit his unprotected leg and he yelped and clutched it. That was a mistake. The second barrage was entirely directed at his legs.”
― Hilari Bell, The Goblin Wood

“丕賱胤賵亘 丕賱匕賷 賷賱賯賶 毓賱賶 兀賷 賮賰乇丞 噩丿賷丿丞 賴賵 兀卮亘賴 亘丕賱賲丿丕賮毓 丕賱鬲賶 鬲胤賱賯 賱鬲丨賷丞 夭丕卅乇 毓馗賷賲”
― 賲氐胤賮賶 兀賲賷賳, 兀賮賰丕乇 賲賲賳賵毓丞

“The smell of dry earth, opening to the rain in the spring. It unlocked me like a key.
Once upon a time, Emmeline.
"Petrichor," Rene said. "The word comes from petra, which means stones, and ichor, the ethereal blood of the Greek gods. Plants release an oil that stops their seeds from germinating when it would be too difficult to survive. The oil soaks into the pores of the stones, and is set free with water. They say it's the smell of waiting, paid off.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

“Faerie stones can be found in a variety of regions, being particularly common in Cornwall and the Isle of Man. They are unimpressive in appearance and hard to recognize with the untrained eye; their most distinguishing feature is their perfect roundness. They seem primarily to be used to store enchantments for later use or perhaps for the purposes of gift-giving. Danielle de Grey's 1850 Guide to Elfstones of Western Europe is the definitive resource on the subject. (I am aware that many dryadologists today ignore de Grey's research on account of her many scandals, but whatever else she was, I find her a meticulous scholar.) A faerie stone with a crack down it has been spent and is thus harmless. An intact stone should be left untouched and reported to ICAD, the International Council of Arcanologists and Dryadologists.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“We do remember once we were wrong sacrificing everything for idols and stones likewise today for ghost and phantoms.”
― M.F. Moonzajer

“There are some journeys, you just go from one place to another without something changing in your soul! And there are some journeys where you encounter so many things that your soul turns into another soul!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“The old saying goes, 鈥淪ticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.鈥� Yet, my own negative self-talk is certain to make my words both sticks and stones.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Some Goliath shows up every day. And despite the fact that I ran out of stones a long time ago, I keep using the sling. And as I do, amazingly enough the Goliath鈥檚 keep falling, for God is the God of giants, absent stones, and empty slings.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“I picked up a little stone and threw it into the pond. As the ripples faded, so did my smiles. I knew I could do nothing to bring those ripples back.”
― Bhuwan Thapaliya

“Look 鈥� here they come, their eyes are hagstones & their words are shingle. They rise on the shore, rock-cored, flint beings, scattering chert to signal their passage, sending stones through time to foretell their seeings.”
― Robert Macfarlane, Ness

“some gives protection, some needs protection.

#bluesaphire #Neelam”
― Furqan Haider

“The ripples from a stone thrown in ignorance are gathering pace.”
― Cliff James, Life As A Kite

“The stones had come from their orchard, unearthed when the first generation of Lunds began planting the orchard four generations ago. The stones varied in color and shape, from light gray limestone to rusty red granite, each highlighted by the golden light. Above the inset wooden mantel hung a huge collage of watercolor paintings, comprised of six-inch squares, each showcasing a different variety of apple grown in the orchard set against a distinguishing hue.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Given the giants in my life, I鈥檝e discovered that I need the wisdom to know when to sling a stone and when not to sling one. For sometimes not to sling a stone is the most deadly stone of all.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Be careful throwing away stones which appear a bit flawed.”
― Charmaine J Forde

“Set within the sea of stones were little oval buildings, like beehives without openings. Marra knew at once that they were graves.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“She tries to force memories to the surface of her mind, picturing them as stones on the bottom of a lake that she has to push upwards. But it doesn鈥檛 work like that. Memories, like stones, have their own gravity.”
― C J Cooke

“They reined in before an ancient beech tree. Its trunk and branches leaned inland, bent by many years of ocean breezes. Half-buried beneath a root that arched out of the ground was a rectangular slab of stone that didn't seem to fit the landscape. Annis pointed to it. "What is that stone doing there?"
"It's a menhir," the marquess said. At Annis's puzzled expression, he explained. "One of the standing stones---well, this one has fallen over, but there are several stone circles in Dorset. If there was once a circle here---a henge, it's called---it's gone now. The stones have probably been pressed into other uses, fences or walls. I expect this one was too large to move."
"I don't know what a henge is," Annis said. Intrigued, she swung down from her saddle and bent to put her hand on the cool, rough surface of the stone. "Have you touched it? It feels alive!"
He laughed and slid down to join her beside the stone. He laid his own hand on it, right beside hers, then shook his head. "It doesn't feel alive to me, I'm afraid. It just feels cold and rough and old. A henge is a stone circle, you know, from ancient times. A ceremonial circle, we think. No one knows exactly what it was for.”
― Louisa Morgan, The Age of Witches

“Nowadays, stones remind me how far I have come--and how much weight I can carry without being dragged under. I keep them in my pockets to retain simple wonder that the earth can yield, if only I'm prepared to stop and sift through it with my fingers.”
― Katherine May, Enchantment: Awakening Wonder in an Anxious Age

“If only we could exchange #stones for #marshmallows, we'd have the world's sweetest and softest sport! ”
― Dipti Dhakul, Quote: +/-

“Wendell looked at the faerie stone in his hand, shrugged, and smashed it against the floor.
Out burst a flock of parrots. The birds shrieked and squawked, and the sheerie were momentarily distracted--- not afraid, they lunged at them like cats. Each parrot seemed to be carrying a tropical flower in its beak.
Wendell hurled another stone. When it smashed, glittering banners unfurled upon the museum walls, covered in the faerie script. The ceiling was suddenly painted in frescoes of Folk lounging in forest pools, surrounded by green foliage. Vases of unfamiliar flowers appeared on every surface next to bottles of wine in ice buckets, and the air filled with the muffled sound of violins, as if drifting in from the next room.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde鈥檚 Map of the Otherlands

“If there are three or five stones in a river that you can step on and cross, you should call them bridges, not stones! Peeled an apple with a sharp stone? Its name is no longer a sharp stone but a knife! As long as something works for you and solves your problem, you should give it the highest honour!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“Their beauty knows no barriers; they find fissures, cracks where they root and bloom.”
― David Passarelli, Mountain poems: Musings on stone, forest, and snow

“New Year

Grey softens our paths鈥╓hile holding the stones鈥˙eneath our feet near;

So the streets we wander鈥˙ecome ours and become lost鈥╓hile seeking new roads.

Horizons bloom over lines,鈥℉eld dear and near, yet not far鈥‥nough from how we want to live.

鈥� Outgrow, New Year鈥檚 Eves.”
― Laura Chouette

“As we went on, I could not help but noticing that the path Wendell made for us was a much cheerier one than Ariadne and I had followed; we traversed sunny glades and bluebell meadows, and sections of bilberry-studded moor open to the sky, often boasting impressive standing stones. Silver baubles sparkled in the treetops, about the size of globes and light as air, which sometimes drifted from one tree to another with the wind. Wendell informed me that these were, in fact, a kind of faerie stone, which contained enchantments meant to provide comfort to travelers.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but your words were always the hardest.”
― Dominic Riccitello

“I followed his gaze to the lakeshore. A hundred tiny lights dotted the forest--- more than a hundred. A thousand? They kept appearing among the shadows, different in size and luminance depending on the lantern. I hadn't realized the forest was so full of Folk. And among the trees, the silver faerie stones began to glow.
"All this for a mortal queen?" I muttered, flushed and overwhelmed.
"Too much?" Wendell made a gesture, and the faerie stones dimmed, retaining only a faint luminescence. "That's as much as I can do. The small Folk will keep to their traditions--- they would be greatly offended if I ask them to put their lights out before morning."
"Very well," I said. It was easier to bear without the faerie stones, which I've always found eerie, the way they hang untethered among the treetops like a strangely shaped mist. I know the curator of Cambridge's Museum of Dryadology and Ethnofolklore would give her eye teeth for just one of the things--- none have ever been smuggled into the mortal world, and their form and size makes them unique among faerie stones.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales

“I have undone myself loving the shine on stones.
Must I forget the mice in the ferns? Yes.”
― Theodore Roethke, Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke