In a way. Magic is the act of making a wish come about. Like praying, like plotting, like herbs, like exerting your will on the world, making something happen.
Philippa GregoryHe must desire the scent of the smoke of their sacrifice.
Philippa GregoryYes, but either way, shamed or not, I shall be Queen of England, and this is the last time you will sit in my presence.
Philippa GregoryMas, entre nós, nunca houve tempo para as palavras de amor; a maior parte do nosso tempo foi gasta em despedidas.
Philippa GregoryA troubadour to a distant mistress.
Philippa GregoryTags: jasper-tudor margaret-beaufort
If it has to be done at all, it must be done with grace.
Philippa GregoryEdward lives as if there is no tomorrow, Richard as if he wants no tomorrow, and George as though someone should give it to him for free.
Philippa GregoryTags: humour
I do think your brother grows more peculiar every day,' I complain to Edward when he comes to my rooms in Whitehall Palace to escort me to dinner.
'Which one?' he asks lazily. 'For you know I can do nothing right in the eyes of either. You would think they would be glad to have a York on the throne and peace in Christendom, and one of the finest Christmas feasts we have ever arranged; but no: Richard is leaving court to go back north as soon as the feast is over, to demonstrate his outrage that we are not slogging away in a battle with the French, and George is simply bad tempered.
Tags: humour
I can’t sleep,” he says so quietly that only I can hear. “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep.”
“Nor I.”
“You neither?”
“No.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
He sighs a deep sigh, as if he is relieved. “Is this love then?”
“I suppose so.”
“I can’t eat.”
“No.”
“I can’t think of anything but you. I can’t go on another moment like this; I can’t ride out into battle like this. I am as foolish as a boy. I am mad for you, like a boy. I cannot be without you; I will not be
without you. Whatever it costs me.”
I can feel my color rising like heat in my cheeks, and for the first time in days I can feel myself smile. “I can’t think of anything but you,” I whisper. “Nothing. I thought I was sick.”
The ring like a crown is heavy in my pocket, my headdress is pulling at my hair; but I stand without awareness, seeing nothing but him, feeling nothing but his warm breath on my cheek and scenting
the smell of his horse, the leather of his saddle, and the smell of him: spices, rosewater, sweat.
“I am mad for you,” he says.
I feel my smile turn up my lips as I look into his face at last. “And I for you,” I say quietly. “Truly.
Tags: philippa-gregory white-queen cousins-war the-cousins-war the-white-queen
Giles' shameful death was, of course, the sign of a crazy old man's inability to adapt to a new world. But his belief, that if there was no work to be had on our estate, then there was nothing for him but the workhouse, was probably right. ...His death was not a sensible reaction to our attempts to farm rationally and profitably. The last thing I needed was a pang of conscience about such an old fool. And I would be mad myself if I even considered that his death should be laid at my door, that I had made his world -- Wideacre -- unbearable.
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