Charlotte Yates didn’t especially care for music. All that abstract mooning about. Words, that was what moved people. A good play was worth a thousand symphonies.
Magnus FlyteMots clés symphonies-of-words
Prague. Praha. The name actually meant “threshold”. Pollina had said the city was a portal between the life of the good and … the other. A city of dark magic, Alessandro had called it.
Magnus FlyteMots clés prague
She hadn’t really counted on having to measure pedagogic dick length with a whole tribe.
Magnus FlyteMots clés dick-contest
This place was just a pile of old stones. Pretty stones arranged in intriguing ways, but just old stones.
“And outdated wiring,” her father would have added.
Mots clés old-stones
The Nazis had been one thing. The communists were another. But now there were academics crawling all over the palace.
Magnus FlyteMots clés academics
Men were ridiculous, in all cultures and across time.
Magnus FlyteMots clés men
...how strange and frightening and intoxicating life could be.
Magnus FlyteMots clés life
History should be studied but not worshipped.
Magnus FlyteThe cold war was over, but all the little games persisted. It was a good thing those puppets in the Middle East had been too busy grubbing around in their deserts to play any serious role in international espionage ... She took a calming moment to visualize the entire Arab world as a giant parking lot. Lovely.
Magnus FlyteMots clés espionage arab-world
Dig your nails deep enough into the back of a Soviet, and eventually you'll find a Russian.
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