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. . . . . entries for 10.10.06 . . . . . "You, sir. In my dream you rode to me, and called, - Come to my house, my sweet, away down the white road. There are such sights I would show you. I asked how I would find your house, down the white chalk road, for it's a long road, and a dark one, under trees that make the light all green and gold when the sun is high, but shade the road at other times. At night it's pitch-black; there is no moonlight on the white road . . . There was a sculpture in the garden, before the house, A Spartan child, stolen fox half-concealed in its robe, the fox biting the child's stomach, gnawing the vitals away, the stoic child bravely saying nothing - what could it say, cold marble that it was? There was pain in its eyes, and it stood, upon a plinth on which were carved eight words. I walked around it, and I read: Be bold, be bold, but not too bold. . . . I found a door, a small door, off the latch, and pushed my way inside. Walked corridors, lined with oak, with shelves, with busts, with trinkets, I walked, my feet silent on the scarlet carpet, until I reached the great hall. It was there again, in red stones that glittered, set into the white marble of the floor, it said: Be bold, be bold, but not too bold. Or else your life's blood shall run cold. . . ." - Neil Gaiman, The White Road.
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{ting} .:past:. April 2002 .:skin:. turtles! turtles! by araglas |