19 Quotes by Suzannah Rowntree

Oh, Perceval, a falcon is born to hunt, and so are you. One day you will hunt indeed--but not yet." "Why? Am I not ready?"She looked at him sadly and said, "Give me a little longer.

Sir Ector looked into the fire, fidgeting with something in his pocket. "I have something for you," he said at last. "It was your mother's." And he drew out the thing in his pocket and held it up to her. The ring Blanche took from him was antique silver, cabochon-set with a glimmering moonstone. Her mother's ring! Blanche folded it into her hand and held tightly to the only thing her parents had left her.

I did not do it for you, sire." Gawain was deadly serious now. "Death comes to us and all mortals. I shall still lose you one day. But Logres! The only perfection under heaven would fall if I could not save you.

Then this is for you," Galahad said, and drew a knife from the pouch at his belt. It was an odd little thing, T-hilted and small enough to fit into a woman's hand. Its translucent blade, only an inch and a half long, was bound with scrolling bronze wire to the bone hilt. "Have a care. Obsidian is sharper than anything else in the world, sharp enough to make sunlight bleed.

Do not deceive yourself, Gawain. There are black places in the heart of every man.

I have fled from the wilderness fasting, with woe and unflagging travail,I have sought for the light on the mountain, and skirted the devilish dale. I have laid my mouth in the dust, and begged the Might to be kind,I have come to the feast, and I famish. Now grant me the Holy Grail.

It was like listening to the universe in motion. Planets spinning on their appointed courses, the lives of men intersecting and parting, the unimaginable harmony of the human body itself in hierarchy and order, were all implied in the song, but something greater as well: the genius of the composer, which must surely approach the miraculous. Perceval closed his eyes and was lost in the weaving music.

She slipped off the lid and took out a little hourglass hanging on a silver pivot from a black ribbon, its belly full of twinkling black sand. "Oh, it's beautiful!" "You like it." Her guardian, the antiquarian, who invested every colour, gemstone, beast, and planet with arcane and symbolic meaning, would likely give her a lecture on saturnine influences. Blanche decided not to care. "Yes, I do.

Look out your window on a morning in spring, ten or twenty years hence, and perhaps you’ll see me coming.