Sublime

His very body had waxed old in lowly service of the Lord — in tending the fire upon the altar, in bearing tidings secretly, in waiting upon worldlings, in striking swiftly when bidden — and yet had remained ungraced by aught of saintly or of prelatic beauty. Nay, his very soul had waxed old in that service without growing towards light and beauty o

To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief, Charg'd with the public weal, and cares of state.

For I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar— the LORD of hosts is his name.

Nevertheless, this old man's was a patient hammer wielded by a patient arm. No murmur, no impatience, no petulance did come from him. Silent, slow, and solemn; bowing over still further his chronically broken back, he toiled away, as if toil were life itself, and the heavy beating of his hammer the heavy beating of his heart. And so it was.—Most mi

Mercy’s mother was sheathed in a violet dress and wore silver chains in her hair and around her neck, all set with amethysts. Her hair drifted like part of the shadows, and she tapped black lips with fingernails of purple crystal as she walked.

and strong as an olive branch winding through stone. For The Iliad, I needed a voice of bronze, a voice of wind, a voice of fire. I needed to forge greatness without hyperbole, power without pomposity: as massive as a mountain, as soft as night, as powerful as sleep.

I had all my grand-father's melody as well as poetry by rote.

Man after man, and their names began to blur in my head.