Posts tagged "future past":

‘You see?’ he asked in a pidgin argot; a tongue that owed something to Persian, Caerdicci and Hellene alike; zenyan, it was called, but I learned that later. Kushiel’s Avatar by Jacqueline Carey
Tags: book quotes future past
For Molly Grue, the world hung motionless in that glass moment. As though she were standing on a higher tower than King Haggard’s, she looked down on a pale paring of land where a toy man and woman stared with their knitted eyes at a clay bull and a tiny ivory unicorn. Abandoned playthings—there was another doll, too, half-buried; and a sandcastle with a stick king propped up in one tilted turret. The tide would take it all in a moment, and nothing would be left but the flaccid birds of the beach, hopping in circles. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle
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Long years later, when Schmendrick’s name had become a greater name than Nikos’s and worse than afreets surrendered at the sound of it, he was never to work the smallest magic without seeing Prince Lír before him, his eyes squinted up because of the brightness and his tongue sticking out. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle
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Tridib could see them clearly, years later, walking down that street in the creeping darkness, holding tightly on to each other. But he knew that the clarity of that image in his mind was merely the seductive clarity of ignorance; an illusion of knowledge created by a deceptive weight of remembered detail. The Shadow Lines by Amitav Ghosh
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The prince had not yet noticed her offered hand, but in a moment he would turn and see, and touch her for the first time. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle
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She sat down, wiping her cheeks with the palm of one hand and reaching for the rucksack with the other. She carried it everywhere; when Will thought of her in later years, it was often with that little bag over her shoulder. She tucked the hair behind her ears in the swift movement he loved and took out the black velvet bundle. The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman
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A long time afterwards, she was to remember what an excellent chess-player Francis Crawford was. And that, whether romance existed in him or not, sentimentality had no place at all. Pawn in Frankincense by Dorothy Dunnett
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