theconsultingbiscuit:

Make Dust Not War 

I love the HDM series , such amazing books . Needed to make some art for it ! 

You can get this on a tshirt or a cover here 


inle-hain:

Cover for Philip Pullman’s Northern Lights (aka The Golden Compass). Designed by Hamish Steele for the DoeDeMee. This is a project, under the patronage of UNESCO, in which 100 artists from 28 countries joined forces to re-cover the ‘100 Greatest Novels Of All Times’ in order to raise awareness for the problem of illiteracy. 


“

Corruption and envy and lust for power. Cruelty and coldness. A vicious, probing curiosity. Pure, poisonous, toxic malice. You have never from your earliest years shown a shred of compassion or sympathy or kindness without calculating how it would return to your advantage. You have tortured and killed without regret or hesitation; you have betrayed and intrigued and gloried in your treachery. You are a cesspit of moral filth.

— Metatron (The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman)

“

Since she and Will had parted two years before, the slightest thing had the power to move her to pity and distress; it felt as if her heart were bruised forever.

— “Lyra’s Oxford” - Phillip Pullman (via starberry-cupcake)

“

‘I hoped so much, and here it is, just the same…Will, I used to come here in my Oxford and sit on this exact same bench whenever I wanted to be alone, just me and Pan. What I thought was that if you–maybe just once a year–if we could come here at the same time, just for an hour or something, then we could pretend we were close again–because we would be close, if you sat here and I sat just here in my world.’
‘And if we–later on–’ she was whispering shakily, ‘if we meet someone that we like, and if we marry them, then we must be good to them, and not make comparisons all the time and wish we were married to each other instead…But just keep up this coming here once a year, just for an hour, just to be together.’

— This scene broke my heart. I’ll have to reread this series again very soon. i think I’ll buy a new copy of Amber today while I’m out. (via imimmortal08)

“

She wondered whether there would ever come an hour in her life when she didn’t think of him — didn’t speak to him in her head, didn’t relive every moment they’d been together, didn’t long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much; of all the things that had astonished her in her adventures, that was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever.

— Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass (via kelseytvs)

“

You are so young, Lyra, too young to understand this, but I shall tell you anyway and you’ll understand it later: men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually racked with pain.

— Serafina Pekkala, ‘The Golden Compass’ (via ironmaidenluv)


shakesparr0w:

Things That May Never Be: The Reunion

“Today’s the day,” Kirjava whispered, moving in and around his legs.

“I know,” Will responded. He paused as he buttoned his shirt, imagining how the day would go. He lived for this day, and dreaded it all the same. Midsummer’s day: The day he would once again be close enough to her to reach out and pull her into his arms, but far enough away that it took whole worlds to span the distance. It was a cruel fate, a life full of longing and grasping promises.

He missed her. With more than he was capable, he missed her. Her laugh, her bravery, her strength, her touch. The worlds ripped her from him, and the wound would never fully heal. 

He finished buttoning his shirt, and prepared to leave. Kirjava fell into step beside his strides, and they left the house for the Botanical Garden. The flowers were full, and the trees green, and the whole garden was teeming with life. His eyes found the bench- the wooden ship that enabled him to sail across universes, the rotting prison that reminded him of the life he could no longer have.

“Will,” a voice echoed through the eaves. He looked about, but could see no one. He sat, and looked at his hands. “Lyra,” he whispered. “Lyra. Lyra. Lyra. Lyra. I miss you so much I hear your voice, and it is taunting me. I hate it. I don’t want echoes. I want you.” Silence reigned as hours passed, and he immersed himself in dreams of her.

He heard the swift thundering of footsteps, and a repeated cry of “Will! Will!” He turned, not allowing himself to hope. A flurry of gold and green, and his face was full of curls, his arms, of her.

“Will,” she sobbed into his chest. “Will, I’m here, it’s me. I’m here, Will.” He looked at her in disbelief. It was impossible. There was no way she could be here. He backed away, shocked and horrified. 

“Who are you?” His voice was a deadened whisper, devoid of belief and trust, the voice of one who has lost everything. “Who are you?” He repeated, more forcefully this time.

“Will,” said the yellow-haired woman. “It’s me. It’s your Lyra.” She reached for him. He flinched.

“You lie,” he murmured sadly. “You are not Lyra, because Lyra can’t be here.”

“She can, Will,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “She can because I am she and here I am. I don’t know how, but I’m here, and I had rather hoped for a better greeting.” She raised her hand again, tentatively touching his cheek. He leaned in to her warmth, and his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Lyra,” he breathed. He looked at her again. “Lyra,” he said, his voice gaining volume. He repeated her name in wonder, pulling her flush against his chest. He held her body tightly, not daring to let go as tears made their way down his cheeks. “Lyra,” he whispered into her hair. “I missed you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He repeated the words over and over again, making up for lost time, for he had not said them since he left her all those years ago. “I love you.”

Lyra pulled away and examined his face, holding it between her hands. “I promised, Will. And I keep my promises.” She took his hand it put it over her heart. “Feel my heart, Will. I am real, and I’m with you.”

A rustling in the leaves caught his attention, and he looked to see that Kirjava and Pantalaimon were locked in an embrace. He smiled and let his eyes find hers again.

“Lyra-” Will said. And she said, “Will.”


ambiguoussea:

“Even if it means oblivion, friends, I’ll welcome it, because it won’t be nothing. We’ll be alive again in a thousand blades of grass, and a million leaves; we’ll be falling in the raindrops and blowing in the fresh breeze; we’ll be glittering in the dew under the stars and the moon out there in the physical world, which is our true home and always was.”