A Court Of Mist And Fury By Sarah J. Maas: An Analysis

The wind chime hung from the roof of the abandoned house , it swayed calmly and slowly against the wind , everything seemed peaceful . We - my father and I - sat on the porch of the rundown house that only we knew about . It was dark and I wasn’t the biggest fan of the night , the night is unpredictable but yet so beautiful .

The first thing you felt was the softness of something beneath you, and the warmness of what you assumed was sunlight on your tan skin. Sitting up very slowly, you examined the space around you to find what was so soft below your outstretched legs. Golden flowers grew out of the cracked stone ground, shining a yellowish hue that seemed to make them even more beautiful than they already were. The sunlight that lit up part of the room you were currently residing in came from a distant hole in the rocky roof hanging high above you. Groggily, you stood up.

A beam of early morning sunlight played on his face. He turned and scooted to another part of the bed in order to avoid waking. Within a few minutes the beam of sunlight had caught up with him again and was shining again directly on his eyelids. He lay there, his head in a fog, rubbed his eyes and stared at the white plastered walls trying to determine where he was and even who he was. The brightness of the room overwhelmed him with a fierce intensity. It was a few minutes before his eyes became accustomed to the light. He entertained his semi-waking mind by tracing patterns of the earthy colors on the tapestry that hung on the wall facing him. He rubbed his hands slowly on the bedsheet, felt a smoothness and said to himself, "This

You feel an intense, out-of-the-skin awareness of your living self—your truest self, the human being you want to be and then become by the force of wanting it. In the midst of evil you want to be a good man. You want decency. You want justice and courtesy and human concord, things you never knew you wanted. There is a kind of largeness to it, a kind of godliness. Though it’s odd, you’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead. You recognize what’s valuable. Freshly, as if for the first time, you love what’s best in yourself and in the world, all that might be lost. At the hour of dusk you sit at your foxhole and look out on a wide river turning pinkish red, and at the mountains beyond, and although in the morning you must cross the river and go into the mountains and do terrible things and maybe die, even so, you find yourself studying the fine colors on the river, you feel wonder and awe at the setting of the sun, and you are filled with a hard, aching love for how the world could be and always should be, but now is

Out of the darkness, rivers of brilliant light and color began to flow all around her, as if a dam holding back a rainbow had miraculously burst. Then she heard the music... a melody so beautiful it tugged at her very soul. It was as if the euphony clothed her in an impenetrable blanket. She felt warm. She felt safe. Uncontrollably, tears welled up, the hymn gripping her heart, and she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut and instinctively her body curled into a protective ball.

The boy lay there next to his father keeping each other warm from the chilling atmosphere where they set camp. The air was so moist it turned the dirt into damp mud and the boy could feel his sleeping bag submerge into it. The intimidating glare of an owl examining him sent a tingle up his spine. The sounds of bugs chiming filled the ambience, killing the silence giving him a sense of security. He looked up at the twilight sky illuminated by the blinding shimmer of the full moon gleaming through the forest trees over him. Surrounding it was an array of glimmering stars prompting the sky alive. As his body grew accustomed to the environment, each natural attribute gave him comfort and allowed him to slowly fall into a deep sleep.

This year, we read four great works of literature. Each piece is so different from each other, yet all writing demonstrates that everybody is human and experiences harsh circumstances. At the point when life gets difficult, people read books to realize that they are not the only one. In each great piece of writing, we see and feel the characters' battles and feelings of anguish that makes it so relatable for the readers. The characters show the genuine unpredictability of life. In the pieces we read we see death, tragedy, and courage portrayed magnificently.

Take heed, this book will usher you deep into the minds of the characters. In the garden of good and evil, of war and peace, you will taste and see the agony of hurting hearts and broken minds.

Damp orange leaves stuck to my shoes as I trudged my way toward the back entrance of the school. A chilly wind whooshed past me, spraying my face with vapor. It felt good, almost numbing. Shoving my hands into my jean pockets, I then began to think of the red book. A tingle of warmth spread throughout my body as I recalled the way my fingers had glided over the embossed gold design on the cover. The gold always seemed to glitter when it touched the light; it was worthy of admiration, praise. As if suddenly slapped across the face, I came to my senses. Daydreaming about a book, especially one that was that was supposedly inherently evil, was not normal behavior. That was such a random thought, think about something else Jared, I scolded myself.

As I read this novel, I could not stop crying. The way that the characters persisted moved me, the ending was a perfect mix of joy and pity, and the imagery was far beyond amazing. This quote, specifically, speaks to me because I can apply it to any aspect of my life, especially throughout my metaphorical journey in seventh grade. This book of poetry is not a series of poems that I tell my story through, but rather a biography written about the challenges and successes in my life. I have changed and evolved into the scholar and young woman that I am today throughout one school year, which is remarkable and overwhelming all at once.

Scuttling innocently through the twisting corridors I bore the same expression; head down, shoulders hunched, avoiding any eye contact - my desperate attempts to deter the despot for one day at least. Despite my efforts, there was no escape, as seemingly within the second of having that naively optimistic thought, a cruel, callous voice demanded I surrender my broach. Fear spiked, as it always did, but with it came something else, an alien emotion ... Looking back now, I see that it must have been the cumulative effect of months of torment that brought me to the realisation that at this point I had reached the nadir of my life. Deriding cackles pierced my ears and this time I recognised the emotion, fury. It burned through my veins, along with the memories of the past to form a feeling of overwhelming power. I met the daggers that would usually invoke terror, and calmly, I said “No.”

I had never seen such beautiful trees. Their colors were bright, and beautiful and their leaves were spotted or striped in different patterns. Their lines sharp, yet pleasing. They were soft to the touch, but the longer you touched the harder they became. Their trunks were slender at the top, but curved in such a way that made me feel as though I could melt down together with them. As I lay there beside them I feel their warmth seep into my body. I felt as though Mother Nature had taken me into her arms and I rest my head on her breast. I felt more at home and at peace in that moment than I had in a long time and I wished that I never had to

As Gillian sipped her hot vanilla latte, she flipped through the book that was nearly halfway in. Completely engulfed in “When Hearts Align”, she could feel every emotion that leapt off the pages.

The book held me captive, but not in the way I was expecting. I saw much of Parvin in myself. Reading this book, written in first person present tense, was like experiencing a dream. Parvin was convinced her life had no meaning, that she had wasted her life. She wanted her life to mean something but when she was presented with opportunities to create meaning, she pushed back and tried to find an easier

A ways away from a town that I call home, I found a happy place. I often find myself walking through the park by myself. The beautiful trees, the way the yellow and red leaves crumple under my feet every step I take. When the flowers bloom and how it's the most spectacular sight you could ever imagine seeing, all the different colors that appear. When you breathe in and you get this smell of purity, you feel free and alive. Sometimes I like to sit on the old wooden bench where the bench frame is a little rusted, and I get rid of my thoughts and my eyes search the sky. In the winter the icy breeze makes me shiver, and the cold air I take in, is like sitting in front of an air conditioner and breathing in. Some mornings the sun beams across the sky, which is not quite blue yet, but the sun has almost fully risen. When the wind blows, it grazes over the blades of grass. Some days I just stand and take a deep breath in and I can taste the spring. When summer comes around, and the bees are buzzing, and the hot sun beats on the back of my neck, I lay on the soft grass and listen, to the birds chirping a beautiful song, and the kids playing in the park. The sky is the bluest view in sight.