Alien Ash Quotes

Wish You Were Here So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, Blue skys from pain. Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? And did they get you to trade Your heros for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

Anyway, here.” He handed me a bag. “Thought you might be hungry. Since you’re our guests, it would be impolite if we didn’t share our food with you. That’s your rations for the week. Try to make it last.” At my surprised look, he rolled his eyes. “Not all of us live on oil and electricity, you know.” “What about Ash and Puck?” “Well, I’m pretty sure eating our food won’t melt their insides to gooey paste. But you never know.” (Glitch) ----------------- Puck sat and gazed mournfully into the bowl I handed him. “Not an apple slice to be found,” he sighed, picking through the gooey mess with his fingers. “How can mortals even pass this off as fruit? It’s like a peach farmer threw up in a bowl.” Ash picked up the spoon, gazing at it like it was an alien life form.

It can’t be that bad. I have to try it.” I bit back a mad grin. I was so not going to stop her. “Uh, Ash, I really wouldn’t suggest doing that,” Daemon began. Party pooper, I thought, but Ash was a determined little alien.

I mean, weird, dead alien technology with effects we don’t understand sweeping whole ships away without leaving a trace or explanation. That’s probably safe to play with, right?

I'm an alien in my own world, a writer without words, a musician without a piano, a magician without a wand. I am fooled by infinite words that rush in my blood, yet imprisoned by the very thoughts of silence. I'm a gray green fallow leaf on trees and abandoned on the streets, a never-ending spring season and an eternal autumn. I'm the golden of the sun and the silver of the moon, the fog of dawn and the amber of dusk. I'm the white and the red flag , the obedient and the rebel. I am the coward in the brave, and the child in the man. I am, but a writer.

He turned and looked at the boy. Maybe he understood for the first time that to the boy he was himself an alien. A being from a planet that no longer existed. The tales of which were suspect. He could not construct for the child's pleasure the world he'd lost without constructing the loss as well and he thought perhaps the child had known this better than he. He tried to remember the dream but he could not. All that was left was the feeling of it. He thought perhaps they'd come to warn him. Of what? That he could not enkindle in the heart of the child what was ashes in his own. Even now some part of him wished they'd never found this refuge. Some part of him always wished it to be over.

I’m tired of fighting myself—I have far too many enemies, far too many obstacles, to spend so much energy wrestling myself into submission. I have far too few friends to alienate those closest to me. I need to start trusting them. And if they break . . . We’ll just have to pick up the pieces together. I

They caught up their horses and turned back. Nothing moved in that high wilderness save the wind. They did not speak. They were men of another time for all that they bore christian names and they had lived all their lives in a wilderness as had their fathers before them. They'd learnt war by warring, the generations driven from the eastern shore across a continent, from the ashes at Gnadenhutten onto the prairies and across the outlet to the bloodlands of the west. If much in the world were mystery the limits of that world were not, for it was without measure or bound and there were contained within it creatures more horrible yet and men of other colors and beings which no man has looked upon and yet not alien none of it more than were their own hearts alien in them, whatever wilderness contained there and whatever beasts.

Crushed sandstone sifted through Caleb’s fingers, insubstantial as dust. A breeze caught the debris mid-fall and spirited it away before it could join the ashes blanketing the ground. He stopped in the middle of what had once been a street, his arms pulled in at his sides, his fists balled in barely restrained fury.

I was beginning to understand something I couldn't articulate. It was a jazzy feeling in my chest, a fluttering, a kind of buzzing in my brain. Warmth. Life. The circulation of blood. Sanguinity. I don't know. I understood the enormous risk of telling the truth, how the telling could result in every level of hell reigning down on you, your skin scorched to the bone and then bone to ash and then nothing but a lingering odour of shame and decomposition, but now I was also beginning to understand the new and alien feeling of taking the risk and having the person on the other end of the telling, the listener, say: Bad shit at home? You guys are running away? Yeah, I said. I understand, said, Noehmi.

Hazard felt a prickle of discomfort, the sense of alienation that reminded him he didn’t see the world the same way as everyone else. He felt it less around Somers

A kid born today would grow up in a world where carbon-silicate lace was as common as titanium or glass. That it was a collaboration between humanity and the ghosts of a massive and alien intelligence would go right by them. Holden was one of the lucky generation who would straddle that break point, that seam between before and after that Naomi and Amos and Ip were making literal right now, and so he could be amazed by how cool it was.

To every man upon this Earth, death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds. For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods.” —Thomas Babington Macaulay, Horatius at the Bridge

You are aliens and strangers in my sight, as were all your forefathers. You are of few days and full of trouble. You spring up like a flower and wither away; like a fleeting shadow, you do not endure. I raise the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap. I foil the plans of the nations; I thwart the purposes of the peoples.

Nothing moved in that high wilderness save the wind. They did not speak. They were men of another time for all that they bore christian names and they had lived all their lives in a wilderness as had their fathers before them. They'd learnt war by warring, the generations driven from the eastern shore across a continent, from the ashes at Gnadenhutten onto the prairies and across the outlet to the Woodlands of the west. If much in the world were mystery the limits of that world were not, for it was without measure or bound and there were contained within it creatures more horrible yet and men of other colors and beings which no man has looked upon and yet not alien none of it more than were their own hearts alien in them, whatever wilderness contained there and whatever beasts.

I’m surprised you haven’t come to hate humans,” Rose said with hesitation. “I mean, given all that happened to you here. I’m pretty sure assimilating wasn’t easy either. You have a sort of foreign look for an American, and Americans are notorious for their xenophobia.” Zita laughed softly. “Me? Hate humans?” She darkly shook her head. “I fought in the Midnight War for thirty years, Rosie. I know what happens when people let hate make decisions for them.

Just the basalt surface, plenty of cold, hard lava. And cold air, well below the line,’ Ash informed them. ‘We’d need suits to handle the temperature even if the air were breathable. If there’s anything alive out there, it’s tough.’ Dallas looked resigned. ‘I suppose it was unreasonable to expect anything else. Hope springs eternal. There’s just enough of an atmosphere to make vision bad. I’d have preferred no air at all, but we didn’t design this rock.’ ‘You never know.’ Kane was being philosophical again. ‘Might be something else’s idea of paradise.

What rending pains were close at hand! Death! and what a death! worse than any other that is to be named! Water, be it cold or warm, that which buoys up blue icefields, or which bathes tropical coasts with currents of balmy bliss, is yet a gentle conqueror, kisses as it kills, and draws you down gently through darkening fathoms to its heart. Death at the sword is the festival of trumpet and bugle and banner, with glory ringing out around you and distant hearts thrilling through yours. No gnawing disease can bring such hideous end as this; for that is a fiend bred of your own flesh, and this — is it a fiend, this living lump of appetites? What dread comes with the thought of perishing in flames! but fire, let it leap and hiss never so hotly, is something too remote, too alien, to inspire us with such loathly horror as a wild beast; if it have a life, that life is too utterly beyond our comprehension. Fire is not half ourselves; as it devours, arouses neither hatred nor disgust; is not to be known by the strength of our lower natures let loose; does not drip our blood into our faces with foaming chaps, nor mouth nor slaver above us with vitality. Let us be ended by fire, and we are ashes, for the winds to bear, the leaves to cover; let us be ended by wild beasts, and the base, cursed thing howls with us forever through the forest.

Ye accepted Yang’s proposal mainly out of gratitude. If he hadn’t brought her into this safe haven in her most perilous moment, she would probably no longer be alive. Yang was a talented man, cultured and with good taste. She didn’t find him unpleasant, but her heart was like ashes from which the flame of love could no longer be lit. As she pondered human nature, Ye was faced with an ultimate loss of purpose and sank into another spiritual crisis. She had once been an idealist who needed to give all her talent to a great goal, but now she realized that all that she had done was meaningless, and the future could not have any meaningful pursuits, either. As this mental state persisted, she gradually felt more and more alienated from the world. She didn’t belong. The sense of wandering in the spiritual wilderness tormented her. After she made a home with Yang, her soul became homeless. One

Ash: I admire its purity. A survivor... unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.

Ash: You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? Perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.

hand. I was charged with organizing the messages: descriptions of the creatures, descriptions of their space vessels, descriptions of their conveyances, of their weapons, of their movements. Positions of our soldiers, of our allies’ soldiers. Troop movements. New arrivals of space vessels. Reports of casualties. Dear God, the casualties. And their descriptions. Charred piles of ash; bloodless carcases; crumpled, broken bodies; crushed jelly; roasted, dead meat. All…in these hands.

I knew, said Ash. I knew my father would make Jared pay for defying him. We’re Lynburns. We do not forgive. We never permit a second sin against us. She refused to surrender to despair, even in her own mind. I’m getting a little tired of hearing all these mystical pronouncements about Lynburns, Kami said, and tried to show Ash nothing but determination. “We are creatures of red and gold,” “We do not forgive,” “We do not need hearts,” “Our family motto is ‘Hot blond death …’ ” We don’t say that last one, said Ash, both bemused and amused. The emotions ran through Kami, sweet but alien, more strange than pleasant. I admit I may have made that last one up, Kami said. But I stole the last piece of toast at breakfast yesterday, and you didn’t say “Lynburns never permit a second sin” and stab me in the hand with a fork.

And yet… the kindness I had witnessed in my time here; the drive to begin over, to build something worthwhile from the ashes of destruction seemed… unstoppable. I’d come to realize that the will to succeed, to create something bigger than ourselves was a basic drive woven deep within the very fabric of our humanity. We had all been given a second chance. A chance to try again. To make something… better. And so what if the Architect was AWOL? Who cared if there was no roadmap to follow? And as for the Adversary; well, it wouldn’t be the first time humanity had come face-to-face with a tyrant intent on subjugating all of us to his will. Throughout the history of our race, we had confronted those same trials and beaten them, time after time. There were two billion humans on this planet. Two billion hand-selected souls who shared the same drive and determination that had brought our species to dominance over every other living thing on this planet. This was our chance to build that brave new world that had haunted our species’ dreams for millennia. To rescue humanity from this fate. The Architect had chosen me. Had told me that I was the one it trusted. And if our theories were true, then the Architect knew more about me than I did. So, who was I to question its choice?

How can a man die better, he recited to himself, than facing fearful odds. For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods.

My people have known of your people for thousands of years,” went on the alien, looking at me with those black eyes that glittered like the night sky. “We have watched you and studied you and never did we attempt contact. Why? Because we would be treated with the same hatred and violence you have shown your own people – that is, until we had properly assimilated into the sprawling patchwork quilt of your culture. To your people, ‘same’ has always meant good and ‘different’ has always meant evil. . . . can you really blame my people for maintaining a safe distance?” “But thousands – millions drowned!” I insisted.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room, pouring through an old sci-fi novel I’d found in one of the ruins, and I could hear the water bubbling as he cooked. The spaghetti smelled good, but I knew he’d probably put something crazy in it like popcorn or marshmallows, so I ignored my rumbling belly.

Incase the title was misleading, this is the story of Qorth. He was an alien, but he was more normal, more boring, more goofy, and more ho-hum than any human I’d ever known . . . to the point that I sometimes wonder if he was really even an alien. To be fair, he did have “magical” otherworldly powers and some weird traits, like pointed ears. It rained when he was sad. His eyes were solid black, which really creeped me out in the beginning but, eh, I got used to it. He had weird tastes in food, like he would put ketchup on pancakes, and animals were sock puppets to him. The night I found him, it was the animals who led me to him.

Varzo shrugged. “My people have given them good reason to be biased. The last time you were open and trusting . . . we invaded,” she said unhappily. “Yeah,” muttered the boy just as unhappily. “But while there is good reason for caution, there is never a good reason for hatred, hmm?” He glanced at Varzo and lifted his brows meaningfully.

Rigg shrugged. “I know it makes you feel better, but I think it’s arrogant to believe in anything anyway.” “Is that so?” “Yeah,” Rigg said, frowning at the clouds. “No one can really know what’s out there. People are too small in the grand scheme of things. Saying we know and understand the gods is like a bug saying they know and understand our airships. They don’t and they can’t.” Hari smiled. “Fair enough.

Alright. So how are we getting down there? Can you turn invisible or something?” “What do I look like? A magician?” “Well, can you fight?” “Can you?” “No,” said Thalcu with a sad laugh. “Zonbiri women aren’t allowed to handle anything bigger than a butter knife. Not legally, anyway. Besides, I could never shoot a gun. My hands are used to pushing remote control buttons, pounding game controllers . . . picking the good chips from the bag.

Varzo looked with shame at her boots. “Look, I wasn’t serious, alright? It was just a thought.” Mercy shook her head. “Shitty thoughts become shitty actions, kid. You really gone your entire life without recognizing there's ah link between the two?

Quinn dropped her hand and avoided Thalcu’s eye. “I . . . I don’t want to kill you,” she said to the floor. “Not if I could save you.” The woman smiled gently at Quinn, her lips curling behind her oxygen mask. “I will not really die,” she said, drawing Quinn’s surprised gaze. She looked at Quinn contently a moment and went on, “Do you know how worlds are born? From the first breath of a star. We are made of starlight. We can not bear to look into the sun, into the thing that birthed us, anymore than we can bear to look upon our parents in the throes of passion. It is our point of origin, and to it, we all must return.

Yeah!” Quinn said defiantly. “And I’m about to destroy your sick little plan here! And when I’m done doing that, I’ll tell the humans how your people are planning to betray them --!” “As if that will make much difference,” said the general calmly. “Humans can’t agree on how to run individual countries, let alone their entire planet. When the harvest begins, they won’t stand a chance against us. I’ve already given Dr. Zorgone permission to execute his plans for abduction. He has also been given strict orders to return you to me alive. Both of you. You must simply walk outside. There is nothing to fear.” “Yeah, I bet,” Quinn muttered sarcastically.

The past is prelude and now we are leaving the restaurant and the fog is rolling out toward the Southern Ocean. When he kisses me, it feels natural, inevitable. It doesn’t feel like a stranger has his mouth on mine; he doesn’t taste old or male or alien. I go to see his cottage, and it is just as he described it in his letters: “I keep my horse riding tack and saddles on wooden brackets mounted on one wall, and there is usually a surfboard leaning in a corner and a wetsuit hanging in the shower. When I added the wooden loft as a bedroom, I forgot to leave space for the staircase; it now has what is essentially a ladder going up the one side. Chickens roost in the chimney’s ash trap and they emerge from their egg-laying speckled grey.” It is a home, but a wild home, cheerful, peculiar—like Pippi Longstocking’s Villa Villekulla, with a horse on the porch in an overgrown garden on the edge of town, where it “stood there ready and waiting for her.” And then what? I move to South Africa? He teaches me to ride horses and I have his baby? I become a foreign correspondent! I start a whole new life, a life I never saw coming. Either that, or I am isolated and miserable, I’ve destroyed my career, and I spend my days gathering sooty chicken eggs. A different fantasy: I fly to Cape Town. It is not as I remember it. It’s just a place, not another state of being. I am panicky and agitated. I cry without warning, and once I start, I can’t stop. It is not at all clear that my story will work out. Now I have lost my powers in that department, too. Dr. John and I make a plan to meet. But in this fantasy, I arrive at the restaurant and find it intimidating and confusing: I don’t know if I’m supposed to wait to be seated and I can’t get anyone’s attention. I’m afraid of being rude, wrong, American. When John arrives he is a stranger. I don’t know him and I don’t really like him, or worse, I can tell that he doesn’t like me. Our conversation is stilted. I know (and he suspects) that I have come all this way for an encounter that isn’t worth having, and a story that isn’t worth telling, at least not by me. I have made myself ridiculous. My losing streak continues.

The alien pounding and the heat and the dark glistening bodies dragged her back, back past the cold ashes of her innocence to a time when pain could be castrated on the sharp edges of iron-studded faith.

If an extra-terrestrial wiped out humanity bar eight survivors, would you expect the eight to swear vengeance against the monster? According to the Bible, the eight – Noah’s family – actually worshiped the ET as God! Independence Day: Independence from God! When will humanity be free?

Scarlett …” The alarming voice of Nickolas sounded from behind her. This girl was looking for her own execution. As much as he dreaded admitting it they had lost. The rebellion failed many and young people sacrificed their lives for this failure. Scarlett was a victim he was not willing to sacrifice. She only turned to him without saying a word. Her gaze was invincible. He saw literal flames burning in her blue eyes. He recognized the emotion immediately. Scarlett’s eyes were burning with rage! Was he seeing things, or were these actual flames? “It’s time for this bastard to pay for being such a treacherous ass!” she spoke. With every word, it was as if the fire in her eyes whirled around her pupils like a vortex. She felt her whole body start to burn. The blood in her veins was boiling like never before. Smoke began to emerge from her skin. It hurt her, she felt as if her whole body had set itself on fire. The pain could not be compared to the first time it happened with her palms. She was fighting the urge to scream as loud as she could, but could not afford even the slightest distraction. Nickolas’s life, as well as Chris’, depended on her. The men around her looked stunned at what was happening. Pratcher realized that nothing had played with his sanity when the soldiers, along with Hammerdell, took a step back after the girl’s body had begun emitting smoke. It was all very real indeed. What the hell was going on? “Get away from her! She will set herself on fire!” Christopher grabbed the man’s shoulders and pulled him back. He knew what was going to happen. He had seen Scarlett burn her palms, but never her whole body. He was afraid for her! The telekinesis with the jeep was a step away from killing her, and with that burning, her death could be inevitable. There was not enough energy in her body to escape without consequences. Scarlett did not stop focusing on her anger. She had to maintain it if she wanted to achieve the desired result. The pain was taking over her, she felt exhausted and gave out smoke. Her eyes did not go down from Hammerdell. At first, her hands were ablaze, and fire spread all over her body as if it had been covered with gas. Her clothes became ash. Scarlett remained naked under the tongues of the red flames. She fell to her knees on the pebble track - the fire swirled, and the pain was growing even more intolerable. “Shoot!” The mayor screamed in a voice full of fear. He had never seen such a thing. What was that hat girl? Definitely not an ordinary person! Seconds before they pulled the trigger, the guns jumped off from the hands of the soldiers all by themselves. A cone of fire separated from Scarlett and flew towards them, enclosing them in a perfect circle. She sacrificed her last drop of strength to create a fiery dome above them, which trapped her enemies and became a lid from which they could not get away. They burned alive with the last shrieking screams of panic, fear, and despair. It was over. Hammerdell had earned his merit. Now, the rebels could finally rest easy. In pain and exhaustion, she left herself get swallowed by the darkness.

TACO STORM? • FAKE ALIEN INVASION? NUCLEAR BOMB? • ECHO HACKS AND/OR SEDUCES SOMETHING • DEFACE THE FIRE AND ICE (DONGS?) • CATS CATS CATS • GET MOLECH BACK HERE (FART RAY?) • WILL WORKS HIS MAGIC (LIKE IN “THE RINGMASTER”)

The Blasphemy of Reason To understand the relationship between Islamic and scientific modes of thought, it's useful to contrast the emergence of Islam with that of Christianity. In its first four centuries, Christianity germinated gradually within the Roman Empire, with many of its leading theologians converting to the new religion only after having spent their formative years immersed in the classical learning of ancient Greece. Islam, by contrast, spread through military conquest, expanding mostly through conversion of conquered peoples. As a result, even when Muslim rulers welcomed classical Greek knowledge, it was perceived as something alien. Tellingly, Greek science and natural philosophy were known throughout Islam as the “foreign sciences,” in contrast to the “Islamic sciences,” such as the study of the Quran, which were considered to hold the highest place in Muslim life.9 In the early years of Islamic civilization, various groups vigorously competed for the hearts and minds of the Muslim community. Those who actively pursued the Greek classical tradition of knowledge were known as the faylasuf or “philosophers.” Another group, taking a more mystical approach to Islam, were the Sufis. However, the two principal groups that emerged were the Ash'arites, traditionalists who believed in the primacy of Islamic faith, and the Mu'tazilites, who believed in a rational explication of the Quran.10 The Mu'tazilites were devout followers of Islam, while applying rational thought to their interpretation of theology. When passages in the Quran referred to “the face of God” or described God sitting on his throne, the Mu'tazilites argued that these descriptions should be interpreted metaphorically. It seemed to them equally valid to use reason as theology to make important distinctions in their lives, such as between good and evil. The Ash'arites, on the other hand, based their viewpoint on the fundamental presumption that the Quran was the direct word of God transmitted through Muhammad. As such, they viewed the Quran as something eternal and uncreated, an indivisible part of God: it wasn't just the word of God; it literally was God. How, then, to interpret statements about God's face or God sitting on his throne? The Ash'arite position was to take these statements literally, and if reason were unable

All the alien romances I devoured at night when I couldn’t sleep were to blame.