Atlas Titan Quotes

She studied me with concern. She touched the new streak of gray in my hair that matched hers exactly—our painful souvenir from holding Atlas's burden. There was a lot I'd wanted to say to Annabeth, but Athena had taken the confidence out of me. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter. "So," Annabeth said. "What did you want to tell me earlier?" The music was playing. People were dancing in the streets. I said, "I, uh, was thinking we got interrupted at Westover Hall. And… I think I owe you a dance." She smiled slowly. "All right, Seaweed Brain." So I took her hand, and I don't know what everybody else heard, but to me it sounded like a slow dance: a little sad, but maybe a little hopeful, too.

As for me, I did the stupidest thing in my life, which is saying a lot. I attacked the Titan Lord Atlas.

Atlas smirked.

The weight of the sky dropped onto Atlas's back, almost smashing him flat until he managed to get to his knees, struggling to get out from under the crushing weight of the sky. But it was too late. "Noooooo!" He bellowed so hard it shook the mountain. "Not again!" Atlas was trapped under his old burden.

But in that moment, I knew it wasn't just the poison that was killing her. It was her fathers final blow. Zoë had known all along that the Oracle's prophecy was about her: she would die by a parent's hand. And yet she'd taken the quest anyway. She had chosen to save me, and Atlas's fury had broken her inside.

Exposition: the workings of the actual past + the virtual past may be illustrated by an event well known to collective history, such as the sinking of the Titanic. The disaster as it actually occurred descends into obscurity as its eyewitnesses die off, documents perish + the wreck of the ship dissolves in its Atlantic grave. Yet a virtual sinking of the Titanic, created from reworked memories, papers, hearsay, fiction--in short, belief--grows ever "truer." The actual past is brittle, ever-dimming + ever more problematic to access + reconstruct: in contrast, the virtual past is malleable, ever-brightening + ever more difficult to circumvent/expose as fraudulent. The present presses the virtual past into its own service, to lend credence to its mythologies + legitimacy to the imposition of will. Power seeks + is the right to "landscape" the virtual past. (He who pays the historian calls the tune.) Symmetry demands an actual + virtual future too. We imagine how next week, next year, or 2225 will shape up--a virtual future, constructed by wishes, prophecies + daydreams. This virtual future may influence the actual future, as in a self-fulfilling prophecy, but the actual future will eclipse our virtual one as surely as tomorrow eclipses today. Like Utopia, the actual future + the actual past exist only in the hazy distance, where they are no good to anyone. Q: Is there a meaningful distinction between one simulacrum of smoke, mirrors + shadows--the actual past--from another such simulacrum--the actual future? One model of time: an infinite matryoshka doll of painted moments, each "shell" (the present) encased inside a nest of "shells" (previous presents) I call the actual past but which we perceive as the virtual past. The doll of "now"likewise encases a nest of presents yet to be, which I call the actual future but which we perceive as the virtual future.

He was all the things I'd originally disliked about Zoë, with none of the good I'd come to appreciate.

The numerous moons of Saturn include Titan, Iapetus, Atlas, Prometheus, Hyperion, Tethys, Rhea, and Calypso.

I swallowed, hoping my voice still worked. “You’re— you’re even uglier than your son,” I taunted the Titan. “I can see where Atlas gets his stupidity from.

This is Atlas’s mountain,” Zoë said. “Where he holds—” She froze. Her voice was ragged with despair. “Where he used to hold up the sky.

How did he do that?” Alex stumbled to her feet with Aiden’s aid, swaying to one side. Both looked okay. “How did he do that?” I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know how Seth had tapped into all of us without even touching us. My gaze finally fell on Solos. “Oh gods,” I whispered, quickly averting my gaze. What Atlas had whispered in my dream the night before had also been right. Dig a grave. He was . . . I closed my eyes, biting down on my lower lip until I tasted blood. Pain opened in my chest, overshadowing the physical aches that bit and chewed at me. Solos was gone. Him falling had tipped Seth over an edge, a very precarious edge I hadn’t even realized he’d been teetering on this . . . this entire time. I was numb, sitting between where Seth had fallen and where Solos lay. This scent of death was different than what followed the shades. This . . . this was heavier, more real.

I let the monster take over. My lips moved and I spoke the words I’d heard before, words that would unlock the ultimate power—words that Alex spoke once before. I didn’t understand how this worked. I also didn’t care. “Θάρρος.” Courage. A shock rippled across my body, followed by a wealth of warmth. Determination poured into my chest. “Δύναµη,” I said. Strength. Another jolt of power hit me, charging me up. The warmth turned to heat, invading my muscles, breaking them down and rebuilding them rapidly. Someone shouted, a high-pitched scream. There was a yell, a rougher and heavier gasp. I kept going as I stepped forward, through the shades circling Atlas. “Απόλυτη εξουσία.” Absolute power. Amber light radiated through the room. Screams pitched higher as every cell in my body hummed with power. Glyphs appeared on my skin, swirling fast. The shades flew backward, revealing a transfixed Atlas. I finished it. “Αήττητο.

The other notable Titans were OCEAN, the river that was supposed to encircle the earth; his wife TETHYS; HYPERION, the father of the sun, the moon, and the dawn; MNEMOSYNE, which means Memory; THEMIS, usually translated by Justice; and IAPETUS, important because of his sons, ATLAS, who bore the world on his shoulders,

No—not the memory of his father but the fallout, the waves of loneliness, the sense of inadequacy, the pervasive, enduring gloom. The tiptoeing, the perilous sense that at any moment he might step wrong, might cause something to break, might awaken the beast inside his father’s chest. Might summon to life the titan who ruled over his happiness, who dwarfed his own diminished sense of self. He felt the acrid sense of fear, the thought that was not really a thought, but just the heightened sense of run. That fight-or-flight, bitter and rancid. The rage in his heart, thud-thudding with his pulse. The fear that his anger was inherited. That his own soul, like his father’s, was flawed.

The other notable Titans were OCEAN, the river that was supposed to encircle the earth; his wife TETHYS; HYPERION, the father of the sun, the moon, and the dawn; MNEMOSYNE, which means Memory; THEMIS, usually translated by Justice; and IAPETUS, important because of his sons, ATLAS, who bore the world on his shoulders, and PROMETHEUS, who was the savior of mankind.

Grinning, Atlas followed her inside. He liked this softer side of her. She stood in the center, twirling, clearly trying to take everything in at once. He’d spread furs on the floor and had even carted a small round table here and piled it high with her favorite foods. There was a porcelain tub already filled with steaming water, rose petals floating on the surface. Never let it be said that the Titan god of Strength did not know how to romance a woman. Nike’s

-Exposition: the workings of the actual past + the virtual past may be illustrated by an event well known to collective history, such as the sinking of the Titanic. The disaster as it actually occurred descends into obscurity as its eyewitnesses die off, documents perish + the wreck of the ship dissolves in its Atlantic grave. Yet a virtual sinking of the Titanic, created from reworked memories, papers, hearsay, fiction--in short, belief--grows ever 'truer.' The actual past is brittle, ever-dimming + ever more problematic to access + reconstruct: in contrast, the virtual past is malleable, ever-brightening + ever more difficult to circumvent/expose as fraudulent. -The present presses the virtual past into its own service, to lend credence to its mythologies + legitimacy to the imposition of will. Power seeks + is the right to 'landscape' the virtual past. (He who pays the historian calls the tune.) -Symmetry demands an actual + virtualfuture, too. We imagine how next week, next year, or 2225 will shape up--a virtual future, constructed by wishes, prophecies + daydreams. This virtual future may influence the actual future, as in a self-fulfilling prophecy, but the actual future will eclipse our virtual one as surely as tomorrow eclipses today. Like Utopia, the actual future + the actual past exist only in the hazy distance, where they are no good to anyone. -Q: Is there a meaningful distinction between one simulacrum of smoke, mirrors + shadows--the actual past--from another such simulacrum--the actual future? -One model of time: an infinite matryoshka doll of painted moments, each 'shell' (the present) encased inside a nest of 'shells' (previous presents) I call the actual past but which we perceive as the virtual past. The doll of 'now' likewise encases a nest of presents yet to be, which I call the actual future but which we perceive as the virtual future. -Proposition: I am in love with Luisa Ray.

And Seth . . . I didn’t even know what was up with Seth, who he was going to be when he woke up. The Seth who made horrible mistakes but wanted to do better? The Seth who’d stood in the bedroom, vulnerable and nearly broken as he apologized? Or the Seth who had leveled all of us, including Atlas? He hadn’t just tapped into my aether. He’d gotten all of us, something none of us had known he could do, and deep down, I honestly didn’t believe Seth had even realized he could do that until he’d done it.

Exposition: the workings of the actual past + the virtual past may be illustrated by an event well known to collective history, such as the sinking of the Titanic. The disaster as it actually occurred descends into obscurity as its eyewitnesses die off, documents perish + the wreck of the ship dissolves in its Atlantic grave. Yet a virtual sinking of the Titanic, created from reworked memories, papers, hearsay, fiction - in short, belief - grows ever “truer.” The actual past is brittle, ever-dimming + ever more problematic to access + reconstruct: in contrast, the virtual past is malleable, ever-brightening + ever more difficult to circumvent/expose as fraudulent. The present presses the virtual past into its own service, to lend credence to its mythologies + legitimacy to the imposition of will. Power seeks + is the right to “landscape” the virtual past. (He who pays the historian calls the tune.) Symmetry demands an actual + virtual future, too. We imagine how next week, next year, or 2225 will shape up - a virtual future, constructed by wishes, prophecies + daydreams. This virtual future may influence the actual future, as in a self-fulfilling prophecy, but the actual future will eclipse our virtual one as surely as tomorrow eclipses today. Like Utopia, the actual future + the actual past exist only in the hazy distance, where they are no good to anyone. Q: Is there a meaningful distinction between one simulacrum of smoke, mirrors + shadows - the actual past - from another such simulacrum - the actual future? One model of time: an infinite matryoshka doll of painted moments, each “shell” (the present) encased inside a nest of “shells” (previous presents) I call the actual past but which we perceive as the virtual past. The doll of “now” likewise encases a nest of presents yet to be, which I call the actual future but which we perceive as the virtual future. Proposition: I have fallen in love with Luisa Rey.

They wore full-coverage raid suits, thick-filtered helmets, their gloves embellished with a ridge of claw-like, upturned hooks along each knuckle, all emblazoned with the logo of Atlas—Greek Titan of Endurance—shouldering the world in a neon blue silhouette.

The General sneered. "You have no right to interfere, little hero. This is a family matter." I frowned. "A family matter?" "Yes," Zoë said bleakly. "Atlas is my father.

Halstead let me take in the wonder of it for a few moments before he spoke. “Do you remember the Titan Atlas, from Greek mythology?” I gave the slightest nod, unwilling to lose even a second of the vision I enjoyed. Halstead walked back to the window. “The Greeks saw the heavens as one great dome. They imagined the stars were attached to the dome and that it spun upon Atlas’s shoulders, which caused the stars to rise and set.” As I gazed at the stars, I imagined the dome slowly spinning, held up under the strength of Atlas. But the weight of it. “How does he bear it, do you think?” I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud until Halstead made a sound of consideration. When he spoke, his words were strained. “It is simple. He has no other choice.

Zoe had known all along that the oracle's prophecy was about her: she would die by a parent's hand. And yet she'd taken the quest anyway. She had chosen to save me, and Atlas' fury had broken her inside.

had approximately ten operational nuclear warheads. Two months earlier Lanphier had argued before Congress that if Convair had been allowed to start building Atlas missiles in 1957 it would have four hundred of them by now. One month before the shoot-down he made a specific plea for an order for one hundred Atlases and twenty Titans. After May 1, he never had to plead again. A contract with Convair was signed and by 1963 the Air Force’s Strategic Air Command had thirteen Atlas missile squadrons with one hundred thirty-seven ICBMs between them. Twenty-six years later, each superpower had roughly nine thousand warheads. Harold Macmillan called the U-2 affair “a very queer story.” For the defense industry, it was also a very happy one. *

Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu (5 mentions) Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand (4) Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari (4) Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse (4) The 4-Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss (4) The Checklist Manifesto by Atul Gawande (4) Dune by Frank Herbert (3) Influence by Robert Cialdini (3)

Calypso the goddess nymph of the mythical island of Ogygia; a daughter of the Titan Atlas. She detained the hero Odysseus for many years.

As for me, I did the stupidest thing of my life, which is saying a lot. I attacked the Titan Lord Atlas.