Au Powder Quotes

I knew it was my duty to my own legend to survive this trial. But I was still crippled by my own devices. Imagine me as a great fully-rigged man-of-war. Four masts, great bulwarks of oak and five score cannon. All my life I have sailed smooth seas and waters that parted for me by virtue of my own splendor. Never tested. Never riled. A tragic existence, if ever there was one. “But at long last: a storm! And when I met it I found my hull . . . rotten. My planks leaking brine, my cannon brittle, powder wet. I foundered upon the storm. Upon you, Darrow of Lykos.” He sighs. “And it was my own fault.” I war between wanting to punch him in the mouth and surrendering into my curiosity by letting him continue. He’s a strange man with a seductive presence. Even as an enemy, his flamboyance fascinated me. Purple capes in battle. A horned Minotaur helmet. Trumpets blaring to signal his advance, as if welcoming all challengers. He even broadcast opera as his men bombarded cities. After so much isolation, he’s delighting in imposing his narrative upon us. “My peril is thus: I am, and always have been, a man of great tastes. In a world replete with temptation, I found my spirit wayward and easy to distract. The idea of prison, that naked, metal world, crushed me. The first year, I was tormented. But then I remembered the voice of a fallen angel. ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven.’ I sought to make the deep not just my heaven, but my womb of rebirth. “I dissected the underlying mistakes which led to my incarceration and set upon an internal odyssey to remake myself. But—and you would know this, Reaper—long is the road up out of hell! I made arrangements for supplies. I toiled twenty hours a day. I reread the books of youth with the gravity of age. I perfected my body. My mind. Planks were replaced; new banks of cannon wrought in the fires of solitude. All for the next storm. “Now I see it is upon me and I sail before you the paragon of Apollonius au Valii-Rath. And I ask one question: for what purpose have you pulled me from the deep?” “Bloodyhell, did you memorize that?” Sevro mutters.

Ndani ya kibweta cha risasi kuna vitu vitano vyenye uwezo wa kulipuka kama vile risasi, kasha, baruti, kitako na fataki. Risasi hutumika kama kombora – kitu kinachoweza kusafiri hewani na kulipuka baada au kabla ya kugonga shabaha – wakati kasha kazi yake ni kuhifadhi vitu vyote vya kibweta kwa pamoja kusudi visisambae. Baruti inayotoa au isiyotoa moshi ni poda yenye uwezo wa kulipuka ambayo ndani yake kuna mkaa, salfa na shura; ambayo husukuma kombora mbele kwa nguvu kubwa baada ya fataki kulipuka kupitia katika kitako cha kibweta. Kitako cha kibweta hutumika kama kiziduo cha risasi kutoka katika chemba ya silaha, wakati fataki kazi yake ni kuwashia baruti.

gâteau au yaourt (Yogurt Cake) 2 six-ounce containers plain whole-milk (not reduced-fat) yogurt. Use the empty containers to measure the other ingredients 2 eggs 2 containers sugar (or just one, depending on how sweet you like it) 1 teaspoon vanilla Just under 1 container vegetable oil 4 containers flour 1 1⁄2 teaspoons baking powder Crème fraîche (optional) Preheat oven to 375oF. Use vegetable oil to grease a 9-inch round cake pan or a loaf pan. Gently combine the yogurt, eggs, sugar, vanilla, and oil. In a separate bowl, mix the flour and baking powder. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients; mix gently until ingredients are just combined (don’t overmix). You can add 2 containers frozen berries, a container of chocolate chips, or any flavoring you like. Bake for 35 minutes, then five minutes more if the cake doesn’t pass the knife test. It should be almost crispy on the outside, but springy on the inside. Let it cool. The cake is delicious served with tea and a dollop of crème fraîche.

Rumor had it that the South Vietnamese troops were purveyers of heroin, and I wandered into the South Vietnamese unit's perimeter and, in French, asked a sergeant for some. He summoned another soldier, and soon I had in my hand a plastic envelope with minute quantities of white powder in it. "C'est de la bonne qualité, au moins?" I asked. And to try to show some expertise, I added, "Pas trop de lactose?"—the powdered milk with which heroin was habitually cut. The sergeant grinned, showing a formidable expanse of gold teeth. "Lactose cher, héroïne pas cher," he said.