Banner Saga Quotes

Think of the glory. Think of your reputation. Think how great it'll look on your next resume." On my cenotaph, you mean. Nobody will be able to collect enough of my scattered atoms to bury. You going to cover my funeral expenses, son?" Splendidly. Banners, dancing girls, and enough beer to float your coffin to Valhalla." - Miles coaxing Ky Tung to agree to an almost suicidal mission

And Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustation even more distinct now in his black eyes. I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake. "Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I haden't heard. "The Krebs Circle," Edward answered, seeming relucant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner. I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find my place. Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me - just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

In the loudest voice I could muster, I shouted, "As of this moment, you are no longer the armies of China, Macedonia, Myanmar, Tibet or India. You are now warriors of Durga! We have already fought and overcome many fierce creatures. Now we give you the symbol of their power." I borrowed the Scarf and touched it to my Pearl Necklace. The silken material sped down each and every soldier to cloak them in the most brilliant red, blue, green, gold and white. Even the flag bearers were not left out and now held banners depicting Durga riding her tiger into battle. "Red for the heart of a Phoenix that sees through falsehood!" I cheered and raided the trident. "Blue for the Monsters of the Deep that rip apart those who dare to cross their domain! Gold for Metal Birds that cut their enemies with razor beaks! Green for the Horde of Hanuman that comes alive to protect that which is most precious! And white for the Dragons of the Five Oceans, whose cunning and power has no equal!

Then quiet, but clear as a shout, the King called, ‘Here!’ and flung his own sword, hilt first, into the air. Arthur’s hand shot out and caught it by the hilt. I saw it catch the light. The white horse reared again. The standard was up, and streaming in the wind, scarlet on gold. There was a great shout, spreading out from the centre of the field where the white stallion, treading blood, leapt forward under the Dragon banner. Shouting, the men surged with him. I saw the standardbearer hesitate fractionally, looking back at the King, but the King waved him forward, then lay back, smiling, in his chair. And

But as they stared into "The Star Spangled Banner," the music was blessedly drowned out by the squeal and moan of the barking train, iron on iron, a truer anthem of America.

The worst storms were the ones that changed you. The ones you remembered not for how bad they objectively were, but for how much damage they did to your own world. Banners, planted in memory.

My lieutenants and I arrive at the battle in time to see Tactus climbing the highest tower, a knife in his teeth. There, standing on the edge of the hundred-meter parapet like some careless Greek champion, he pulls down his pants and pisses on the banner of House Apollo.

SILENT, SHE WAITS FOR the sky to fall, standing upon an island of volcanic rock amidst a black sea. The long moonless night yawns before her. The only sounds, a flapping banner of war held in her lover’s hand and the warm waves that kiss her steel boots. Her heart is heavy. Her spirit wild. Peerless knights tower behind her. Salt spray beads on their family crests—emerald centaurs, screaming eagles, gold sphinxes, and the crowned skull of her father’s grim house. Her Golden eyes look to the heavens. Waiting. The water heaves in. Out. The heartbeat of her silence.

He stood staring at the water as it rippled and calmed. It was the only thing Daylon could see that wasn’t covered in death; all around him, the mud of the battlefield was awash in piss, shit, and blood, pieces of what had once been brave men, and the muck covered banners of fools.

Above all, the story of the Stato da Mar is a saga about trade. Alone in all the world, Venice was organized to buy and sell. The Venetians were merchants to their fingertips; they calculated risk, return, and profit with scientific precision. The red and gold lion banner of Saint Mark fluttered from mastheads like a corporate logo. Trade was their creation myth and their justification, for which they were frequently reviled by more terrestrial neighbors. There exists no more explicit description of the city's raison d'être and its anxieties than the appeal it made to the pope in 1343 for permission to trade with the Muslim world: "Since, by the Grace of God, our city has grown and increased by the labors of merchants creating traffic and profits for us in diverse parts of the world by land and sea and this is our life and that of our sons, because we cannot live otherwise and know not how except by trade, therefore we must be vigilant in all our thoughts and endeavors, as our predecessors were, to make provision in every way lest so much wealth and treasure should disappear." The appeal's gloomy conclusion echoes a manic-depressive streak in the Venetian soul. The city's prosperity rested on nothing tangible — no landholdings, no natural resources, no agricultural production or large population. There was literally no solid ground underfoot. Physical survival depended on a fragile ecological balance. Venice was perhaps the first virtual economy, whose vitality baffled outsiders. It harvested nothing but barren gold and lived in perpetual fear that, if its trade routes were severed, the whole magnificent edifice might simply collapse.

Here lies the union," one banner proclaimed. "Born 4th July, 1776. Died 7th November, 1860." "The clouds are threatening," Anderson wrote in his report to Washington. "And the storm may break upon us at any moment." In fact, the clouds had been gathering for decades.

Today, I grieve with the rest of America over the loss of President David Collins. He was a great man, someone who inspired us to do great things. Now, we must prove to him that Americans can do these great things. We will bring America forward, and if you join me, you too will be part of this great new chapter in American history. We have gotten our priorities wrong these past few years, and I will steer us onto the correct path. “Effective immediately, the United States military will be under the control of the United Nations. As we speak, security forces are rounding up officers who are a threat to the peace and security of this government. If you’re an enlisted person in the military, you’re welcome to re-enlist under the banner of the United Nations. Most administrative matters concerning the day-to-day operations of running the United States will fall to the administrative offices of the United Nations. My fellow Americans, we can become a great partner to the United Nations and join the world community as global citizens. We will go forward into the future.

Death is for all mortal men. Do not fear it, for it will find you in the end. Fear only that you cannot embrace it when it arrives.

At the city level, redistricting battles affected both the City Council and School Committee. In both cases, the use of an at-large election format marginalized black voters.

He also made us understand that we could not maintain our own dignity by denying the right of dignity to others.

However, there was a continuing interest in classical music in the black community. Everyone was proud of Eugene Walcott, the city’s best violinist among my contemporaries. He later became better known as Minister Louis Farrakhan of the Nation of Islam.

It is also historically important to note that black citizens rose in the 1960s primarily to confront the attack on their rights to a quality education. That was a far more significant issue than racially integrated classrooms. Inexperienced teachers, overcrowded classrooms, and deteriorating schools were the major complaints. Strategists supported integration only in the belief that the School Committee would be less likely to withhold funds from schools with a substantial white student body.

That optimism aside, Louise Day Hicks had entered Congress, setting up a similarly urgent campaign to drive her from the seat in her 1972 reelection bid. But this time around, David Nelson was out of the running. After the 1970 race, Nelson began serving as assistant attorney general under Robert Quinn, and by 1972 was in line for an appointment to a federal judgeship. For his part, Moakley’s second run for the seat came as an independent. This ensured Moakley would appear on the final ballot, competing with Hicks for an electorate that had over one hundred thousand more voters. With Moakley and Nelson out of the Democratic primary, advocates who wanted to organize against Hicks needed a new candidate.

The problems of the 1960s were not simply a case of history repeating itself from the racial discrimination in Boston of black students in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. When such racial discrimination became illegal in 1855, public officials complied, and black and white students were able to attend class together. That state law is still valid. However, the 1855 state statute and the 1954 Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education were both insufficient to deter Boston’s bigoted School Committee in the mid-twentieth century.

For decades, Boston’s black citizens petitioned the school board for fair treatment but to no avail. Finally, in 1787, Boston blacks demanded that the state legislature provide alternative education opportunities for blacks—a campaign to establish the concept of racially separate schools. Boston’s so-called “free schools” did not benefit black children. As might be expected, the legislature refused their request even though this was 152 years after public schools were established in Boston with the founding of Boston Latin School. Black boys and girls had endured incessant bullying and harassment in the public schools. So, contrary to the petition for integrated schools in the Brown v. Board of Education case that was decided by the US Supreme Court in 1954, Boston blacks sought all-black schools 167 years earlier. This is historically the first time in the nation that blacks tried to separate from whites in schools.

The Obelisk rises, stained red all along the bottom. Blood runs through the grooves. People from the crowd rush forward to dip their kerchiefs and banners in the blood troughs.

But the most notable event in the life of Earl Sigurd was that which befel him as he lay in the harbour of Osmondwall shortly after his accession to the earldom. Olaf Tryggvason, King of Norway, returning from a western cruise, happened to run his vessels into the same harbour, as the Pentland Firth was not to be passed that day. On hearing that the earl was there he sent for him on board his ship, and told him, without much parley, that he must allow himself to be baptized, and make all his people profess the Christian faith. The Flateyjarbók says that the king took hold of Sigurd’s boy, who chanced to be with him, and drawing his sword, gave the earl the choice of renouncing for ever the faith of his fathers, or of seeing his boy slain on the spot. In the position in which he found himself placed, Sigurd became a nominal convert, but there is every reason to believe that the Christianity which was thus forced upon the Islanders was for a long time more a name than a reality. Nearly twenty years afterwards we find Earl Sigurd bearing his own raven-banner “woven with mighty spells,” at the battle of Clontarf, against the Christian king Brian; and Sigurd’s fall was made known in Caithness by the twelve weird sisters (the Valkyriar of the ancient mythology) weaving the woof of war:—[27] “The woof y-woven With entrails of men, The warp hardweighted With heads of the slain.