Cautious Hero Quotes

So,’ she said cautiously, 'is all this your way of telling me you’re the villain?’ His chuckle was dark. 'I’m definitely not the hero.’ 'I already knew that,’ Tella said. 'It’s my story, so clearly I’m the hero.

A tiny dark object came sailing out of the window and landed at the giant's feet. Polybotes yelled, "Grenade!" He covered his face. His troops hit the ground. When the thing did not explode, Polybotes bent down cautiously and picked it up. He roared in outrage. "A Ding Dong? You dare insult me with a Ding Dong?" He threw the cake back at the shop, and it vaporized in the light.

The modern spirit is a hesitant one. Spontaneity has given way to cautious legalisms, and the age of heroes has been superseded by a cult of specialization. We have no more giants; only obedient ants.

When the thing did not explode, Polybotes bent down cautiously and picked it up. He roared in outrage. "A Ding Dong? You dare insult me with a Ding Dong?

And what part of that doesn’t scream ‘terrible trap’?” Claire ceded that point. “You’re awfully cautious for a hero sometimes.” “The living ones usually are.

Who would appreciate such candor? No one. None of us really likes honesty. We prefer deception –but only when it is unabashedly flattering or artfully camouflaged. Groups seem to need to believe that they are superior to others and that they have a purpose greater than just passing along their genes to the next generation. Individuals seem to need similar delusions – about who they are and why they do what they do. They need heroes, however fraudulent… Studies show that people are more likely to accept the opinion of a confident con man than the cautious view of someone who actually knows what he is talking about. And professionals who form overconfident opinions on the basis of incorrect readings of the facts are more likely to succeed than their more competent peers who display greater doubt. What’s more, deception works best, according to studies by psychologists, when the person doing the deceiving is fool enough to be deceived, too; that is, when he believes his own lies. That is why incompetent leaders – who are naïve enough to fall for their own guff – are such a danger to civilized life. If they are modern leaders, they must also delude themselves into thinking they know how to make the world a better place. Invariably, the answers they propose to problems are ones that bubble up from their own vanity, the essence of which is to make the rest of the world look just like them!

Bravery is all well and good, but sometimes it's much better to be cautious.

So this was our adventure. And the prince and the princess get married and live happily ever after, with many children to warm the in their old age.' He had probably heard that phrase thousands of times in his life. It was a common way for a minstrel to end a hero tale. 'Perhaps,' I said cautiously. 'Perhaps.' 'What happens to the rest of us?

Who is this cautious unhoping young woman? Where is the hero who bore such batterings for love and stood up before witnesses to ask me to be a hero too? And I am a hero now. Can't you see? We can be an army of two. We can be Plato's perfect army: lovers, who will never behave dishonorably in each other's sight, and invincible. Let the world either kill us or grow accustomed to us; here we stand.

Pyotr was the arcane hero, complete with buff body that you secretly whacked off to as a boy. And suddenly he turned and stared straight at him, some carnal fire burning in his eyes now. Pyotr walked for him slow and cautious like he was fighting his own control just then. Cliff could only gape and his eyes followed Pyotr’s hand as it reached out to clap his shoulder then moved him firmly for the car.

The berth belongs to you too. It will always be there when—if you want to come back.” Inej could not speak. Her heart felt too full, a dry creek bed ill-prepared for such rain. “I don’t know what to say.” His bare hand flexed on the crow’s head of his cane. The sight was so strange Inej had trouble tearing her eyes from it. “Say you’ll return.” “I’m not done with Ketterdam.” She hadn’t known she meant it until she said the words. Kaz cast her a swift glance. “I thought you wanted to hunt slavers.” “I do. And I want your help.” Inej licked her lips, tasted the ocean on them. Her life had been a series of impossible moments, so why not ask for something impossible now? “It’s not just the slavers. It’s the procurers, the customers, the Barrel bosses, the politicians. It’s everyone who turns a blind eye to suffering when there’s money to be made.” “I’m a Barrel boss.” “You would never sell someone, Kaz. You know better than anyone that you’re not just one more boss scraping for the best margin.” “The bosses, the customers, the politicians,” he mused. “That could be half the people in Ketterdam—and you want to fight them all.” “Why not?” Inej asked. “One the seas and in the city. One by one.” “Brick by brick,” he said. Then he gave a single shake of his head, as if shrugging off the notion. “I wasn’t made to be a hero, Wraith. You should have learned that by now. You want me to be a better man, a good man. I—“ “This city doesn’t need a good man. It needs you.” “Inej—“ “How many times have you told me you’re a monster? So be a monster. Be the thing they all fear when they close their eyes at night. We don’t go after all the gangs. We don’t shut down the houses that treat fairly with their employees. We go after women like Tante Heleen, men like Pekka Rollins.” She paused. “And think about it this way…you’ll be thinning the competition.” He made a sound that might almost have been a laugh. One of his hands balanced on his cane. The other rested at his side next to her. She’d need only move the smallest amount and they’d be touching. He was that close. He was that far from reach. Cautiously, she let her knuckles brush against his, a slight weight, a bird’s feather. He stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m not ready to give up on this city, Kaz. I think it’s worth saving.” I think you’re worth saving. Once they’d stood on the deck of a ship and she’d waited just like this. He had not spoken then and he did not speak now. Inej felt him slipping away, dragged under, caught in an undertow that would take him farther and farther from shore. She understood suffering and knew it was a place she could not follow, not unless she wanted to drown too. Back on Black Veil, he’d told her they would fight their way out. Knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying. She felt his knuckles slide again hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine.

I mustn’t color them, twist them, or tell any lies. I’ll proceed step by step, slowly and cautiously. But where to begin? I should introduce myself, but perhaps not quite yet; after all, I am not the hero of this tale.

Silence envelops Washington’s deeds. He moved cautiously; one could say that he felt charged with the liberty of future generations and feared compromising it. It was not his own destiny that this new species of hero carried; it was the destiny of his country.

It was my experience the only people who didn’t tread cautiously with badasses were kids. They adored badasses and had no qualms approaching or engaging them in conversation. Badasses were kid magnets, and if the badass was a true badass, he had no qualms about this either.

The Honorable Ferdy, who had been pondering at intervals all day how his cousin's wife came by such a peculiar name, now introduced a new note into the conversation by saying suddenly, 'Can't make it out at all! You're sure you've got that right, Sherry?' 'Got what right?' 'Hero,' said Ferdy, frowning. 'Look at it which way you like, it don't make sense. For one thing, a hero ain't a female, and for another it ain't a "name." At least,' he added cautiously, 'it ain't one I've ever heard of. Ten to one you've made one of your muffs, Sherry!' 'Oh no, I truly am called Hero!' the lady assured him. 'It's out of Shakespeare.' 'Oh, out of "Shakespeare," is it?' said Ferdy. 'That accounts for my not having heard it before.' 'You're out of Shakespeare too,' said Hero, helping herself liberally from a dish of green peas. 'I am?' Ferdy exclaimed, much struck. 'Yes, in the "Tempest," I think.' 'Well, if that don't beat all!' Ferdy said, looking around at his friends. 'She says I'm out of Shakespeare! Must tell my father that. Shouldn't think he knows.

Numbers express quantities. In the submissions to my online survey, however, respondents frequently attributed qualities to them. Noticeably, colors. The number that was most commonly described as having its own color was four (52 votes), which most respondents (17) said was blue. Seven was next (28 votes), which most respondents (9) said was green, and in third place came five (27 votes), which most respondents (9) said was red. Seeing colors in numbers is a manifestation of synesthesia, a condition in which certain concepts can trigger incongruous responses, and which is thought to be the result of atypical connections being made between parts of the brain. In the survey, numbers were also labeled “warm,” “crisp,” “chagrined,” “peaceful,” “overconfident,” “juicy,” “quiet” and “raw.” Taken individually, the descriptions are absurd, yet together they paint a surprisingly coherent picture of number personalities. Below is a list of the numbers from one to thirteen, together with words used to describe them taken from the survey responses. One Independent, strong, honest, brave, straightforward, pioneering, lonely. Two Cautious, wise, pretty, fragile, open, sympathetic, quiet, clean, flexible. Three Dynamic, warm, friendly, extrovert, opulent, soft, relaxed, pretentious. Four Laid-back, rogue, solid, reliable, versatile, down-to-earth, personable. Five Balanced, central, cute, fat, dominant but not too much so, happy. Six Upbeat, sexy, supple, soft, strong, brave, genuine, courageous, humble. Seven Magical, unalterable, intelligent, awkward, overconfident, masculine. Eight Soft, feminine, kind, sensible, fat, solid, sensual, huggable, capable. Nine Quiet, unobtrusive, deadly, genderless, professional, soft, forgiving. Ten Practical, logical, tidy, reassuring, honest, sturdy, innocent, sober. Eleven Duplicitous, onomatopoeic, noble, wise, homey, bold, sturdy, sleek. Twelve Malleable, heroic, imperial, oaken, easygoing, nonconfrontational. Thirteen Gawky, transitional, creative, honest, enigmatic, unliked, dark horse. You don’t need to be a Hollywood screenwriter to spot that Mr. One would make a great romantic hero, and Miss Two a classic leading lady. The list is nonsensical, yet it makes sense. The association of one with male characteristics, and two with female ones, also remains deeply ingrained.

wealthy Georgian named Charles Augustus Lafayette Lamar, who bought the Wanderer, a luxury yacht, in New York and outfitted her for slaving. Around the time Meaher made his bet, Lamar was being lionized as a hero in newspapers across the nation as tales of the Africans he smuggled into the country spread. Relying on family money to make his start, Lamar was involved in horse racing, gold mining, road building, and the shipping of cotton. However, it appears he was not particularly good at any of those endeavors, and was repeatedly bailed out of financial disasters by his father, Gazaway. A family history going back three hundred years contains a small mention of Charles, describing him as “a dangerous man, and with all his apparent recklessness and lawlessness, a cautious man, too.” Perhaps not too cautious, as he was known to often resort to violence. While serving as an alderman on the Savannah City Council in 1853, he was arrested for “disorderly conduct and fighting in the streets.” In 1858, he shot out a friend’s eye while attempting to defend his uncle in a fight. Ultimately, he was the last person killed in the Civil War, in a small battle fought in Columbus, Georgia, seven days after the surrender at Appomattox.

Anyway, I figured there was no better way to make Mason a hero than having him save the mayor’s wife. That’s why I paid someone to attack her while she was running. Mason was supposed to stumble on them and make it look like he saved her. Throw him off her, and she’d tell the frightened story of how he’d rescued her. We practiced the throw hundreds of times just like we’d practiced for all his psychological tests. He learned it almost as fast as he’d learned how to not react to physical pain. Mason’s always been such a fast learner, especially if you take away his food, and he’ll do just about anything for kisses—real ones or chocolate. I can’t believe this is happening after I was so careful. I took my time finding the right guy for the job. Nothing about it was rushed or hurried. I responded to lots of different handyman ads on Craigslist and screened each one thoroughly before letting anyone near my house. Even fewer got selected for the job, and then I watched them for weeks, testing them out on little tasks first to see if they could be trusted. I was so cautious and careful, but I knew something had gone horribly wrong from the moment Simon instead of the guy I hired from Craigslist stepped out from behind the trees. It’s only gotten worse since.

Had I been in my generator box, observing Kathleen Scott and Douglas Mawson during their lunch, I might have described them, in penguin terms, as approaching each other cautiously and bowing. That is, in the very preliminary stage of courtship when a female investigates a male performing his ecstatic display. Most often it goes nowhere: she turns and runs away. Most often.

There is no doubt in my mind that some other young man, who responded more cautiously to the impulses of his heart, who had learned to love tepidly rather than hotly, whose judgment was correct, even though a bit too dispassionate (and therefore cheap) for his age—that that young man would certainly have avoided the pitfall of my young hero. I submit, however, that there are cases when there is more honor in allowing ourselves to be swayed even by unreasonable passion, as long as it stems from a great love, than in not being subjected to it at all. And that is particularly true in youth, for there is something suspect about a young person who is always very reasonable, and I do not rate such a person very highly.

No doubt some other young man, cautious in his response to spiritual influences, lukewarm and detached in his affections, and possessing an astute but, for his years, altogether too calculating and therefore meretricious mind, such a young man, I maintain, would have avoided the situation that confronted my hero, but in certain cases it is truly nobler to succumb to one’s emotions, even imprudent ones, than not to give in to them at all. This is especially true in our youth, for the young man who is too dispassionate cannot be relied upon with certainty, and in my opinion is pretty worthless.

Apparently, no one in the store was impressed. A tiny dark object came sailing out the window and landed at the giant’s feet. Polybotes yelled, “Grenade!” He covered his face. His troops hit the ground. When the thing did not explode, Polybotes bent down cautiously and picked it up. He roared in outrage. “A Ding Dong? You dare insult me with a Ding Dong?” He threw the cake back at the shop, and it vaporized in the light. The monsters got to their feet. Several muttered hungrily, “Ding Dongs? Where Ding Dongs?

You are like a panther. You are strong, brave, resolute, graceful and stunningly beautiful, yet cat-like cautious and distrustful.

Paul von Hindenburg was a popular Prussian field marshal, statesman, and politician during World War I. In 1919, Hindenburg, who was a proud, self-assured general officer, was subpoenaed to appear before the Reichstag commission, which can be thought of as Germany’s Congress. He cautiously avoided answering any questions about who was responsible for Germany’s defeat in the “World War of 1918.” Instead of a direct answer, he read a prepared statement that had been carefully scrutinized in advance by his attorney. Hindenburg, ever mindful of his legacy, testified that the German Army had been on the verge of winning the war in the autumn of 1918, and that the enormous defeat had been caused by a Dolchstoß, a traitorous blow. By saying this he deflected any personal fault for the war, by insinuating that treacherous individuals and unpatriotic left- leaning socialist politicians were to blame for the demoralizing and embarrassing defeat. Despite being threatened with a contempt citation by the Commission for refusing to respond to questions, Hindenburg, after reading his statement, simply walked out of the hearings. He successfully relied on his status as a nationalist and conservative war hero to provide him with protection from additional hearings or prosecution. It turned out that Hindenburg was actually right in his assessment, and he was never indicted for walking out on the Reichstag. In 1925, Hindenburg then became the second Weimar President.

It would have been easy for Donald to be a hero. People who have hated and criticized him would have forgiven or overlooked his endless stream of appalling actions if he’d simply had somebody take the pandemic preparedness manual down from the shelf where it was put after the Obama administration gave it to him. If he’d alerted the appropriate agencies and state governments at the first evidence the virus was highly contagious, had extremely high mortality rates, and was not being contained. If he’d invoked the Defense Production Act of 1950 to begin production of PPE, ventilators, and other necessary equipment to prepare the country to deal with the worst-case scenario. If he’d allowed medical and scientific experts to give daily press conferences during which facts were presented clearly and honestly. If he’d ensured that there was a systematic, top-down approach and coordination among all of the necessary agencies. Most of those tasks would have required almost no effort on his part. All he would have had to do was make a couple of phone calls, give a speech or two, then delegate everything else. He might have been accused of being too cautious, but most of us would have been safe and many more of us would have survived. Instead, states are forced to buy vital supplies from private contractors; the federal government commandeers those supplies, and then FEMA distributes them back to private contractors, who then resell them. While thousands of Americans die alone, Donald touts stock market gains. As my father lay dying alone, Donald went to the movies. If he can in any way profit from your death, he’ll facilitate it, and then he’ll ignore the fact that you died.