Christie Golden Quotes

It is as much of a mistake to underestimate yourself as to overestimate yourself.

Remember…you always have a choice to be better. You always have a choice to…to pick the right path.” She smiled sadly. “Even if that choice comes a little late.

We all are weak, in one way or another. It does not matter the species. Some times that weakness is a strength in dusguise. Sometimes it is our utter undoing. Some times it is both. A wise man seeks to find a lesson from it. A fool lets it control and destroy him. And sometimes the wise man is the fool.

How easily the mind can be turned to hate from a place of fear.

False modesty is as bad as false pride. Know exactly what you are capable of at any moment, and act accordingly. Any other path is folly—and could be deadly in battle.

It is a fool who repeats the same actions expecting a different outcome.

Simple' does not mean 'easy'. I have learned that the things that seem the simplest are often the most powerful of all.

... just because something had never been done before did not mean it could not be done.

Destruction is easy. But creating something that lasts is a challenge.

Cheers the spirit, humor does, even at the darkest times.

The wise man understands his weakness and seeks to find a lesson from it. The fool lets it control and destroy him.

You were given a gift. You were given the chance to see who you were, to learn from mistakes, and to change and grow. Few are granted such insight.

Clarity is often found in stillness.

A risky plan, but what is life without risk, eh?

Please…please don’t…” “You must let me go, my love,” Ventress said, her voice so gentle, so tender, and she smiled lovingly. “It’s the Jedi way.” And she was gone.

I am who I am. Whether in joy or in pain. I am who I am.

Humans are pathetically greedy and easy to manipulate.

There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.

What a meeting this was turning out to be! People were dropping out of sight like the characters in 'And Then There Were None', as they’re killed off one by one.

Brains and common sense. I had them both. Now to put them to work.

... but we cannot go back to happier times. We can only live in the present, and right now that present is painful.

Hate is powerful. Hate can be eternal. Hate can be manipulated. And hate can be created.

I wanted what we had. What we were going to have. Together. We had a future.

And you will forgive me too, one day, Asajj Ventress.” He hesitated, and took a breath. “That’s what you do for…for the one you love.

Your virtue is safe with me. Your discomfort is rather charming, actually, but I'm sure you'll get over it.

It is arrogance to believe you can know all things. Perhaps you are right. But perhaps you are not.

I am not going to waste time on revenge when my energy is better spent toward rebuilding.

Sometimes lessons take time to learn.

All things change, whether from inside out or the outside in. That is what magic is. And we are magic too.

We are, all of us, our own phoenixes, if we choose to be. Out of the ashes, we can be reborn.

One can not always believe what one hears.

You can't say it's a fair way to determine right or wrong one day, and then say it's unfair the next because you don't like the outcome.

My actions should depend on what I know, not what I suspect.

We best teach what we ourselves have learned.

Not all who become leaders crave the power that goes with it.

You can only act on what you do know. What your heart and your head and your gut tell you is right.

There are always options. And a wise man always has more than one plan.

But that is how one learns, is it not? By trying and failing?

Glory, battle, great momentsss, are where we give to the world. But we cannot give without receiving. We cannot share what we do not have inside. It is this quiet, the pause between breathsss, that makes us what we truly are. Gives us ssstrength for all our journeys.

Yes. I had misgivings from the beginning about this entire enterprise. I still believe that sending a Jedi to assassinate a man was wrong. And I fear that I will likely lose not only a fellow Jedi Master, but someone I consider a friend, and we will have nothing to show for such a loss.

How easily the mind can be turned to hate from a place of fear... ...Instead of focusing on the things that unite us, we focus on what divides us... ...My prayer, every day, is for wisdom to guide my people. And in that prayer is couched a plea, never to be blinded by such trivial differences.

Go ahead, spit it out,” she muttered. “You look…” Like a goddess of love and war and hope and ecstasy. Like a glimmering star that I have somehow been blessed to hold. Like the rest of my life. “…nice.” He wanted to kick himself. Ventress

Each life, a flame in the Force is. Beautiful. Unique. Glowing and precious, it stands, to bravely cast its own small light against the darkness that would consume it.” Yoda

But it is the mark of a leader, to hold all possibilities, even the unpleasant—even the unthinkable.

There are many paths open to us at all times, Jaina. As leaders of those who trust us, we owe it to them to examine every one.

It may make him overconfident. He may make foolish errors.

I am not your kind,” Vos said, his voice thick. “I do not feed off vengeance.” Truth was quiet. It did not need to shout or to demand. It simply existed. “I am a Jedi.

How have you managed to survive for so long, Saurfang? Not fallen victim to your own memories?” Saurfang smiled. “I don’t eat pork.

Ventress gave him a look that was so completely her, it tore him apart. “You don’t…tell me what to do, Idiot.” A small smile surprised him. “Never could,” he admitted. “Damn right.” Another bout of coughing racked her thin frame, and for a devastating, heart-scalding second Vos thought this would take her. But she continued. “I’m proud of you for…what you did over there. You chose loving me instead of hating him.” Her bloody-frothed lips curved in a smile. “Best choice you’ve ever made.

The eye cannot always be trusted. We think what we see is always real, that the light always reveals what is there the same way at all times. But light and shadow can be manipulated, directed, by those that understand it... And so your eye perceives something entirely different from what you thought was there.

There is no shame in fear, Orgrim and Durotan. Only in letting fear prevent you from doing the right thing.

What can I say? Every tooth I have is a sweet tooth,

Iden was, as far as she knew, the sole survivor out of over a million victims of this act of rebel terrorism.

Sometimes it is a dark path we must tread so that long more for the light, we shall.

The paths of Fate are many and varied,and no sane being should ever venture down the deceptively pleasant one of "if only".What happened,happened;

Fear makes people do cruel things, things they'll be ashamed of later

Life is not about reward and punishment,” said Xuen. “It is about understanding, accepting who oneself is right now, in order to know what to change, and how.

Few do, at first. A small step, the one that determines destiny often is.

He welcomed challenges; they kept him sharp, showed that he was approachable, and oftentimes made him explore avenues previously unthought-of.

This was how one should be welcomed home. With the happy cries of children and family, with the blessings of the natural world.

Hope is what you have when all other things have failed you,” he said. “Where there is hope, you make room for healing, for all things that are possible—and some that are not.

I have no fear of killing those who deserve to die. I do not choose to kill those who do not.

me. That’s what it does. Nothing is ever enough. You get more, and more, but you’re never happy. It’s a trap baited with all the things you want most. That life—it’s not worth living.

Ner'zhul... Gul'dan. Two of the darkest names ever to sully the history of my people. And yet, Drek'thar tells me that once Ner'zhul was admired, even beloved, and truly cared for the people whos spiritual leader he was. It is hard to reconcile those words with what Ner'zhul has become, but I try. I try because I want to understand. And yet, try as I might... I do not.

And now, it’s too late, and I will never stop grieving that. But I’m on the path, Asajj. You bought my chance with blood, and I won’t waste it, I swear I won’t. Every day, every minute of my life, I’ll live it. For me, and for you. I’ll fight, because you can’t, and I’ll laugh, and I’ll do everything I possibly can with everything I have in me to make things better, because this galaxy has seen too much of darkness.

Go ahead, spit it out,” she muttered. “You look…” Like a goddess of love and war and hope and ecstasy. Like a glimmering star that I have somehow been blessed to hold. Like the rest of my life. “…nice.” He wanted to kick himself.

Lad, no one feels ready. No one feels he deserves it. And you know why? Because no one does. It’s grace, pure and simple. We are inherently unworthy, simply because we’re human, and all human beings—aye, and elves, and dwarves, and all the other races—are flawed. But the Light loves us anyway. It loves us for what we sometimes can rise to in rare moments. It loves us for what we can do to help others. And it loves us because we can help it share its message by striving daily to be worthy, even though we understand that we can’t ever truly become so.

What is he like?" asked Khadgar, his voice almost pleading. "Like everyone else, I suppose." said Moroes. "Has his druthers. Has his moods. Good days and bad. Like everybody else." "puts his pants on one leg at a time," said Khadgar, sighing. "No. He levitates into them," said Moroes.

There are things you must do before that peace will be granted to you. Things that you must understand, that you must integrate into yourself. People who need your help. What one needs in order to heal will always come one's way, but sometimes it can be hard to recognize it. Sometimes the most beautiful and important gifts come wrapped in pain and blood.

Remember…you always have a choice to be better. You always have a choice to pick the right path --- Even if that choice comes a little late.

books by her favorite “Golden Age” British mystery writers—Josephine Tey, Margery Allingham, Dorothy Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, John Dickson Carr, and Agatha Christie—evil

All nights end, and all storms clear. The only storms that last are those within your own soul.

Jorum had called to the boys to come watch the miracle of birth. The “miracle of birth” was actually pretty disgusting, Arthas thought. He

It is as much of a mistake to underestimate yourself as to overestimate yourself,

Even here, even now, one did not joke about the Emperor.

We do not ‘suffer,’” said Garad. “We endure.

It’s all for the glory of the Empire, honey, and don’t you forget it.

Cheers the spirit, humor does, even at the darkest times. Yet

Such was the way of the discontented. No proof, no explanation or reason would ever be enough to disabuse them of tightly held, deeply cherished grievances.

We could still have it.

There’s no way to phrase this other than bluntly. Master Vos—the Council wants you to assassinate Count Dooku.

Once you realized that everyone with whom you associated was, potentially, happy to literally stab you in the back, all the wondering just . . . went away.

Vos knew he could never repay Kenobi for that, but he had the rest of his life to try.

Go on then, Sylvanas Windrunner. Tell me these truths you have never shared.

One of the things you'll learn, Anduin, is that sometimes you can't always do what you'd like to do. Or even do what you think is the right thing—at least not right away.

Strange as it was, he understood there was grace and strength in this pain; a reminder of what should never be forgotten.

Hope is what you have when all other things have failed. Where there is hope, you make room for healing, for all things that are possible-and some that are not.

Cooperation was possible; he’d seen it. Every individual was unique—and could grow.

Change, Jaina thought. It brings pain; it brings joy; and it is completely inescapable. We are, all of us, our own phoenixes, if we choose to be. Out of the ashes, we can be reborn.

But then the golden stars began to fall. The effect was incredible. Golden streaks against a dark sky. It was mesmerising. They floated down to about a metre above the ground and then winked out. I was transfixed by the beauty of it.

I will never, ever stop hoping for peace,' he said. His voice trembled with leashed emotion. 'I have seen too much good in too many people to paint them all as evil and worthy of slaughter. And I will also never stop believing that people can change. But I realize now that I've been like a farmer expecting to harvest crops from a poisoned field. It's simply not possible' . . . 'People can change,' Anduin repeated. 'But some people will never-never-desire to do so.

Do I wish I had chosen otherwise? Wishes do not a world make. We do the best we can where we are, every minute, every breath. We make mistakes, and we have to live with them. We try to learn from them. And that is all we can do. (Thrall)

Some orc clans are cruel. They enjoy tormenting and torturing their prey… and their enemies. A Frostwolf takes no joy in suffering. Not even in the suffering of our enemies, and certainly not in that of a simple beast which provides us with nourishment.

Lady Vereesa, Lady Sylvanas—you are ordered to report to His Majesty, the king, at once.” The two sisters looked at each other. “Something you did?” Vereesa asked—not as an accusation, but as a simple question. Sylvanas wasn’t angry; it was a reasonable assumption.

We are all weak, in one way or another. It does not matter the species. Sometimes that weakness is a strength in disguise. Sometimes it is our utter undoing. Sometimes it is both. The wise man understands his weakness and seeks to find a lesson from it. The fool lets it control and destroy him. And sometimes, the wise man is a fool.

Asajj Ventress is highly intelligent and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Skill and competence impress her.” Kenobi hesitated. “Shes also a very striking woman, physically. It might tip her off if you, er, don’t...notice her. And...she likes to trade barbs.” Vos snagged a fried kajaka root from Obi-Wan's plate and popped it into his mouth. “You were fighting her and chatting at the same time?

Todd wrapped his arm around her. They stood together in silent awe, watching the sunset. All Christy could think of was how this was what she had always wanted, to be held in Todd's arms as well as in his heart. Just as the last golden drop of sun melted into the ocean, Christy closed her eyes and drew in a deep draught of the sea air. "Did you know," Todd said softly, "that the setting sun looks so huge from the island of Papua New Guinea that it almost looks like you're on another planet? I've seen pictures." Then, as had happened with her reflection in her cup of tea and in her disturbing dream, Christy heard those two piercing words, "Let go." She knew what she had to do. Turning to face Todd, she said, "Pictures aren't enough for you, Todd. You have to go." "I will. Someday. Lord willing," he said casually. "Don't you see, Todd? The Lord is willing. This is your 'someday.' Your opportunity to go on the mission field is now. You have to go." Their eyes locked in silent communion. "God has been telling me something, Todd. He's been telling me to let you go. I don't want to, but I need to obey Him." Todd paused. "Maybe I should tell them I can only go for the summer. That way I'll only be gone a few months. A few weeks, really. We'll be back together in the fall." Christy shook her head. "It can't be like that, Todd. You have to go for as long as God tells you to go. And as long as I've known you, God has been telling you to go. His mark is on your life, Todd. It's obvious. You need to obey Him." "Kilikina," Todd said, grasping Christy by the shoulders, "do you realize what you're saying? If I go, I may never come back." "I know." Christy's reply was barely a whisper. She reached for the bracelet on her right wrist and released the lock. Then taking Todd's hand, she placed the "Forever" bracelet in his palm and closed his fingers around it. "Todd," she whispered, forcing the words out, "the Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you and give you His peace. And may you always love Jesus more than anything else. Even more than me." Todd crumbled to the sand like a man who had been run through with a sword. Burying his face in his hands, he wept. Christy stood on wobbly legs. What have I done? Oh, Father God, why do I have to let him go? Slowly lowering her quivering body to the sand beside Todd, Christy cried until all she could taste was the salty tears on her lips. They drove the rest of the way home in silence. A thick mantle hung over them, entwining them even in their separation. To Christy it seemed like a bad dream. Someone else had let go of Todd. Not her! He wasn't really going to go. They pulled into Christy's driveway, and Todd turned off the motor. Without saying anything, he got out of Gus and came around to Christy's side to open the door for her. She stepped down and waited while he grabbed her luggage from the backseat. They walked to the front door. Todd stopped her under the trellis of wildly fragrant white jasmine. With tears in his eyes, he said in a hoarse voice, "I'm keeping this." He lifted his hand to reveal the "Forever" bracelet looped between his fingers. "If God ever brings us together again in this world, I'm putting this back on your wrist, and that time, my Kilikina, it will stay on forever." He stared at her through blurry eyes for a long minute, and then without a hug, a kiss, or even a good-bye, Todd turned to go. He walked away and never looked back.

Janeway had thought her heart full, but now it overflowed. For the rest of her life, she knew, she would remember this: walking down the seemingly endless line, sharing laughter, hugs, handshakes, slaps on the back. She tried to brand every face into her brain, every word, every expression. Whatever her own new voyage held for her, it would be hard-pressed to measure up to the exquisite, painful joy of this single precious moment. *

I will never, ever stop hoping for peace, he said. His voice trembled with leashed emotion. I have seen too much good in too many people to paint them all as evil and worthy of slaughter. And I will also never stop believing that people can change. But I realize now that I've been like a farmer expecting to harvest crops from a poisoned field. It's simply not possible . . . People can change, Anduin repeated. But some people will never-never-desire to do so.

Will you see Dad when you get back?” “Yes,” said Miral, without having to pause to think about it. B’Elanna was startled by the swift response. “Enough time has passed so that there should not be pain. And if there is then we will simply have to push through it. The child you and your husband have borne carries both our blood. It is foolish to let years of personal resentment deny the girl our wisdom.” Torres stared. Sometimes, when you least expected it, Klingons could be so very practical. • • • Seven

The King, he went a -walking, on merry morn in May. The King, he laid him down to rest, and fell asleep, they say. And when he woke, 'twas even, (The hour of magic mood) And Bluebell, Wild Bluebell, was dancing in the wood. The king, he gave a banquet to all the flowers (save one), With hungry eyes he watched them, a-seeking one alone. The rose was there in satin. The Lily with green hood But Bluebell, wild Bluebell only dances in the wood. The King, he frowned in anger, his hand upon his sword. He sent his men to seize her, and bring her to their Lord. With silken cords they bound her, Before the King she stood, Bluebell, wild Bluebell, who dances in the wood. The King, he rose to greet her, the maid he'd sword to wed. The King, he took his golden crown and set it on her head. And then he paled and shivered, The courtiers gazed in fear, At Bluebell, grey Bluebell, so pale and ghostly there. "O King, your grown is heavy, 'twould bow my head with care. Your palace walls would shut me in, who live as free as air. The wind, he is my lover, The sun my lover too, And Bluebell, whild Bluebell, shall ne'er be Queen to you." The King, he mourned a twelvemonth, and none could ease his pain. The King, he went a-walking a-down a lovers' lane. He laid aside his golden crown, Into the wood went he, Where Bluebell, wild Bluebell, dances ever wild and free.

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, written by Christie in 1926, is perhaps the most quintessential golden-age murder mystery ever written in absolutely every way—except one. But it is this one spectacular difference that sets it apart from other books of the era and that catapulted Agatha Christie into the upper echelons of the genre. In fact, as the ending was so unorthodox and apparently broke the rules of the Detection Club’s oath—tongue-in-cheek though they were—there was a movement to expel Christie from the club entirely! Only a vote by fellow female crime writer Dorothy L. Sayers saved her. If this doesn’t make you intrigued to read the book, you don’t need to just take my word for it—in 2013, nearly ninety years after its publication, the British Crime Writers’ Association voted it the best crime novel ever, calling it “the finest example of the genre ever penned.” It features typical golden-era elements within the text, like a floor plan of all the rooms of the house and heavily buried clues, and I’m of the opinion that the only way to do this particular book justice is to read it. Don’t watch an adaptation, don’t listen to an audiobook, and don’t use an e-reading device and deny yourself the pleasure of the rustling pages peppered with nuance. Buy a copy of the book and read it. It’s the only way you can read between the lines of this clever tale.

It is difficult enough for me to understand how one or two may become so corrupted that they would doom their descendants for power in their lifetimes; that there were so many—the number is not even known for certain—is beyond the scope of my limited imagination.

Evil was easier to deal with when it was an ugly, inhuman creature than when it took the shape of a friend.

Three beings can keep a secret if two of them are dead.

We all need someone,” de Metz said. “Even—perhaps especially—if we have God.

Now the laborer’s day is o’er; Now the battle day is past; Now upon the farther shore Lands the voyager at last. —“HYMN,” JOHN ELLERTON

Now that you have tapped into it, it can consume you. It is a delicate balance to strike—being free enough to feed from it, but remaining your own master.

Mrs. Conrad was a beautiful woman of thirty-five, with golden hair and a slight tendency to embonpoint.

Great tae meet ya,

As though in a dream Edward opened the door, and she sprang lightly in beside him. Her furs swept his check, and an elusive scent, like that of violets after rain, assailed his nostrils.

A man is what he chooses to be … a man can turn his life around in a single thought, a single decision. You can always choose to be something new. Never forget that.

Grieved are we all, to see so many suffer,” he said. “Courage, the youngling had, at the end. Forgotten, she and her people will not be.

The Jedi cultivated a practice of nonattachment, which had always served them well. Few understood, though, that while specific, individual bonds such as romantic love or family were forbidden, the Jedi were not ashamed of compassion. All lives were precious, and when so many were lost in such a way, the Jedi felt the pain of it in the Force as well as in their own hearts. At

The Jedi cultivated a practice of nonattachment, which had always served them well. Few understood, though, that while specific, individual bonds such as romantic love or family were forbidden, the Jedi were not ashamed of compassion. All lives were precious, and when so many were lost in such a way, the Jedi felt the pain of it in the Force as well as in their own hearts.

You always take the high road, Master Kenobi,” said Desh.

Kage,

The daughter of renowned Admiral Garrick Versio of the Imperial Security Bureau and famous artist Zeehay Versio may be a traitor to the glorious Empire,” holojournalist Alton Kastle stated, with just the right amount of horror in his smooth voice. “Captain Iden Versio has been recorded as spouting lies about the Empire and inciting violence, denouncing the brave subjects of the Death Star battle station who lost their lives while she survived. This is not in keeping with the behavior of the highly decorated captain hitherto, but the words are damning. “She is slated for an immediate court-martial. Hero of the Empire Admiral Nasha Garvan will prosecute, while the specialized legal-analyst droid HM-12 will provide proper defense as required by Imperial Navy law.

The Death Star had destroyed an entire planet. Yes, it had been a rebel hotbed, a positive nest of treason. But surely not everyone who had died had hated the Empire. The destruction of the Death Star hit closer to home, as she had lost people she knew, but at least there had been no civilians on it. No children.

As nearly all on the Death Star had been ordered to do, with their own eyes or on a screen, Iden had stood and watched. By their treasonous actions, the rebels on Alderaan had brought destruction not only on themselves, but on the innocents they always seemed so keen to protect. She

Let’s celebrate the birth of Inferno Squad with a bottle of rebel tears!” The

Then he called out, “Dahna! Our newest member wants to know why you want to dance, since you were forced to as a slave.” Iden expected everything to come to an awkward, if not downright hostile, halt. Instead, the teal-skinned woman threw back her head and laughed. “Because I can, child,” she said. “Not because I have to. Because I want to. Because I can dance, or sing, or not do any of those things if I don’t feel like it. I dance because I’m happy, here, with my family. I dance because I am free.

Voyager was my collective. I knew I was safe there. I trusted all of you; I knew all of you. I could. . . I could try to learn to love. But all that’s changed. We’ve returned to Earth. I’m a—an oddity.” “Seven, that’s not true,

I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wish they’d let you two regenerate. I’ll keep asking them, I assure you.” She gave him a fleeting smile. “Persistence is futile,

a flesh-and-blood waiter and therefore as rare in San Francisco as a flying horse,

Vos stretched out on the cot, but sleep would not come right away. The words he’d spoken kept running through his brain: What’s worse…to have unhappy stories, or to have no story at all? Vos had no answer.

I don’t want to be part of mass murder,

She eluded detection and relieved the rebels of one of their hyperspace-capable vessels.

Because that kind of killing is personal. And when it gets personal, it gets ugly, and some of that ugliness spills onto you.

It’s a promise to the rebels. “It’s called Inferno Squad.

You’re helping to bring freedom to the galaxy. So that one day, everywhere, people will be safe to express themselves. To enjoy, without fear. That’s what the rebels want, in the end. That’s all we want.

It took seven hours for Azen to die.

Revenge—no, nothing as petty as that; justice for the deaths of hundreds of thousands—was the focus now.

Over a million people. So fast. Gone, just like that.

The “miracle of birth” was actually pretty disgusting, Arthas thought. He hadn’t realized there’d be so much…goo involved.

tyranny cannot stand forever. It is an ugly beast that must feed. Eventually, the Empire will devour everything it has, and will turn on its own.

Lok’tar ogar!” Victory, or death.

Hay momentos en los que incluso el corazón más bondadoso y comprensivo debe decir: "No, ya basta". Y ese momento ha llegado.

Aunt Jaina,

battle,

darker

Dark Portal and the Blasted Lands.

King Arthas?

bloody coup,

What? He can’t possibly mean to—

Many Jedi would raise eyebrows at the thought of meditating in a bar, but Vos had done it before.

bloodied, broken corpse,

Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner,

Knights of the Silver Hand,

The years came and went, and gave their blessings, and demanded their sacrifices.

The future is not like a book one can read,” he said quietly. “It is ever changing, like the rush of water, or the swirl of sand.

In The Frog Prince, a beautiful princess drops her golden ball into a deep spring and must allow a frog into her bedroom to get it back, maturing thereby into a woman. Fairy tales and myth often place an odd creature on the path of the hero to signal an opportunity exists: turn right for good or left for evil. Of all the harbingers of change in fairy tales and myth—disfigured dwarfs, shriveled witches, even Yoda—it is reptiles (and amphibians) that are considered ugly enough without embellishment to awaken the part of the brain that listens to fairy tales. In real life, it is possible that reptiles have the power to switch off a person’s thinking brain and switch on the subconscious, opening the door to a person’s most deeply suppressed passions. Perhaps this is what makes reptiles so terrifying. Coiled at the center of the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of the word fascinate is this: “of a serpent.” Evolved from lizards, deliverers of venom—snakes are the villains of the animal kingdom. And yet, throughout history, snakes have been recognized for their power to bewitch man, to deprive him of resistance, to draw him near.

though, was perched high inside the massive tower that was the centerpiece

It was never a big leap from "unfamiliar" to "suspected

It's an old and honored tradition for war heroes to be promoted to important offices, whether or not they're suited to it

He frowned. “Jedi aren’t without emotion. We’re allowed to grieve.” “Perhaps,” Ventress allowed, “but somehow I don’t think most Jedi try to drown the pain with alcohol and slam their fists on the table.

Words crowded his mouth, but he spoke none of them. Not about the sharp delight he had taken in brutally asphyxiating an innocent creature. Not about the desire to do it again, and to harness that power and unleash it any way he chose. He couldn’t speak, either, of the wrenching sadness that permeated him as he realized that something in him had broken, or the delight at having been freed of its shackles.

Impossible. Not after everything that’s happened.

The overall effect made Vos like a falcon poised in that exquisite instant between free fall and flight, and for a moment he couldn't breath.

Wishes do not a world make. We do the best we can where we are, every minute, every breath. We make mistakes, and we have to live with them. We try to learn from them. And that is all we can do.

Air - the element of clarity of thought, of inspiration, insight, and fresh starts. He smiled a little, and as the scene began to fade, he let it go easily. Because he knew that with Air, there would always be something new to come, to challenge and inspire him.

Garrosh would learn that it was in how one fought, not where or when, that honor was born.

The surreal howl wove its way through the cacophony of human voices, a bright, bloody thread in a tapestry of fear.

And in whatever afterlife your precious Light grants you, your parents will wish Queen Tiffin had miscarried.

He stabbed a sharp-nailed digit in the direction of the Shattered Straits,

shape about the size of a large dog hovering a few yards over his head.

Thus is the blessing of Chi-Ji,” the crane said. “No more shall die this day. Take this second chance, and use it wisely.

Lad, no one feels ready. No one feels he deserves it. And you know why? Because no one does. It’s grace, pure and simple. We are inherently unworthy, simply because we’re human, and all human beings—aye, and elves, and dwarves, and all the other races—are flawed. But the Light loves us anyway. It loves us for what we sometimes can rise to in rare moments. It loves us for what we can do to help others. And it loves us because we can help it share its message by striving daily to be worthy, even though we understand that we can’t ever truly become so.

To be my wisdom, as Air, my steadiness, as Earth …” He took a deep breath. “And my passion and my heart, as Fire and Water. And if you would have it so, I would be these things to you.” He felt her trembling in his embrace: she, Aggra, strong and courageous. She pulled back a little and laid her hand on his chest, her eyes searching his. “Go’el, as long as you have this great heart to lead—and to love—then know that I will go with you to the ends of any world and beyond.” He placed a hand on her cheek, green skin against brown, then leaned forward slowly to rest his forehead gently against hers.

For a moment, she spared compassion for him. What had his life been like when he was a youngling? There had been no one to give him hugs or tell stories, no loving parental hands to soothe childhood's nightmares. Only brothers, identical in every way, who had been raised as clinically as he. Brothers, and duty, and death.

do, succeed, excel.

Joan” was an Anglicized pronunciation of the French “Jeanne,

… I began to understand that there were other things all round me waiting until I was able to perceive them. The Call of Wings

Away from the monster that wore a lover's face

What a puzzle you are to me, Jander Sunstar! You feed upon lifeblood, yet mourn the life you take. You are a being of shadow and night, yet you yearn to be surrounded by beauty. You are dead, but you cannot bear decay. What exactly are you? You can hardly be a vampire!

It will require you to forsake nearly everything that it means to be a Jedi. But you have already begun down that path, I think. Your grief over the deaths of the Krim family does not speak of nonattachment.

Each part of your body corresponds with an element,” the Maiden explained. “Your hair is air. How you toss your head, play with your hair - that is all for air magic. You can command the wind. Arms are for fire,” she said, making fluttery, flame-like motions with her tendriled fingers and slim green arms. “Fire, fire elementals, electricity, light, and heat come from their movements. Water,” she said, swaying her hips, “is from your center. This is why your middle must be free to move. And earth is the feet, where you make contact with the mother of us all.

He paused, then, on a whim, arranged the unconscious Falleen in an undignified postion

The post-war turmoil experienced in Britain after the Armistice was succeeded by the misery of an economic slump, and then by the growing threat posed from overseas by Nazism and Fascism. It is no coincidence that the Twenties and the Thirties became the ‘Golden Age of Murder’, when novelists such as Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers and Anthony Berkeley crafted complex and original puzzles of whodunit, howdunit, and whydunit that tested readers’ wits and earned their authors fame and fortune. There was something unashamedly escapist about much detective fiction written during the Golden Age, but it is also true to say that the better books reveal far more about the society of the time than critics have acknowledged. That escapism regularly took engaging but wildly unlikely forms, with impossible crimes taking place within locked rooms, vital clues being hidden by way of complex cryptograms, and mysterious ‘dying messages’ uttered by murder victims who could never bring themselves to take the more obvious step of simply naming their killers.

Hope is what you have when all other things have failed you. Where there is hope, you can make room for healing, for all things that are possible- and some that are not. (Anduin Wrynn)

Greg Christie, one of his other senior managers, the day-to-day leader of the Human Interface team, the software designers responsible for the look and feel of iOS and the Mac, as well as the concepts behind how these systems functioned.

همه ما به نوعی ضعف داریم.ارتباطی به گونه و نژاد ندارد.گاهی اوقات این ضعف قدرتی در خفا است.گاهی اوقات فنای ماست.و گاهی اوقات هر دوی آن‌ها.عاقل این ضعف را درک می‌کند و سعی می‌کند از آن بیاموزد.نادان اجازه می‌دهد که کنترلش کند و نابود می‌شود. وگاهی اوقات همان عاقل نادان است.

Dear ones, wisdom, fortitude, strength, and hope cannot be learned in death. Life is not about reward and punishment," said Xuen. "It is about understanding, accepting who oneself is right now, in order to know what to change, and how.

sad drunk was just as bad as a mad one,

As God is my witness, I could do nothing but look upon her till the end of my days. I would need nothing else to keep me alive.

I owe all I am to Joan," Fleur had said, "and to you, for being my champion with her. Without the two of you..." She looked away. "I don't even want to think about what I-" "Then don't," Gabriel had said. "You're with us. You don't ever have to go back to that life, and you don't have to do anything to be 'worthy'. You just... are. Just for being Fleur. Just... just love God, and love Joan, and that will be enough. She looks at you, and she can see, every day, that she has changed someone's life for the better. I know that means a lot to her.

A vein. Anduin’s mind went immediately to the intricate network of veins and arteries that went through a living body. Strange how so long ago, well before anyone understood that Azeroth was a sleeping nascent titan, the term “vein” had been used to describe the ribbons of various minerals that ran throughout the world.

Object again and I will not take it well. Vol’jin and his loa named me the warchief of the Horde. And as warchief of the Horde, I decide what is important to reveal—and when and to whom. Is that understood?

You led the Army of the Light, Turalyon,' Anduin thought, and his heart lifted. 'But this is the army of hope.

History taught that those who had power were generally loath to relinquish any of it unless they were forced to do so.

We’re leaving him. I ain’t gonna risk any of your lives for the sake of carrying the corpse of a traitor,

here in five minutes.” “Sir, you haven’t paid them in weeks.

Don’t boast, her father had told her. Accomplish. Then let others notice and react appropriately.

As God is my witness, I could do nothing but look upon her till the end of my days, I would need nothing else to keep me alive.

Agatha Christie, Ruth Rendell and Peggy’s favourite, an out-of-print golden-age writer called Sheila Atkins.

We defeated the burning legion and now we honor those who sacrificed all. We honor them not by dying, but by living. By healing our wounds and helping others heal. By laughing and feeling the sun on our faces. By holding our loved ones close and letting them know every hour, every minute of every day that they matter.

Places in our hearts will forever remain empty, but if you would serve one king who grieves with you today, if you would honor another king who died for you, then I urge you - live. For our lives, our joy, our world. These are the gifts of the fallen and we must cherish them. For the Alliance!

Later, during harvesting season, I would check the hives to see how much honey the bees had produced, and then I would put the combs into the extractors and fill the tubs, scraping off the residue to collect the golden liquid beneath. It was my job to protect the bees, to keep them healthy and strong, while they fulfilled their task of making honey and pollinating the land to keep us alive.

Hell, it’s the same reason we read Agatha Christie: because someone good, someone impeccably moral, will set things right. Golden Age fiction was popular between the World Wars because it was justice served in a topsy-turvy world.