Dune Sandworm Quotes

My Sihaya,’ he said as he held her, ‘I have loved you for five thousand years.

She rides the sandworm of space! She guides through all storms Into the land of gentle winds. Though we sleep by the snake's den, She guards our dreaming sould. Shunning the desert heat, She hides us in a cool hollow. The gleaming of her white teeth Guides us in the night. By the braids of her hair We are lifted to heaven! Sweet fragrance, flower-scented, Surrounds us in her presence.

She rides the sandworm of space! She guides through all storms Into the land of gentle winds. Though we sleep by the snake's den, She guards our dreaming souls. Shunning the desert heat, She hides us in a cool hollow. The gleaming of her white teeth Guides us in the night. By the braids of her hair We are lifted up to heaven! Sweet fragrance, flower-scented, Surrounds us in her presence.

Here is my mask—it looks just like yours. We cannot see what our masks look like while we are wearing them.

When the forces are arrayed and the final battle is engaged, the outcome may be decided in only a few moments. Remember this: By the time the first shot is fired, half the battle is already over. Victory or defeat can be determined by the preparations that are set in place weeks or even months beforehand.

We have our own goals and ambitions, for good or ill. But our true destiny is decided by forces over which we have no control.

In proper balance, rivalry promotes strength and innovation—so long as we can avoid the acrimony of conflict and mutual destruction.

The worst part of going back is that the past is never exactly the way you remember it.

education, training, or prescience can show us the secret abilities we contain within ourselves. We can only pray those special talents are available in our time of greatest need.

A single decision, a single moment, can make the difference between victory and defeat.

One can always find a battlefield if one looks hard enough.

Some problems are best solved with an optimistic approach. Optimism shines a light on alternatives that are otherwise not visible.

But his would not be a conventional kind of love. His love needed to extend much farther, to every living person, and to thinking machines. One form of sentient life was not superior to the other. And Duncan Idaho was greater than the flesh that encompassed his body.

He shouldn’t have tried? We’re humans. We have to try, no matter what the odds are. There are never any guarantees. Every action in life is a gamble. The Bashar fought to the last instant of his existence, because he believed there was a chance. I intend to do the same.

Maybe we waste too much time trying to recreate what we see in our old memories, my Lady. Why not build and decorate your home as you choose?

In a war, be watchful for unexpected enemies and unlikely allies.

Optimism may be the greatest weapon humanity possesses. Without it, we would never attempt the impossible, which—against all odds—occasionally succeeds.

Prescience reveals no absolutes, only possibilities. The surest way to know exactly what the future holds is to experience it in real time.

People strive to achieve perfection—ostensibly an honorable goal—but complete perfection is dangerous. To be imperfect, but human, is far preferable.

There is an art to legend-telling, and an art to living the legend.

This has nothing to do with altruism or greed. Despite the best intentions, resources and raw materials do not appear like rainbows after a storm. Populations must be fed, ships must be fueled, energy must be produced and expended. Money is only a symbol, but economics is the engine that drives the whole machine. The piper must be paid.

Why do we find destruction so fascinating? When we see a terrible tragedy, do we think ourselves clever for having evaded it ourselves? Or is our fascination rooted in the thrill and fear of knowing we could be next?

Our shared humanity should, by definition, make us allies. In sad fact, however, our very similarities often appear to be vast differences and insurmountable obstacles.

God is God, and life is His alone to give. If God Himself has not the strength to survive, then we are left with nothing but despair.

No matter where I go, no matter what I leave behind, my past is always with me, like a shadow.

True loyalty is an unshakable force. The difficulty is in determining exactly where a person’s allegiance lies. Often that bond is only to oneself.

Each human, no matter how altruistic or peaceful he seems, carries the capacity to commit tremendous violence. I find this quality particularly fascinating, especially because it can lie dormant for extended periods and then flare up. For instance, consider their traditionally docile women. When these life-givers decide instead to take lives, it is a beautiful ferocity to behold.

Hatred breeds in the fertile ground of life itself.

Humanity has a great genetic compass that constantly guides us onward. Our task is to keep it always pointed in the right direction.

Two people drift in a lifeboat on an uncharted sea. One says, “There! I see an island. Our best chance is to go ashore, build a shelter, and await rescue.” The other says, “No, we must go farther out to sea and hope to find the shipping lanes. That is our best chance.” Unable to agree, the two fight, the lifeboat capsizes, and they drown. This is the nature of humanity. Even if only two people are left in the entire universe, they will come to represent opposing factions. —

Those who see do not always understand. Those who claim to understand can be the blindest of all.

Every man casts a shadow . . . some darker than others.

Humanity has many profound beliefs. Chief among them is the concept of Home.

Whether we see them or not, there are nets everywhere, encompassing our individual and collective lives. Sometimes it is necessary to ignore them, for the sake of our own sanity.

Why is religion important? Because logic alone does not compel a person to make great sacrifices. Given sufficient religious fervor, however, people will throw themselves against impossible odds and consider themselves blessed for doing so.

The fate of our race depends on the actions of an unlikely collection of misfits.

We can conquer our enemy, of course, but is it worthwhile to achieve victory without understanding the flaws of our opponent? Such an analysis is the most interesting part.

The sandtrout,” he repeated, “was introduced here from some other place. This was a wet planet then. They proliferated beyond the capability of existing ecosystems to deal with them. Sandtrout encysted the available free water, made this a desert planet . . . and they did it to survive. In a planet sufficiently dry, they could move to their sandworm phase.

Shai-Hulud defends his treasure," Selim said, his deep blue eyes distant but full of energy. "The Zensunni believe sandworms are devils but Shaitan works more harm through one man Like Naib Dhartha than through all the creatures of the desert.

You say that we must learn from the past. But I—I fear the past, for I have been there, and I have no desire to return.

Each sentient life requires a place of extreme serenity, where the mind may roam afterward in memory and to which the body longs to return.

Where there is life, there is hope . . . or so the old sayings tell us. But for the truly faithful there is always hope, and it is not determined by either death or life.

We believe that confession should lead to forgiveness and redemption. Usually, however, it leads only to further accusations.

But Jessica’s attention was focused on the revelation of the Water of Life, seeing its source: the liquid exhalation of a dying sandworm, a maker. And as she saw the killing of it in her new memory, she suppressed a gasp. The creature was drowned!

It won’t be long now.” Such an odd old holy man, young Scytale thought. Even compared to the smells of disinfectant, medicine, and sickness, he’d always had an odd smell about him. Sounding compassionate, Yueh said, “There isn’t much we can do.” Gasping for air, old Scytale croaked out, “A Tleilaxu Master should not be so weak and decrepit. It is . . . unseemly.” His youthful counterpart tried again to trigger the flow of memories, to squeeze them into his brain by sheer force of will, as he had attempted to do countless times before. The essential past must be in there somewhere, buried deep. But he felt no tickle of possibilities, no glimmer of success. What if they are not there at all? What if something had gone terribly wrong? His pulse pounded as the panic began to rise. Not much time. Never enough time. He tried to cut off the thought. The body provided a wealth of cellular material. They could create more Scytale gholas, try again and again if necessary. But if his own memories had failed to resurface, why should an identical ghola have any better luck without the guidance of the original? I am the only one who knew the Master so intimately. He wanted to shake Yueh, demand to know how he had managed to remember his past. Tears were in full flow now, falling onto the old man’s hand, but Scytale knew they were inadequate. His father’s chest spasmed in an almost imperceptible death rattle. The life-support equipment hummed with more intensity, and the instrument readings fluctuated. “He’s slipped into a coma,” Yueh reported. The Rabbi nodded. Like an executioner announcing his plans, he said, “Too weak. He’s going to die now.” Scytale’s heart sank. “He has given up on me.” His father would never know if he succeeded now; he would perish wondering and worrying. The last great calamity in a long line of disasters that had befallen the Tleilaxu race. He gripped the old man’s hand. So cold, too cold. He felt the life ebbing. I have failed! As if felled by a stunner, Scytale dropped to his knees at the bedside. In his crashing despair, he knew with absolute certainly that he could never resurrect the recalcitrant memories. Not alone. Lost! Forever lost! Everything that comprised the great Tleilaxu race. He could not bear the magnitude of this disaster. The reality of his defeat sliced like shattered glass into his heart. Abruptly, the Tleilaxu youth felt something changing inside, followed by an explosion between his temples. He cried out from the excruciating pain. At first he thought he was dying himself, but instead of being swallowed in blackness, he felt new thoughts burning like wildfire across his consciousness. Memories streamed past in a blur, but Scytale locked onto each one, absorbing it again and reprocessing it into the synapses of his brain. The precious memories returned to where they had always belonged. His father’s death had opened the barriers. At last Scytale retrieved what he was supposed to know, the critical data bank of a Tleilaxu Master, all the ancient secrets of his race. Instilled with pride and a new sense of dignity, he rose to his feet. Wiping away warm tears, he looked down at the discarded copy of himself on the bed. It was nothing more than a withered husk. He no longer needed that old man.

CRYSKNIFE: the sacred knife of the Fremen on Arrakis. It is manufactured in two forms from teeth taken from dead sandworms. The two forms are “fixed” and “unfixed.” An unfixed knife requires proximity to a human body’s electrical field to prevent disintegration. Fixed knives are treated for storage.

The shortest way to know what the future holds is to experience it in real time first hand.