Fate Archer Quotes

Archer had always been inclined to think that chance and circumstance played a small part in shaping people's lots compared with their innate tendency to have things happen to them.

I say no wealth is worth my life! Not all they claim was stored in the depths of Troy, that city built on riches, in the old days of peace before the sons of Achaea came- not all the gold held fast in the Archer's rocky vaults, in Phoebus Apollo's house on Pytho's sheer cliffs! Cattle and fat sheep can all be had for the raiding, tripods all for the trading, and tawny-headed stallions. But a man's life breath cannot come back again- no raiders in force, no trading brings it back, once it slips through a man's clenched teeth. Mother tells me, the immortal goddess Thetis with her glistening feet, that two fates bear me on to the day of death. If I hold out here and I lay siege to Troy, my journey home is gone, but my glory never dies. If I voyage back to the fatherland I love, my pride, my glory dies... true, but the life that's left me will be long, the stroke of death will not come on me quickly.

I know you think what we have is sordid. Perhaps it is. Perhaps neither of us knows how to love properly and this is our twisted way of showing that we care. Or perhaps we should both be committed to an asylum

The fate of another man decided by a war they didnt declar

It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate." -Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander (The Charmer)

With a heavy heart, I pulled out my own pocket knife, and carved three little words beneath Archer’s. A plea and a wish, in a form I could never take back. Return to me.

annihilation. “Money flows toward short term gain,” writes the geologist David Archer, “and toward the over-exploitation of unregulated common resources. These tendencies are like the invisible hand of fate, guiding the hero in a Greek tragedy toward his inevitable doom.” This is indeed the essence of humanity’s present derangement.

If there is no respect between you, no genuine friendship, and no love, then you'll end up despising one another.

Much to her dismay, Kordelia finally began to sympathize with her past love matches. So, these intense and troubling emotions are what it felt like to be on the receiving end of an arrow. Except this time, it backfired. Alas, cupid blindly shot a blank arrow up into the air and miraculously, it landed straight through her own heart! One way or another, fate cursed the great archer, herself!

It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate.

My hips bristle with totems and talismans, proof that I am not simply a character in a fixed book or film. I am no single narrative. As neither Rebecca de Winter nor Jane Eyre, I am free to revise my story, to reinvent myself, my world, at any given moment. Advancing beside Archer, I am resplendent in my savage finery of seized power. In my service charge the collected blackguards of a dozen tyrants now dispatched to a lesser oblivion. My fingers, stained crimson with the blood of despots, are not the fingers which paged through the paper lives of helpless romantic heroines. No more am I a passive damsel who waits for circumstance to decide her fate; now have I become the scalawag, the swashbuckler, the Heathcliff of my dreams bent on rescuing myself. For now do I embody all the traits I had so hoped to find in Goran. Meaning: No longer am I limited.

Have you ever been in a demon rumble before, Jenna?” I asked. Hoisting her own demonglass dagger, she shook her head. “Nope. I have a feeling it’s going to be super violent.” “Maybe we can talk to them,” I said, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. “Have a little sit-down chat.” “With tea.” “Ooh, yeah, with the nice china, and those little sandwiches that don’t have crusts.” Cal came to stand with us. Aislinn and Finley were getting to their feet, but I could tell they were far away from optimum Brannick strength. “I don’t want to kill these kids,” Cal said. “Neither do I. But I don’t want them to kill me, either.” “Not sure what we want is going to matter that much,” Jenna said. I stared out into the trees, hearing my fate move closer. And here’s the thing: I knew I was supposed to be courageous. I was supposed to use my magic for as long as I could, and be all Braveheart about it. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hug my mom and dad again. I wanted to see Archer. And I wanted to know that I’d done more here than just delay Aislinn’s and Finley’s deaths by a few minutes. So there was no stoic badass facing down the demon hordes. There was just a teenage girl with tears streaming down her face, her two best friends on either side of her, as all kinds of hellish creatures rushed forward.

The need to pull him to her and take his mouth, feel that lean body against hers, throbbed through her. God, she seemed to meet one of the criteria for joining Nemesis—the fact that they were in this haunted chamber, deciding the fate of their villainous prey, and she wanted nothing more than to push him down onto the bed and finish what they’d started the other night—clearly she was out of her mind. Her feelings at that moment must have been transparent. A look of fierce hunger crossed his face, and she could’ve sworn he growled deep in his chest. “I was wrong,” he rumbled. “The danger’s not from the Larkfields, or the other servants. It’s us. We’re like goddamn nitroglycerin.” “Any way to neutralize nitroglycerin?” She sounded as if she’d run up ten flights of stairs. “Might be. I’m not a scientist.” His eyes darkened. “But I don’t want to get rid of the chemistry between us. We’d create a hell of an explosion.” Heat swept along her body. With the brief tastes she’d had of what they could be together, the pleasure they could give each other, they’d probably level everything around them within miles. And curse her if she didn’t want that.

People are toys. Lives are stories. There is no greater amusement.

In the spring of 1519, the Bishop of Coventry received word that certain families were teaching their children the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments in English. The bishop ordered the arrest of Mr. Hatchets, Mr. Archer, Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Bond, Mr. Wrigsham, Mr. Landsdale and Mrs. Smith. While they were held at an abbey outside of town, their children were brought to Greyfriar’s Monastery in Coventry. The boys and girls were made to stand before Friar Stafford, the abbot. One by one, Stafford interrogated the children about their parents’ beliefs. “Now then,” he told them, “I charge you in the name of God to tell me the whole truth—you shall suffer severely for any lies you tell or secrets you conceal.” “What do you believe about the church and the way to heaven?” he asked them. “Do you go to the services of the parish church? Do you read the Scriptures in English? Do you memorize the Lord’s Prayer or other Scriptures in English?” After getting from the children’s own lips the information he needed to convict their parents, he warned them. “Your parents are heretics!” he bellowed. “They have led you away from the teachings of the church. You are never to meddle again with the Lord’s Prayer or the Ten Commandments or any other Scriptures in English. And if you do—rest assured you will burn at the stake for it!” The next day, the six fathers and Mrs. Smith stood before a panel of judges that included the bishop and Friar Stafford. After presenting the evidence against them—and because the men had been warned before by the bishop not to persist in their Lollard ways—the men were condemned to death by burning. But since this was Mrs. Smith’s first offense, the court dismissed her with a warning not to teach her children the Scriptures in English anymore under pain of death. It was late in the evening when the court dismissed, so the bishop’s assistant decided to see Mrs. Smith home in the dark. As they walked out into the night, he took her arm to lead her across the street. Hearing the rattling of papers within her sleeve, he stopped and said, “Well, what do you have here?” He grabbed her arm, reached into the sleeve and pulled out a little scroll. Under the light of a lantern, he read it and found that it contained handwritten in English the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments and the Apostle’s Creed. “Well, well,” he said with a sneer. “Come now, this is as good a time as any!” He dragged her back again to the bishop. The panel quickly sentenced her to be burned with the six condemned men and sent her off to prison to await her fate. A few days later, guards led Mrs. Smith and the Lollard men to an open space in the center of Coventry known as Little Park. They tied them to a stake and burned them to death for the crime of teaching their children the Word of God in English.

Archer seemed startled, and I realized they’d never actually met face to face. He took Elizabeth’s hand and grazed the back of it with his lips. It made me want to change trajectory and hit him. “Lady Elizabeth. I’m honored.” His tone was formal, thank God. If it had been low and growly I might have ended the Tudor line about forty years early.

Okay. We need to be touching, right?” I reached over to Archer, then held my hand out for Elizabeth. Her skin was cool and so soft I wondered if she’d ever done anything rougher than hold a pen with that hand. Ringo completed the circle and I stifled a smirk. There should have been a Ouija board on the table in front of us.

Elizabeth wrote poetry of her own, on subjects ranging from her captivity in the Tower to meditations on fortune, a wry couplet on fate, and a comic look at a pet dog. She was an accomplished talent, as seen in this lament for a lost love. It is titled – not necessarily by herself – “On Monsieur’s Departure,

Do or Do Not. There is no Try. - Archer Deveraux

Captain Smith was injured by burning gunpowder and incapacitated. Ratcliffe, Archer, and Martin seemingly used this opportunity to depose him and to compel him to return to England to face their charges against him as had been the fate of previous presidents. These three men, failing to agree on a replacement from their own number, persuaded George Percy to accept the position of president.

You resist your fate. Let go and trust that the wind will take you where you need to go. Follow the signs.” Archer

Yet fate is fickle, untethered to the whims of tyrants and the sinister dance of invaders. As

there is always a better choice than cowardice, if you have business to take care of.” Then he laughed and shook his head. “One day, long ago, my life was shaped and my fate was fixed. Fearlessness is better than a faint heart for any man who puts his nose out of doors. The length of my life and the day of my death were fated long ago. But how I live, and how I die, that is my choice.

And Samuel is your father. Is that going to stop you from putting a bullet between his eyes the second he steps foot into our wedding in five and a half weeks?" Archer gave me a knowing look, before he snagged my last piece of toast. I frowned, considering that perspective. "Well, no. But he tried to fucking sell me on a human black market. He deserves to die." "Didn't try, baby girl. He did sell you. It's just fate that your Prince Charming swooped in and saved the day." He shot me a teasing wink.

The Archer's class really is made up of archers

The most beautiful kind of fate.

Stormbringer turned in Elric’s hand, howling its satiated glee and clove down at Rackhir. Seeing his fate, the Red Archer sobbed and sought to avoid the blow. But it landed in his shoulder blade and sheared down to his breastbone. “Elric!” he cried. “Not my soul, too!” And so died the hero Rackhir the Red Archer, famous in the Eastlands as the saviour of Tanelorn. Cloven by a treacherous blade. By the friend whose life he had saved, long ago when they had first met near the city of Ameeron. And Elric laughed until realization came and he tugged his sword away though it was too late. The stolen energy still pulsed in him, but his great grief no longer gave it the same control over him. Tears streamed down Elric’s tortured face and a great, racking groan came from him. “Ah, Rackhir—will it ever cease?

Remember, Alex Mason, there is always a better choice than cowardice, if you have business to take care of.” Then he laughed and shook his head. “One day, long ago, my life was shaped and my fate was fixed. Fearlessness is better than a faint heart for any man who puts his nose out of doors. The length of my life and the day of my death were fated long ago. But how I live, and how I die, that is my choice.” ​With no clear idea of what I was going to do, I pulled my leather bag from my wardrobe, extracted my cell from the lead-lined compartment, shoved it in my pocket and stepped out into the passage again.

Fate whispers to the wolf; “you cannot withstand the storm” and the wolf whispers back, “I am the storm.

We received this prophecy twenty years ago,” the Strategos said, like a professor beginning a history lesson. It was especially annoying since the daughter of Poseidon already stated that fact. “We have spent a couple of decades deciphering it and sussing out its meaning. We believe we cracked most of the code, but there was one crucial piece missing.” A knot forged in my stomach, and my breath caught in my throat. I knew where this was going. I had read my fairy tales and my epic fantasy movies. Anyone could have pegged where this was going. I shot up another prayer to my dad or to any god that was listening. Please don’t let it be me. Please don’t let them be talking about me. “We believe that missing piece…” the Strategos took a dramatic pause. A long enough one for him to sit back up and return to leaning on his elbows. The man looked me straight in the eye, but I refused to connect. I switched to looking at the top of his head. I did whatever I could to stall the inevitable, but the Strategos’s gruff voice finished his sentence and sealed my fate. “Is you.” “Fuck,” I muttered.

Your laugh is like a ray of sunshine,” Andie cooed to her. “I’ll find a way to make sure you laugh forever.” “That’d be terrible!” Kara shook her head, though she snickered just a little more at the notion. “Being happy forever?” Andie released her arm around Kara to lay her head on her forehead and toss her head back like a fainting Victorian maiden. “Oh, what a cruel fate!

a friendship so small it can fit into tiny boxes you place inside other tiny boxes until the box just disappears.