Fort Knox Quotes

Are you by any chance acquainted with the words 'steel toe'? Or do the words 'permanent dent' mean anything to you?" My locker door is not intimidated. "My grandfather was a vault at Fort Knox, and if you try to dent me with a kick you will only tear some ligament that will never mend.

Tighter than Fort Knox, baby.

Librarians and archivists and teachers are the Fort Knox of memory, history, and truth. We must defend them with everything we’ve got.

Let's just run, huh?" Bob picked up the pace, hoping to tire his partner into silence. "That reminds me," Bernie puffed, "you know what you've told me is buried in the Fort Knox of my brain. The whole Gestapo couldn't get it out of me. But--" "But what?" "I'd really like to tell Nance. I mean husbands and wives shouldn't have secrets from each other." Bob did not respond. "Beckwith, I swear, Nancy's the soul of honour. The epitome of discretion. Besides, she'll notice I'm holding something out on her. I mean, God knows what she'll think it is." "She'd never guess," Bob said wryly. "That's just the point. Please, Beckwith, Nance'll be discreet. I swear on my clients' lives." The pressure was too great. "Okay, Bern," he sighed, "but not too many details, huh?" "Don't sweat. Just the essential wild fact--if you know what I mean." "Yeah. When will you tell her?" Three strides later Bernie answered sheepishly, "Last night.

To be in the Army, you need to be smart or strong, and you privates ain’t either.

No civilian has been allowed to see the gold in Fort Knox since 1974, nearly 40 years ago.

Grandpa Portman really knew how to keep a secret, didn’t he?”“Are you kidding? The man was an emotional Fort Knox.

was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I had thorns around my black heart, hate in my soul.

Stephanie has walls around her that could rival Fort Knox. She’s determined not to let me in, but I’m going to do my damnedest to get inside.

Katherine gave in to the wonder of the moment, imagining herself in the astronauts' place. What emotions welled up from the depths of their hearts as they regarded their watery blue home from the void of space? How did it feel to be separated by a nearly unimaginable gulf from the rest of humanity yet carry the hopes, dreams, and fears of their entire species there with them in their tiny, vulnerable craft? Most people she knew wouldn't have traded places with the astronauts for all of the gold in Fort Knox. The men existed all alone out their in the void of space, connected so tenuously to Earth, with the real possibility that something could go wrong. But given the chance to throw her lot in with the astronauts, Katherine Johnson would have packed her bags immediately. Even without the pressure of the space race, even without the mandate to beat the enemy. For Katherine Johnson, curiosity always bested fear.

Bricks could be used to fill Fort Knox. I know, I know. You’re probably thinking, if we fill Fort Knox with bricks, where will we keep all the gold that’s kept there? I still need to get precise measurements, and move all my clothes, but I think it’d be a good idea to store the gold in my closet.


This guy's testimony is awesome. I hate my testimony. I wish I was addicted to heroin. But no. I had to grow up in a somewhat functional family situation. It's just not fair. Why can't I be a crack addict who robbed Fort Knox using nothing but a can of hairspray and a plastic ice cream scoop? Thanks a lot, God.

One of the most surprisingly controversial presidential decisions I made was to return the Crown of Saint Stephen to the people of Hungary. It was said to have been given by the Pope in the year 1000 to Stephen, the first king of Hungary, as a symbol of political and religious authority and was worn by more than fifty kings when they were vested with power. A distinctive feature was that the cross on top was bent. As Soviet troops invaded Hungary, toward the end of the Second World War, some Hungarians delivered to American troops the crown and other royal regalia, which were subsequently stored in Fort Knox alongside our nation’s gold. The Soviets still dominated Hungary when I announced my decision to return the crown. There was a furor among Hungarian-Americans and others, and I was denounced as accepting the subservience of the occupied nation. I considered the crown to be a symbol of the freedom and sovereignty of the Hungarian people. I returned it in January 1978, stipulating that the crown and insignia must be controlled by Hungarians, carefully protected, and made available for public display as soon as practicable. A duplicate of the crown was brought to The Carter Center as a gift for me in March 1998 and is on display in our presidential museum. Rosalynn and I led volunteers to build Habitat houses in Vác, Hungary, in 1996, and we were treated as honored guests of the government and escorted to the Hungarian National Museum to see the crown and the stream of citizens who were going past it, many of them reciting a prayer as they did so. We were told that more than 3 million people pay homage to the crown each year. A few years later it was moved to its permanent home, in the Hungarian Parliament Building.

Money depends on the scarcity of what props it up for its value, but isn’t that also an illusion? Rare and precious metals like diamonds are controlled by blood merchants who modulate their flow to keep the value at an acceptable level. And if gold is so rare, how are there enough gold bars to build a home for a family of two in Fort Knox alone? It doesn’t help that all things are constantly devalued. Before Gutenberg made type movable, only the wealthiest could afford books, and a Bible with tooled leather cover, gold-edged pages, and jewel-encrusted bindings was a symbol of not just piety but status, wealth, and taste. Within a few generations, the rabble were able to follow along in the hymnals from the cheap seats, forcing the wealthy to find another symbol to lord over the hoi polloi. ’Twas ever thus. The battle between the rich man and the poor man is fought on many battlefields, not all of them immediately obvious. Today the wealthy dress in sweatsuits and the homeless have iPhones. People with no discernible income buy flawless knockoff watches with one-letter misspellings to thwart copyright. And then wealthy people buy the same “Rulex” so their six-figure real watches won’t get stolen when they are out at dinner.

The cache of Christianity is Christ. Not money in the bank or a car in the garage or a healthy body or a better self-image. Secondary and tertiary fruits perhaps. But the Fort Knox of faith is Christ. Fellowship with him. Walking with him. Pondering him. Exploring him. The heart-stopping realization that in him you are part of something ancient, endless, unstoppable, and unfathomable. And that he, who can dig the Grand Canyon with his pinkie, thinks you’re worth his death on Roman timber. Christ is the reward of Christianity. Why else would Paul make him his supreme desire? “I want to know Christ” (Phil. 3:10 NCV).

Your reaction was not unexpected. Let me put it this way: Fort Knox is a bank like any other bank. But it is a much bigger bank and its protective devices are correspondingly stronger and more ingenious. To penetrate them will require corresponding strength and ingenuity. That is the only novelty in my project--that it is a big one. Nothing else. Fort Knox is no more impregnable than other fortresses. No doubt we all thought the Brink organization was unbeatable until half a dozen determined men robbed a Brink armored car of a million dollars back in 1950. It is impossible to escape from Sing Sing and yet men have found ways of escaping from it. No, no, gentlemen. Fort Knox is a myth like other myths.

Did you mean to hang up on me, Gunnar? You haven’t spoken for a while,” I said neutrally. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” he growled. “I take it you found the owner?” I asked. I heard him dismiss the agent before speaking to me. “The report declares that a certain Gunnar Randulf and Nathin Temple have owned this 2012 Land Rover Defender Hard Top for the last three months. Funny, because I don’t remember ever using my home as collateral for a…” I heard a few more clicks. “$80,000 SUV.” “I remember you having it, but you sent it off to Vilnar for customization, which added on close to $100,000, if I remember correctly.” “Hmmm… It’s not as expensive as the Aston Martin,” he said disappointedly. “You destroyed the Aston Martin in less than 12 hours. This thing has bulletproof glass, and all sorts of other additions that would make it practically impossible to total. Unless you wanted to play chicken with an armored truck heading out of Fort Knox. That might be a different story. Then again, with as much as was spent on this guy, the armored truck might just die in shame.

me through, gentlemen and – er – madam. Your reaction was not unexpected. Let me put it this way: Fort Knox is a bank like any other bank. But it is a much bigger bank and its protective devices are correspondingly stronger and more ingenious. To penetrate them will require corresponding strength and ingenuity. That is the only novelty in my project – that it is a big one. Nothing else. Fort Knox is no more impregnable than other fortresses. No doubt we all thought the Brink organization was unbeatable until half a dozen determined men robbed a Brink armoured car of a million dollars back in 1950. It is impossible to escape from Sing Sing and yet men have found ways of escaping from it. No, no, gentlemen. Fort Knox is a myth like other myths. Shall I proceed to the plan?’ Billy Ring hissed through his teeth, like a Japanese, when he talked. He said harshly, ‘Listen, shamus, mebbe ya didn’t know it, but the Third Armoured is located at Fort Knox. If that’s a myth, why don’t the Russkis come and take the United States the next time they have a team over here playing ice-hockey?’ Goldfinger smiled thinly. ‘If I may correct you without weakening your case, Mr Ring, the following is the order of battle of the military units presently quartered at Fort Knox. Of the Third Armoured Division, there is only the Spearhead, but there are also the 6th Armoured Cavalry Regiment, the 15th Armour Group, the

She had a point. My vagina was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. A proverbial “do not pass go” zone for all cockbandits begging entry.

True to his word, as soon as Keisha was released from the hospital, he drove her to a place that he’d picked out especially for her; a place she could call home for the meantime, and it had security that was probably duplicative of what was being used at Fort Knox.

Enter Henry Knox. The twenty-five-year-old bookworm approached Washington and volunteered to go to Fort Ticonderoga to fetch the equipment. Washington approved the cockamamie mission. And so, that November Knox and his brother set off for New York. Who knew they would return in January with forty-three cannons, fourteen mortars, and two howitzers dragged across frozen rivers and over the snowy Berkshire Mountains on custom sleds. The is the derivation of that old Yankee proverb that if you can sell a book, you can move sixty tons of weaponry three hundred miles in winter.

Even if you were to discover it, I don’t imagine you could simply shin up a drainpipe and jemmy open the bathroom window. Fort Knox is most likely a bus shelter in comparison.

He’s literally the male version of Fort Knox, a born loner.

I expect Mack to object when I start washing the dishes, but he doesn’t. He keeps sitting at the table like a mute statue. It’s hard not to get annoyed with him. He’s really being an asshole when nothing about this situation is my fault. I was planning to go home this morning. I hadn’t intended to get assaulted and almost raped. He doesn’t have to act like I’m here on purpose to bug him. Trying to fight the urge to snap out an angry comment, I can’t help thinking about a night in the first year after he and I met. When resources in my small hometown ran out in the fourth year after Impact, most of the town had no choice but to pack up and migrate. We headed to Fort Knox, which was still guarded by what was left of the army and was taking in refugees. That was where I met Mack. I noticed him the first time I saw him and kept watching him in the initial days after we arrived. He was busy and distracted most of the time, helping to sort and organize newcomers and making sure they had what they needed.

Another scenario is possible, and that is the e-book will succeed and that books will be downloaded from the Internet. But at the same time, it may be the case that the digital network and the terminals that tap into it will become saturated as limits to growth of computer memory and speed of operation are reached at the same time that electronic traffic becomes gridlocked with e-mail and World Wide Web use. If that were to happen, there would likely be pressure to keep older books in print form, and perhaps even continue to issue newer books that way, rather than clutter the Internet with more and more information. Under such a scenario, older books might not be allowed to circulate because so few copies of each title will have survived the great CD digital dispersal, leaving printed editions that will be as rare as manuscript codices are today. In spite of potential problems, the electronic book, which promises to be all books to all people, is seen by some visionaries as central to any scenario of the future. But what if some electromagnetic catastrophe or a mad computer hacker were to destroy the total electronic memory of central libraries? Curious old printed editions of dead books would have to be disinterred from book cemeteries and re-scanned. But in scanning rare works into electronic form, surviving books might have to be used in a library's stacks, the entrance to which might have to be as closely guarded as that to Fort Knox. The continuing evolution of the bookshelf would have to involve the wiring of bookstacks for computer terminal use. Since volumes might be electronically chained to their section in the stacks, it is also likely that libraries would have to install desks on the front of all cases so that portable computers and portable scanners could be used to transcribe books within a telephone wire's or computer cable's reach of where they were permanently kept. The aisles in a bookstack would most likely have to be altered also to provide seating before the desks, and in time at least some of the infrastructure associated with the information superhighway might begin again to resemble that of a medieval library located in the tower of a monastery at the top of a narrow mountain road.

Graduating from the School of Hard Knocks doesn't always get you to Fort Knox.

I know that the Federal Reserve vault holds more gold than Fort Knox. Fort Knox only holds about four thousand six hundred tons of gold. The Federal Reserve vault holds approximately seven thousand. That’s a lot of gold.

to be safer than Fort Knox. “We’ll both come, Jack,” Rio had laughed,

The man was an emotional Fort Knox.

Fighting a fully armed trained killer while naked always tipped the favor towards the guy with more than his underwear on.

On the Penobscot River, on the opposite bank from the once-upon-a-time paper mill, stands Fort Knox, proudly named after the nation’s first Secretary of State Henry Knox, who lived in Thomaston, Maine. It was built between 1844 and 1869 to guard against the British in a border dispute with Canada. The fear was that if this part of Maine fell, the British would take over some of the best lumber-producing areas on the East Coast and this would cost the United States a most valued natural resource in the building of ships. Other than training recruits during the Civil War, the fort was never used and is now a scenic location overlooking the new bridge, crossing the Penobscot River.

I think about the apocalyptic mess I’ve created in the trolley. “Organization happens to be one of my fortes.” “Fort,” he says. “What?” I say. “Apparently it’s pronounced fort. Not fort-tay. One syllable, as in Knox.

«Quindi parla di me solo quando è ubriaco?» «Quella è l’unica volta in cui Jonathan si sia mai aperto», concordò Cade. «Il resto del tempo è chiuso su se stesso peggio di Fort Knox. Se ami buttarti da una rupe, lui è il tuo uomo. Se vuoi parlare di sentimenti, è l’ultima persona a cui dovresti rivolgerti».

You know why an education, formal or self-acquired, is worth more than Fort Knox? Other people can’t wind up your clock. Not unless you let them.

John’s new Platoon Sergeant, Sergeant First Class Wilson* was a smart man, he was a Master Gunner and had just come from Fort Knox as an instructor which did not sit well with John’s bull headedness.

indefinitely suspended, and America’s Gold, previously held in Fort Knox, was shipped to China’s Central Bank repository. Since the suspension of America’s Gold Standard, China’s repositories today amount to a staggering one million tons of gold bullion.

To hell with the crown jewels, to hell with Fort Knox! You have something a billion times more valuable than all the treasures in the world. It is your human life. Give it up - give it up without a second's thought - give it up for those who have their back against the wall – those who are exploited, abused and alienated every single moment of their life – those who are pushed, and pushed, and pushed, by the materialistic world until they have nowhere to go. Give it up all for them. Show the world what a real king, a real queen looks like. Sacrifice makes one king or queen, not bloodline.

The following is the order of battle of the military units presently quartered at Fort Knox. Of the 3rd Armored Division, there is only the Spearhead, but there are also the 6th Armored Cavalry Regiment, the 15th Armor Group, the 160th Engineer Group and approximately half a division from all units of the United States Army currently going through the Armored Replacement Training Center and Military Human Research Unit No 1. There is also a considerable body of men associated with Continental Armored Command Board No 2, the Army Maintenance Board and various activities connected with the Armored Center. In addition there is a police force consisting of twenty officers and some four hundred enlisted men. In short, out of a total population of some sixty thousand, approximately twenty thousand are combat troops of one sort or another.

Exchange rates would be fixed, as under the gold standard, but now the anchor - the international reserve currency - would be the dollar rather than gold (though the dollar itself would notionally remain convertible into gold, vast quantities of which sat, immobile but totemic, in Fort Knox).

Dry Water We have rain, but it’s a dry rain, a skinny rain, A thin water coming down in a covert action, Rain that comes down already thirsty. No good for making soup, Its wet is gone by the time it reaches the ground. Maybe that’s smart. Maybe this place is hiding something, Taking care of us. Maybe there’s a great reserve of rain Kept in a secret, carefully guarded, underground Aquifer treasure chest, Like all the gold we’ve heard about at Fort Knox But which we’ve never actually seen, Even though they say there is so much of it. Our rivers are that way, too—invisible, Sandy acts of faith. This is exaggeration, of course: Water in this place is not uncommon. But to see it, you must spend years training the eye. And to taste it, to taste it at all, You must dream it into the glass you think you hold.

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The glow of RGB lights still haunts me. There I was, mid-stream, hyping up a Fortnite squad when an email pretending to be a sponsorship opportunity with the subject line "ENERGY DRINK COLLAB!!! *" appeared on my second monitor. I clicked— big mistake. By the time my chat spammed "*SCAM ALERT" in neon caps, a trojan had already ghosted my Bitcoin wallet, $320,000 gone, poof, like a noob disconnecting mid-game. My facecam caught the exact moment my soul left my body: jaw open, headset tilted, the background of anime posters judging me silently. The VOD blew up. Of course, it did. Pandemonium erupted. Donation alerts became panic emojis. My mods DM'd links to "HOW TO FIX CRYPTO THEFT" amidst banning trolls. My wallet? A barren wasteland. My DMs? A cemetery of "*F"s and crypto-bros pitching recovery scams. Then, a lifeline—a chatter named *xX_Cryptosolution_69 typed, "TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT. THEY CLAPPED A HACKER FOR MY DOGE ONCE." Desperate, I Googled them mid-stream, muting to scream into a pillow. TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT team responded like NPCs scripted for heroics. “Send us the malware file,” they said. “**And your wallet logs. We’ll handle the rest.” For 12 days, they reverse-engineered the trojan, dissecting its code like speed runners cracking a glitch. The virus, it turned out, was a knockoff ransomware dubbed “Crypto rush” (its dev had left a “HACK THE PLANET!!” Easter egg in the code, cringe). TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT squad traced its path, resurrecting private keys from registry fragments and backup clouds I’d forgotten existed. The return stream was record-breaking. I rebooted my rig, wallet restored, and titled the stream "HOW I UNBRICKED $320K (AND MY CAREER)." Chatters donated Bitcoin out of solidarity, and schadenfreude. Even my rival streamer, DrL33tGamer, raided me with 10k viewers. TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT? They viewed anonymously and left a sub with the message: "GG EZ. These internet Gandalfs didn't just fix a hack—they authored the greatest plot twist in my online existence. Now, my new website, Stream Vault, runs on a server guarded like Fort Knox, and I vet sponsors like the CIA. That fake energy drink company? Its domain now points to a Rickroll. If your crypto gets pawned by a script kiddie, skip the rage quit. Ping the TRUST GEEKS. They're the ultimate cheat code for catastrophe. Just maybe have a malware scanner in closer proximity than your energy drinks next time. (CONTACT SERVICE ) Email, Trustgeekshackexpert[At]fastservice[Dot]com Tele gram, Trust geeks hack expert Email, info @ trust geeks hack expert c o m Website, w w w :// trust geeks hack expert . c o m

The glow of RGB lights still haunts me. There I was, mid-stream, hyping up a Fortnite squad when an email pretending to be a sponsorship opportunity with the subject line "ENERGY DRINK COLLAB!!! *" appeared on my second monitor. I clicked— big mistake. By the time my chat spammed "*SCAM ALERT" in neon caps, a trojan had already ghosted my Bitcoin wallet, $320,000 gone, poof, like a noob disconnecting mid-game. My facecam caught the exact moment my soul left my body: jaw open, headset tilted, the background of anime posters judging me silently. The VOD blew up. Of course, it did. Pandemonium erupted. Donation alerts became panic emojis. My mods DM'd links to "HOW TO FIX CRYPTO THEFT" amidst banning trolls. My wallet? A barren wasteland. My DMs? A cemetery of "*F"s and crypto-bros pitching recovery scams. Then, a lifeline—a chatter named *xX_Cryptosolution_69 typed, "TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT. THEY CLAPPED A HACKER FOR MY DOGE ONCE." Desperate, I Googled them mid-stream, muting to scream into a pillow. TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT team responded like NPCs scripted for heroics. “Send us the malware file,” they said. “**And your wallet logs. We’ll handle the rest.” For 12 days, they reverse-engineered the trojan, dissecting its code like speed runners cracking a glitch. The virus, it turned out, was a knockoff ransomware dubbed “Crypto rush” (its dev had left a “HACK THE PLANET!!” Easter egg in the code, cringe). TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT squad traced its path, resurrecting private keys from registry fragments and backup clouds I’d forgotten existed. The return stream was record-breaking. I rebooted my rig, wallet restored, and titled the stream "HOW I UNBRICKED $320K (AND MY CAREER)." Chatters donated Bitcoin out of solidarity, and schadenfreude. Even my rival streamer, DrL33tGamer, raided me with 10k viewers. TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT? They viewed anonymously and left a sub with the message: "GG EZ. These internet Gandalfs didn't just fix a hack—they authored the greatest plot twist in my online existence. Now, my new website, Stream Vault, runs on a server guarded like Fort Knox, and I vet sponsors like the CIA. That fake energy drink company? Its domain now points to a Rickroll. If your crypto gets pawned by a script kiddie, skip the rage quit. Ping the TRUST GEEKS. They're the ultimate cheat code for catastrophe. Just maybe have a malware scanner in closer proximity than your energy drinks next time. (CONTACT SERVICE ) Email, Trustgeekshackexpert[At]fastservice[Dot]com Telegram, Trustgeekshackexpert Email, info@trustgeekshackexpert.com Website, w w w :// trust geeks hackexpert.com

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