Gr Quotes

At your next book club meeting, picture me sitting quietly in the corner, taking notes on your preferences. Imagine the next day you get an email from me trying to sell you a new grill — or a book — or accessories for your Glock. That's the Amazon/Goodreads deal. It's appalling. But everywhere in the press, you'll read about the genius of Amazon." (Michael Herrmann and the booksellers of Gibson's)

To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr From: gblake@theacademy.gr Subject: If I could do it over... ...I wouldn't treat you so badly. I'm sorry. Today wasn't about the bet. Give me another chance. G Just like him: brief, cryptic, and full of crap.

By deciding what is, and is not, allowed to be discussed in a review, by removing discussion of social context, and saying that only the words on the page count, Goodreads is ignoring fifty years of development of literary criticism, and is engaging in censorship.

…et puis on recommence encore le lendemain avec seulement la même règle que la veille et qui est d'éviter les grandes joies barbares de même que les gr-andes douleurs comme un crapaud contourne une pierre sur son chemin…

This is a forum for readers. Authors walk these halls at their own risk. I’ve been to the Coliseum in Rome. GR is just that. Books are gladiators. Readers are ravenous citizens awaiting their next bite of entertainment, all Caesars with thumbs readied for judgement. Even champions fall prey to sword now and then. And you know what they say about the pen and the sword…the analogy is a bit muddled, but it’s in there somewhere.

One noteworthy study suggests that people who suppress negative emotions tend to leak those emotions later in unexpected ways. The psychologist Judith Grob asked people to hide their emotions when she showed them disgusting images. She even had them hold pens in their mouths to prevent them from frowning. She found that this group reported feeling less disgusted by the pictures than did those who'd been allowed to react naturally. Later, however, the people who hid their emotions suffered side effects. Their memory was impaired, and the negative emotions they'd suppressed seemed to color their outlook. When Grob had them fill in the missing letter to the word "gr_ss", for example, they were more likely than others to offer "gross" rather than "grass". "People who tend to [suppress their negative emotions] regularly," concludes Grob, "might start to see their world in a more negative light." p. 223

If people wrote their reviews on paper and put them into a real, physical library, I am sure that the Goodreads administrators would be very reluctant to pull them down from shelves and burn them. When you can get rid of a piece of writing just by clicking on a few links, there’s a temptation to believe that it’s less serious. But it isn’t. It’s just less clear what you’ve done.

You want me to be truthful.. for your convenience.. but in turn.. you consider to be mendacious for your own convenience.. !! Gr8..!!

It is somehow painful when you can lay your life down for them, But they won't be there for you, Even when you need them the most - Goals Rider

The Internet is transient. Information can be removed with a couple of mouse-clicks; it is an Orwellian dream. We have been advised, by people who claim to know about these things, that there is no point in protesting against a social network. Whoever owns the network will run it as they see fit, normally to maximize their profit margin. Members who dispute the rules will simply be thrown out. The Terms of Use are written so as not to allow them any recourse.

And that's the most horrible thing about censorship: To avoid falling afoul of the censors, we question ourselves and censor ourselves and make a big deal out of things in our heads. We do the work of the control freaks for them, out of a desire to avoid them.

You may wish to spend a moment thinking about whether this person is an asset or a liability to your company

Stubborness isn't a choice, it's a way of life.

No, I have never had a problem finding books to read. But I have had a problem finding people who understand what it's like to really LOVE reading. Maybe even need it. People who associate periods of their life with the kinds of things they were reading then, whether in school or in dusty old rooms of a house in Holland. The kind of people who take personal journeys into books and write responses that are part review, part stories in themselves. This is what Goodreads has always given me.

In the beginning of a relationship, you see what you want to see. You fall in love with qualities you want in partner, not necessarily qualities your partner actually has. Then, over time, you begin to realise that no, the man in front of you is not the same person you felt in love with, because the person you felt in love with was a spectre, something of your own invention. Now you're left with a real flesh-and-blood human, and he isn't perfect, and now you have to deal with that. It's a stark time. It's not easy to come to grips with these things, but you can't go your whole life pretending this man is everything you built him up to be in your mind.

You won’t believe this. 99% of reviews on GoodBetterBestReads are written by less than one percent of the members. Did you hear that? 99%! Let’s repeat it. 99%. Let’s repeat it. 99%. Now, the thing is, we thought that by getting one percent to do all the writing, we could sell to the 100%. We placed a lot of trust in the one percent. Can you see our dilemma? A lot of people’s welfare depended on the one percent. What would happen to our cocktails and our cars and our condos, if the one percent staged a strike?

Here is a rewriting of the British national anthem, by 'Camille, Australia'. It is, she explains, chiefly for the benefit of Microsoft Word and Outlook Express users: Gd CTRL-S r gr8sh Qun. Long liv r nobl Qun. Gd CTRL-S the. Qun! ALT-S hr vktrES, HpE & glrES, Lng 2 rain ovR S Gd CTRL-S th. Qun!

It was already 12, sorry love <3

I am not Amish enough to emigrate when my way of life is threatened.

The GR site has acquired its market value through the work of its community.

An information panel was helpfully flashing the word "Emergency". I couldn't fault its grasp of the situation.

Finally, if you attempt to read this without working through a significant number of exercises (see §0.0.1), I will come to your house and pummel you with [Gr-EGA] until you beg for mercy. It is important to not just have a vague sense of what is true, but to be able to actually get your hands dirty. As Mark Kisin has said, “You can wave your hands all you want, but it still won’t make you fly.

How many millennia had she witnessed? Watching people, loved ons, be bron, live, grow and die was at once a thought of wonder and infinite sadness.

The reality, Haung knew, would be something quite different. From a distance, civilisation looks clean and desirable. Up close, the shine is dulled by self-interest and tarnished by greed.

I urge you strongly not to give Stop the Goodreads Bullies traffic. Their initial postings were all doxings of reviewers. ... There are a lot of arguments on the legitimacy of doxing, but I think most reasonable people would agree that the response to a negative - not even libelous - review should not be the open posting of a reviewer's address. That's not the counter of speech by more speech, but with an implicit threat. It's not that you're wrong, and here's why; it's that I know where you live.

The fear receded. It didn't disappear. It lurked in the shadows, its claws hooking into passing thoughts and twisting them, turning them from their purpose to its own. He held it back. It was the hardest fight of his life.

And then they started deleting the protest reviews. That was my line. When they started to stamp out dissent, actually to make it disappear with virtually no excuse for doing so...that’s not neglect. That’s not an overwhelmed person or people trying to figure it out. That’s an entity that has decided that they do not care, that they have moved on from the issue, do not see it as an issue, and is trying to avoid bad press. Or they are too far down the line to backtrack on what they’ve been doing and save face. They’re content with their wildly inconsistent policy enough to no longer care what effect it is having on their user base. If you try to silence dissent, then something is very, very wrong.

. . . I can see how the issue of exercising corporate control over users content is truly enraging here, on a site significantly made by these contributors. It’s unavoidable that we come to this, in my opinion (corporations always do), and GR/Amazon has all keys to the kingdom, but I can see why it’s so disappointing and enraging. Your content is theirs to do with as they please, their software works as they want, your choices are take it or leave it. The Internet is no longer for sharing (nor for porn!), it’s for corporations to exercise their control over users.

Everyone has the talent to succeed as long as they maintain the perseverance to never give up.

The young woman didn't move or acknowledge my presence, but when you've lost the back half of your skull I'd imagine that the appearance of a man as handsome as me was low on your list of priorities.

merge 1

Merge 1

Itulah untungnya jadi lelaki. Engkau selalu dibekali antena gaib untuk menangkap sinyal-sinyal tak terduga. Psikolog karbitan menyebutnya dengan istilah dua huruf. GR.

Υπάρχουν πολλαπλοί κβαντικοί κόσμοι https://itunes.apple.com/gr/book/mesa...

Zach is like the more I think about it the more I think y ruin a gr8 friendship? I still think tiny's awesome tho.

☆Gr being stupid ☆

I believe that any form of writing exercise is good for you. I also believe that any form of tuition which helps develop your awareness of the different properties, styles, and effects of writing is good for you. It helps you become a better reader, more sensitive to nuance, and a better writer, more sensitive to audience. Texting language is no different from other innovative forms of written expression that have emerged in the past. It is a type of language whose communicative strengths and weaknesses need to be appreciated.

What the Motorcycle Said Br-r-r-am-m-m, rackerty-am-m, OM, AM: All-r-r-room, r-r-ram, ala-bas-ter- Am, the world’s my oyster. I hate plastic, wear it black and slick, hate hardhats, wear one on my head, That’s what the motorcycle said. Passed phonies in Fords, knockede down billboards, landed On the other side of The Gap, and Whee, bypassed history. When I was born (The Past), baby knew best. They shook when I bawled, took Freud’s path, threw away their wrath. R-r-rackety-am-m. Am. War, rhyme, soap, meat, marriage, the Phantom Jet are sh*t, and like that. Hate pompousness, punishment, patience, am into Love, hate middle-class moneymakers, live on Dad, that’s what the motorcycle said. Br-r-r-am-m-m. It’s Nowsville, man. Passed Oldies, Uglies, Straighties, Honkies. I’ll never be mean, tired, or unsexy. Passed cigarette suckers, souses, mother-fuckers, losers, went back to Nature and found how to get VD, stoned. Passed a cow, too fast to hear her moo, “I rolled our leaves of grass into one ball. I am the grassy All.” Br-r-r-am-m-m, rackety-am-m, OM, Am: All-gr-r-rin, oooohgah, gl-l-utton- Am, the world’s my smilebutton.

This book is irrelevant to Goodreads because you can’t buy it on Amazon. Also it talks about oppression, censorship etc. and no one really likes reading about that because it’s boring. Yet, let me tell you anyway. The title of this book is The Image of Everyday Life in Press during the Martial Law, which is a little bit ridiculous because what could be read in Press those days when it was so heavily censored?

There was something so unutterably ridiculous about the sight of a US company deleting posts accusing it of censorship that many other people began to protest.

It may seem strange, but I have an aversion to people trying to kill me. It sparks this almost unconscious desire to do something about it. It also sets fire to my desire to survive.

Also, the whole concept of "Off-topic" is silly beyond discussion. If you start removing off-topic reviews from this site, most of them will disappear. So "off-topic" for GR means: "something which we don't like." This is again censorship in its vilest form.

Getting lost in the ocean was a sure way to get yourself killed. Back in the academy, they’d spent weeks teaching us the formulae, tips and tricks. The exams had been a special sort of hell that accounted for almost as many drop outs as the first lungful of Oxyquid. And now, out in the endless expanse of the ocean, I used a computer program that did it all for me. Education; never a waste of time.

The image of Jiao’s face when she was told he had been drowned with a half-naked woman tied to his body made him giggle and he realised he was close to panicking.

Only the last gasp of evening served to illuminate the stone floor.

Is it possible for g.r to put the g.r page back into my computer because I lost the data.

Για να πεθάνεις πρέπει να έχεις όλες τις λέξεις διαθέσιμες.

The power of the metaphor is that in a single flash the entire idea is revealed.

Hhh, beginikah nasib mereka yang jatuh cinta. Mencoba menerka-nerka sesuatu yang mungkin sama sekali tidak ada artinya. (270)

We can try to run,” he said. “But one day we must all face our past.

good

merge2

Information is a weapon as much as a sword.

I love the new GR.com

dismenorrea (De dis-2, el gr. μήν, μηνός, mes, y -rrea). f. Med. Menstruación dolorosa o difícil.

AS: Methinks the lady doth protest too much. GR: Wait, did you just call me a lady? AS: That was Shakespeare, son. Come on, now. Didn't you go to school?

…et puis on recommence encore le lendemain avec seulement la même règle que la veille et qui est d'éviter les grandes joies barbares de même que les gr-andes douleurs comme un crapaud contourne une pierre sur son chemin. Mais toi, pour que tu vives, il te faut conquérir chaque jour à nouveau la vie rétive, la vie qui piafîe et qui renâcle, qui ne veut pas être asservie, dont seul un perpétuel miracle peut te li^T•er la crinière sauvage, les flancs humides et battants et les larges naseaux qui fument. — Toi, il faut que ta vie soit un acte d'amour,

When you start something you cannot give yourself a time-frame for success. You can't say: if it doesn't work out in six-months I will give up. Your only task is to keep doing whatever it takes to achieve the goal.

The often heard lament, “I have so little time,” gives the lie to the delusion that the daily is of little significance. Everyone has exactly the same amount of time, the same twenty—four hours in which many a weary voice has uttered the gospel truth: “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof” (Mt 6:34, KJV). But most of us, most of the time, take for granted what is closest to us and is most universal. The daily round of sunrise and sunset, for example, that marks the coming and passing of each day, is no longer a symbol of human hopes, or of God’s majesty, but a grind, something we must grit our teeth to endure. Our busy schedules, and even urban architecture, which all too often deprives us of a sense of the sky, has diminished our capacity to marvel with the psalmist in the passage of time as an expression of God’s love for us and for all creation: It was God who made the great lights, whose love endures forever; the sun to rule in the day, whose love endures forever; the moon and stars in the night, whose love endures forever. (Ps 136: 7—9, GR) When

You and the spirit are no different, there is no separation. You are the spirit and the spirit is you. It has always been this way. Where there are no spirits, there are no people. This is what we must awaken in people.

One noteworthy study suggests that people who suppress negative emotions tend to leak those emotions later in unexpected ways. The psychologist Judith Grob asked people to hide their emotions as she showed them disgusting images. She even had them hold pens in their mouths to prevent them from frowning. She found that this group reported feeling less disgusted by the pictures than did those who’d been allowed to react naturally. Later, however, the people who hid their emotions suffered side effects. Their memory was impaired, and the negative emotions they’d suppressed seemed to color their outlook. When Grob had them fill in the missing letter to the word “gr_ss,” for example, they were more likely than others to offer “gross” rather than “grass.” “People who tend to [suppress their negative emotions] regularly,” concludes Grob, “might start to see the world in a more negative light.

The moment froze. Soldiers passing by stopped and looked, confused. Zhou could taste the moment on his tongue. The wrong move by anyone, from soldier to magician, and the fear would give way to anger, anger to violence and then to death.

As the voices fall silent, the individuals who make up the amorphous and always changing community must decide for themselves, as they always have. I can’t write a coda because I can’t speak for others. I can only and ever speak for myself.

Sword fighting is not a dance, not in battle. You save all that showing off for the duels if you want to. In battle, when you kill, kill quickly, and be ready for the next enemy to come at you. One strike should be all it takes. It’s all you’ll get

…et puis on recommence encore le lendemain avec seulement la même règle que la veille et qui est d'éviter les grandes joies barbares de même que les gr-andes douleurs comme un crapaud contourne une pierre sur son chemin… When I first read in translation these verses by Guy-Charles Cros, I blushed until my face burned. The toad. (That is what I was - a toad. It was not a question of whether or not society tolerated me, whether or not it ostracized me. I was an animal lower than a dog, lower than a cat. A toad. I sluggishly moved - that's all.)

Gone was the snow covered peak that had pierced the sky. It was shorter and from its truncated summit red flame spewed forth. He watched, mesmerised, as great sparks of red and orange, leaped into the air from the mountain only and fell to the earth in an imitation of a rain drop.

There is something weird about facing a dripping wet, semi-naked man across a padded practice mat when you're wearing nothing but your own skin tight underwear and that's covered in a slippery, oily gel. If this got any more homoerotic, I'd have to think about introducing him to my parents.

―Esta es tu casa. Nosotros somos tu familia, ¿es que no lo ves? ―Toma aire y su garganta se mueve al tragar saliva con fuerza―. Quiero que te quedes conmigo. ―¿Por qué? ―inquiero confusa. Esboza una sonrisa nerviosa y se encoge de hombros. ―¿De verdad tengo que decirlo? Estoy loco por ti. Te quiero, Mía.

You must be ready to change and be aware when things are changing. For instance, even now, outside the door is something that will change today's lesson. You must learn to listen between the rain drops. A change, when it comes, will step lightly before it kicks like thunder. Hear the light steps and be ready for the thunder.

The sky was masked by a column of smoke. New clouds pushed out from the main stack, one over another, higher and higher into the blue. At its upper reach, the cloud began to spread across the sky until it covered the whole of the horizon. Zhou looked up to see it pass overhead. The land grew dark as the cloud covered the sun.

Zhou fell in behind an administrator carrying a wooden box full of scrolls. His own arms were laden down with scrolls and a scholar's robe covered the dark clothes, the unfortunate previous owner would wake in a few hours with a large bruise and a headache to match. He kept his head down as they approached the guarded door to the keep.

The life of a Wu is to raise, protect and nurture that spirit. The spirit has been gifted to us, to understand it, to commune with it. We are the fathers and mothers of the spirit. Everything we do must be to honour that gift. We can harm the spirit, abuse it, treat it as a slave, we can even kill it though we would die too, but this is not our way.

nice life good health

holly life

Zhou,” her voice was just a whisper, “they have not hurt me physically, they have damaged and drained my Qi. I need to rest and recover

I knew my voice was getting louder. It's one of those things anger does to you, dulls your hearing and opens your throat. You have to shout just to hear your own words.

I've never worried that a city would fall on me. It's not an event that I've lain awake woorying about, it's one of those fears you take as read. Sadly, a city was falling on me.

If you can't hide, act confident. It would have to be one hell of an act.

We live in the deep sea, surrounded by pressure that could kill us in an instant, with no access to the surface world, that is our natural home.

Me, a strap and a wrench. A mostly empty room and a door locked from the outside. I was trapped.

The sea is never quiet. There is always noise. Close to the city, the deep hum of the generators and the clanking of people and machines churning out whatever it was they made.

I've never worried that a city would fall on me. It's not an event that I've lain awake worrying about, it's one of those fears you take as read. Sadly, a city was falling on me

―Lo que quiero es follarte como nunca nadie lo ha hecho, Mía. Quiero enterrarme tan dentro de ti que sea imposible saber dónde termina mi cuerpo y empieza el tuyo, eso es lo que quiero.

There are men, and women, Haung, who are possessed of skills beyond the ordinary. Some of these men can seem to be invisible, some to pass through walls, some are assassins of incredible skill, some swordsmen of incomparable greatness, some wise and peaceful. But each is special and I have ensured that each duke knows who they are and where they are. I am content to let these men live in peace, and to go about their business without any undue interference. There are times, in the past, and there may be again in the near future, when I will call upon them to do the Empire a service. I expect them to come and serve with all duty and honour. I have never been let down by them. In return, they are free to live and to be outside, within reason, the law of the Empire. This is the list of forbidden men, Haung.

The subtle hum of the Oxyquid filters and motors ceased. A noise I'd long ago grown accustomed to, that had become just background and automatically ignored, stopped. It was unsettling in it's absence. The ocean is never truly silent but, at that moment, it was quieter than I ever wished it to be ever again. A quiet that made me doubt my sanity, made my eardrums hurt as they sought a sound, a faint tremor of noise to cup and hold ddear.

They’ll hit me. They’ll hurt me.” A sob followed the words. “Yes, they will, Jing Ke. But, by standing up to them, by fighting back each time, you will teach them that you are strong. That you are brave and not easily picked on.

Being in that suit means you are pretty much on your own. When I was being trained, the first thing I had to know how to do was fix it. From the boots to the helmet, there is nothing, given access to the spare parts, I can't fix.

If you've ever taken a sub, you'll know they have available every luxury item the weary traveller could ever wish to purchase. Drinks, food, perfumes, clothes, blankets, anything. These compartments weren't empty, but I doubt the weary traveller was really in the market for a selection of low and high powered pistols, assault rifles, armour piercing rounds and the variety of explosive devices on offer. Unless they were on the way to a Christmas family get-together.

Zhou,” Biyu said, when Sabaa paused, “before the Jade Emperor, humans were just like the beasts in the field. We ate, lived and reproduced, but we were going nowhere. The universe is order in all its perfection, stagnant and unchanging. The wars set us free. Free to change, to learn, to adapt, to become more than we were. To do that, we sacrificed order for a measure of chaos, of challenge. It let some people, men and women, do evil, but even that inspired many more to do good. Medicines, writing, music, architecture, all the accomplishments of your Empire came at a high price, but it was worth paying. Tonight we reaffirm that fact. Without the power we grant the Jade Emperor from the realms we represent, we would lose all that we have gained. The universe would reassert its control. Over the years, order would take charge once more and progress would end. Given time, our race would slide back into the beasts we were once. It is something we could not survive.

There was a scream from inside. Drawing his sword, Haung crept up to the door and slid inside, merging with the shadows. The source of the scream was illuminated by the conjured light-ball in the centre of the room. Haung took in the scene and felt all strength flee from muscles. His arms fell limp by his side and the tip of his sword struck the tiled floor with a bright clink. From the rafters, two small bodies hung, rope tight round their necks, blackened tongues swelling from their mouths and sightless eyes staring into the void. Below the bodies of the two children, a naked woman, bruised body and bloody face sat staring at him. Blood pooled from between her knees and it was clear to Haung what had happened to her, and to her young children. She screamed again and again. Her eyes were desperate and disbelieving. Her claw fingered hands tore at her cheeks again and again. Ragged lines of blood dripped down her face, tears of madness and grief. Haung stared at her, unable to move.

From then on it was an easier process, though any crab shedding it's shell would look at me and think I had it easy. To be fair, I probably did, but if I caught that crab I'd boil it in water and eat it. Just to teach it to keep it's thoughts to itself.

Life is a fragile thing. You hold it in your hand for but a moment. Each heartbeat is a victory over death’s questing fingers and an escape from his skeletal grip. I’d felt him a time or two run a frozen finger down my back or across my cheek, a seductive caresses promising surcease from the pain of life. I’d welcomed him with open arms on occasion over the past few years, but he always teased me, toyed with me, moving on with the promise to return another day. Other times I’d fought him off, clinging onto the last vestiges of life with ripped fingernails.

Visions of a pitched battle in the docks flashed through my mind. Innocent bystanders torn apart by gunfire and explosions. Children wailing and parents, wild eyed and stunned, stumbling round in search of their lost ones, turning over twisted bodies to gaze into the dead eyes and shredded skin of someone’s shattered dream.

The Bible is full of evidence that God’s attention is indeed fixed on the little things. But this is not because God is a Great Cosmic Cop, eager to catch us in minor transgressions, but simply because God loves us—loves us so much that the divine presence is revealed even in the meaningless workings of daily life. It is in the ordinary, the here—and—now, that God asks us to recognize that the creation is indeed refreshed like dew—laden grass that is “renewed in the morning” (Ps 90:5), or to put it in more personal and also theological terms, “our inner nature is being renewed every day” (2 Cor 4:16). Seen in this light, what strikes many modern readers as the ludicrous attention to detail in the book of Leviticus, involving God in the minutiae of daily life—all the cooking and cleaning of a people’s domestic life—might be revisioned as the very love of God. A God who cares so much as to desire to be present to us in everything we do. It is this God who speaks to us through the psalmist as he wakes from sleep, amazed, to declare, “I will bless you, Lord, you give me counsel, and even at night direct my heart” (Ps 16:7, GR). It is this God who speaks to us through the prophets, reminding us that by meeting the daily needs of the poor and vulnerable, characterized in the scriptures as the widows and orphans, we prepare the way of the Lord and make our own hearts ready for the day of salvation. When it comes to the nitty—gritty, what ties these threads of biblical narrative together into a revelation of God’s love is that God has commanded us to refrain from grumbling about the dailiness of life. Instead we are meant to accept it gratefully, as a reality that humbles us even as it gives us cause for praise. The rhythm of sunrise and sunset marks a passage of time that makes each day rich with the possibility of salvation, a concept that is beautifully summed up in an ancient saying from the monastic tradition: “Abba Poeman said concerning Abba Pior that every day he made a new beginning.

It bounded from the line of trees directly ahead. This was his first real sight of the spirit and the breath stuck in his throat. Its black fur rippled as muscles bunched, flexed and powered the sleek animal towards him. Front legs reached forward, claws extended to dig into the soft ground as its body compressed. Back arching upwards as the rear legs caught up with the front and gathered their strength, propelling the cat forward again. The panther ate up the ground between the forest and Zhou. As it closed, he could see the yellow iris surrounding the deep, black, circular pupil. Either side of its snout, whiskers sprouted, sensing the movement of air, and its mouth parted to reveal two, long, sharp canine teeth rising from its bottom jaw.

An axe rising into the air, the sun’s light scattering from its chipped edge. A whisper of air and a cry of effort as a shield met the blow and shattered. Splinters pinwheeling through the air and sudden lack of weight on his arm. Gladius stabbing forward, driven by training and instinct.A gap opening in the line ahead. A soldier falling and stumbling over the injured man, desperate to keep his shield high and sword in tight. Moving into the gap and slamming the shield forward to create room, peering over the top, wary of an attack. Heavy armour and biting pain at the base of your neck where the helmet’s rim met flesh. Sweat pouring down your face, under the cheek guards, and hot breath burning lungs as each precious gasp powered you forward.

It is true also, Novice Feng, that negotiations, situations, can change without warning. You must be ready to change and be aware when things are changing. For instance, even now, outside the door is something that will change today's lesson. You must learn to listen between the raindrops. A change, when it comes, will step lightly before it kicks like thunder. Hear the light steps and be ready for the thunder.

With air, you can struggle for a time. If you've trained in a Fish-Suit, you can struggle quite some time. However, without blood to your brain a few seconds is all it takes to become unconscious. Keep it up a few seconds more and that brief sleep can be extended by hours. A few more seconds and you can kill someone. It was all in the timing. Too little and they'd wake up whilst you were about your business. Too much and you'd kill them.

Lad, the Fish-Suit was one of the Special Forces during Corp Wars. They don't give off much electromagnetic radiation and they are quiet to move about in, if the user chooses. They were the sabotage units. Not much use in a fight, but they'd go in and wreck the enemies capability before the battle even started. More civilians died to them than were collateral damage in any battle," he said. "There was a time when they weren't liked by any side.

Be warned, the ink you use is magical and your oath will be binding. If you carry falsehoods in your heart, the ink will know and it will signal us. The punishment for a false oath will be harsh, I assure you.” Haung paused to give the troops a hard stare and then he waved the first one forward, watching as the man approached the sorcerer's apprentice who stood behind the desk. The apprentice placed a pre-prepared sheet of paper in front of the man and handed him the brush pen. With a trembling hand, the man dipped the brush into the ink bowl and shakily signed his name. The ink stayed as ink and there was an audible sigh, echoed by the other recruits, from the man. Four more times this happened. When the fifth shaking and nervous man approached, he took the brush, dipped it into the ink and drew the character for his name. As he handed the brush back the ink on the page hissed and bubbled giving off an acrid blue smoke. Guards grabbed the man and dragged him, kicking, screaming and pleading his innocence into the dark room behind the desk. There was more shouted pleading and then a chilling, bone grating, scream erupted from the doorway followed by silence. The guards re-appeared, wiping their daggers with sword-cloth and replacing them in their belt scabbards.