Hail The King Quotes

You see?” said Laurent. “He has forgiven me for the small matter of the whip. I have forgiven him for the small matter of killing my brother. All hail the alliance.

I will kneel to only one ruler, and I will se only one person crowned this say. The age of the Lanstovs is over." He sank to one knee. "Let the Nazyalensky dynasty begin. All hail the Dragon Queen.

Hail Mary, Forgive me, Blood for blood, hearts beating, come at me, now this is war!

Luka, the king—" "Hail the king!" he playfully interrupted. "Why does everyone say 'hail the king' every time I mention Darius?" "Tradition." He winked at me from over his shoulder. A grin stretched my lips. "So, if I say king—" "Hail the king!" I tried again. "King?" "Hail the king!" "King." "Hail the king!" "K—" "Stop it!

The mad King, the bad King, the sad King. Ring-a-ding-ding, all hail the King!

This is for you." i pressed the stone in Kerwyn's hand. Kerwyn turned it over in his hands, unimpressed. "imatator's gold? It's worthless." "No, it's real gold. I am real Kerwyn." ... He pulled a creased and worn paper from his pocket and unfolded it. His hands shook increasingly as he read it. Then he turned to the audience and said, "This note was given to me by King Eckbert ... to read it only if someone ever came forward claiming to be the prince. This is what it says." He read aloud, "'Many may one day claim to be the lost prince of Carthya. ... You will know the Prince Jaron by one sign alone. He will give you the humblest of rocks and tell you it's gold.'" ... "Lords and ladies of Carthya, I present to you the son of King Eckbert and Queen Erin. He is the lost royal of Carthya, who lives and stands before you. Hail, Prince Jaron.

Let this ground be seeded with salt, so that no stalk of corn, or stalk of wheat shall ever grow. Cursed be the children of this ground, and cursed be their loins. Also cursed be their hams and hocks. Hail Marry full of grace, let us blow this goddamn place.

Kennedy entered, waving to the standing audience, an elderly gentleman in an Alpine hat and lederhosen struck up “Hail to the Chief ” on an accordion bigger than he was. The president did a double take, then lifted both hands in an amiable holy shit gesture. For the first time I saw him as I had come to see Oswald—as an actual man. In the double take and the gesture that followed it, I saw something even more beautiful than a sense of humor: an appreciation for life’s essential absurdity.

They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.

I don't want your apology, least of all for being afraid," he said. "Without fear, what would we be? Mad dogs with foam on our muzzles and shit drying on our hocks." "What do you want, then?" Eddie cried. "You've taken everything else- everything I have to give! No, not even that, because in the end, I gave it to you! So what else do you want from me?" Roland held the key which was their half of Jake Chamber's salvation locked in his fist and said nothing. His eyes held Eddie's, and the sun shone on the green expanse of plain and the blue-gray reach of the Send River, and somewhere in the distance the crow hailed again across the golden leagues of this fading summer afternoon. After awhile, understanding began to dawn in Eddie Dean's eyes. Roland nodded. "I have forgotten the face. . ." Eddie paused. Dipped his head. Swallowed. Looked up at the Gunslinger once more. The thing which had been dying among them had moved on now- Roland knew it. That thing was gone. Just like that. Here, on this sunny wind-swept ridge at the edge of everything, it had gone forever. "I have forgotten the face of my father, gunslinger. . . and I cry your pardon." Roland opened his hand and returned the small burden of the key to him who ka had decreed must carry it. "Speak not so, gunslinger," he said in the High Speech. "Your father sees you very well. . . loves you very well . . . and so do I." Eddie closed his own hand over the key and turned away with his tears still drying on his face. "Let's go," he said, and they began to move down the long hill toward the plain which streched beyond.

The great social, moral, and spiritual battles of the ages boiled down to Sandy McDougall slamming her snot-nosed kid in the corner and the kid would grow up and slam his own kid in the corner, world without end, hallelujah, chunky peanut butter. Hail Mary, full of grace, help me win this stock-car race.

Those who serve and those who rule Lepers, kings and mindless fools Empire leaders, tyrant's tools All will fade with time Hail the cowards, brave at heart The ugly and the beautiful Those who never felt their souls All live transient lives

Commala-come-come There’s a young man with a gun. Young man lost his honey When she took it on the run. Commala-come-one! She took it on the run! Left her baby lonely But he baby ain’t done. Commala-come-coo The wind’ll blow ya through. Ya gotta go where ka’s wind blows ya Cause there’s nothin else to do. Commala-come-two! Nothin else to do! Gotta go where ka’s wind blows ya Cause there’s nothin else to do. Commala-come-key Can you tell me what ya see? Is it ghosts or just the mirror That makes ya wanna flee? Commala-come-three! I beg ya, tell me! Is it ghosts or just your darker self That makes ya wanna flee? Commala-come-ko Whatcha doin at my do’? If ya doan tell me now, my friend I’ll lay ya on de flo’. Commala-come-fo’! I can lay ya low! The things I’ve do to such as you You never wanna know. Commala-gin-jive Ain’t it grand to be alive? To look out on Discordia When the Demon Moon arrives. Commala-come-five! Even when the shadows rise! To see the world and walk the world Makes ya glad to be alive. Commala-mox-nix! You’re in a nasty fix! To take a hand in traitor’s glove Is to grasp a sheaf of sticks! Commala-come-six! Nothing there but thorns and sticks! When your find your hand in traitor’s glove You’re in a nasty fix. Commala-loaf-leaven! They go to hell or up to heaven! The the guns are shot and the fires hot, You got to poke em in the oven. Commala-come-seven! Salt and yow’ for leaven! Heat em up and knock em down And poke em in the oven. Commala-ka-kate You’re in the hands of fate. No matter if it’s real or not, The hour groweth late. Commala-come-eight! The hour groweth late! No matter what shade ya cast You’re in the hands of fate. Commala-me-mine You have to walk the line. When you finally get the thing you need It makes you feel so fine. Commala-come-nine! It makes ya feel fine! But if you’d have the thing you need You have to walk the line. Commala-come-ken It’s the other one again. You may know her name and face But that don’t make her your friend. Commala-come-ten! She is not your friend! If you let her get too close She’ll cut you up again! Commala-come-call We hail the one who made us all, Who made the men and made the maids, Who made the great and small. Commala-come-call! He made us great and small! And yet how great the hand of fate That rules us one and all. Commala-come-ki, There’s a time to live and one to die. With your back against the final wall Ya gotta let the bullets fly. Commala-come-ki! Let the bullets fly! Don’t ‘ee mourn for me, my lads When it comes my day to die. Commala-come-kass! The child has come at last! Sing your song, O sing it well, The child has come to pass. Commala-come-kass, The worst has come to pass. The Tower trembles on its ground; The child has come at last. Commala-come-come, The battle’s now begun! And all the foes of men and rose Rise with the setting sun.

Hail Mary, full of grace, help me win this stock-car race.

And it came to pass that in the hour of defeat Aragorn came up from the sea and unfurled the standard of Arwen in the battle of the fields of Pelennor, and in that day he was first hailed as king. And at last when all was done he entered into the inheritance of his fathers and received the crown of Gondor and the Sceptre of Arnor; and at midsummer in the year of the Fall of Sauron he took the hand of Arwen Undomiel, and they were wedded in the city of the kings.

... WHEN ONE LOOKS INTO THE DARKNESS THERE IS ALWAYS SOMETHING THERE... Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre, Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise In Druid vapour and make the torches dim; Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him Who met Fand walking among flaming dew By a grey shore where the wind never blew, And lost the world and Emer for a kiss; And him who drove the gods out of their liss, And till a hundred morns had flowered red Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead; And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods: And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, And sought through lands and islands numberless years, Until he found, with laughter and with tears, A woman of so shining loveliness That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, A little stolen tress. I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die? Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? Out of sight is out of mind: Long have man and woman-kind, Heavy of will and light of mood, Taken away our wheaten food, Taken away our Altar stone; Hail and rain and thunder alone, And red hearts we turn to grey, Are true till time gutter away. ... the common people are always ready to blame the beautiful.

The monster, Hitler, died like Uther, frightened, hiding, haunted by his crimes and his wholly reasonable belief that all decent human beings would turn their backs on him. Who really cares where Hitler’s bones lie, or how he died, as long as he is safely dead? Now, in the twenty-first century, Karl Marx’s grave in a London cemetery is no longer a rallying cry to the poisoned idea that the end justifies the means. We shall never know for certain where Arthur lies, or if he even lived. If he was a myth, then it was necessary for human beings to invent him. Hail, Arthur, King of the Britons! I wish another hero would take your place, now that the west has such a need of you.

Only a handful of individuals in human history can be truly hailed as Christians, such as Tolstoy, Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Rumi, Martin Luther King Jr. and a few others.

I remember you,' says the door. 'My prince's lady.' 'You're mistaken,' I say. 'Seldom.' The door swings open with a slight creak that indicates disuse. 'Hail and welcome.

All hail the Girl King!

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them—words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear. I was twelve going on thirteen when I first saw a dead human being. It happened in 1960, a long time ago . . . although sometimes it doesn’t seem that long to me. Especially on the nights I wake up from dreams where the hail falls into his open eyes.

When I was a boy, my grandfather taught me the list of kings: Romulus, Numa Pompilius, Tullus Hostilius, Ancus Marcius, Tarquinius the Elder, Servius Tullius. Tarquinius the Proud was to be the last, the very last, cast out and replaced forever by something called a republic. A mockery! A mistake! An experiment that failed! Today is the republic’s final day. Tomorrow, men will shout in the Forum, ‘All hail King Coriolanus!

Empis! Hail Leah of the Gallien! HAIL YOUR QUEEN!” I think it was a boffo line to go out on, as my dad might have said, but I’ll never know for sure, because that’s when the hinges fell out of my knees and I lost consciousness. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I was twelve going on thirteen when I first saw a dead human being. It happened in 1960, a long time ago... although sometimes it doesn't seem that long to me. Especially on the nights I wake up from dreams where the hail falls into his open eyes.

I had twisted Hail Vega into a creature of violence who everyone in Solaria feared, and I had seen the effectiveness of that. It was time I truly donned his crown and took his title upon myself. For it had always been me behind his greatness anyway. I was the Dragon Lord, Lionel Acrux, and I was the true Savage King.

In his dark and frugal clothes some took him for a sort of preacher but he was no witness to them, neither of things at hand nor things to come, he least of any man. They were remote places for news that he traveled in and in those uncertain times men toasted the ascension of rulers already deposed and hailed the coronation of kings murdered and in their graves.

You need a safe word.” Her eyes lit up. Honest to fucking God, lit up as I suggested that. “Can it be utterly ridiculous?” she asked, biting her bottom lip. “No,” I growled. “Can it be cock-munching-honey-badger?” “No.” “Super-dicks-unite?” “No.” “Hail-Saint-Lord-of-spanking?” “How many times do you want to end up being punished?” I demanded as her eyes danced with amusement. “As

The polished wood door is still carved with an enormous and sinister face, still flanked with lanterns, but sprites no longer fly in desperate circles within. A soft glow of magic emanates instead. 'My king,' the door says fondly, it's eyes opening. Cardan smiles in return. 'My door,' he says with a slight hitch in his voice, as though perhaps everything about returning here feel strange. 'Hail and welcome,' it says, and swings wide.

Part of what kept him standing in the restive group of men awaiting authorization to enter the airport was a kind of paralysis that resulted from Sylvanshine’s reflecting on the logistics of getting to the Peoria 047 REC—the issue of whether the REC sent a van for transfers or whether Sylvanshine would have to take a cab from the little airport had not been conclusively resolved—and then how to arrive and check in and where to store his three bags while he checked in and filled out his arrival and Post-code payroll and withholding forms and orientational materials then somehow get directions and proceed to the apartment that Systems had rented for him at government rates and get there in time to find someplace to eat that was either in walking distance or would require getting another cab—except the telephone in the alleged apartment wasn’t connected yet and he considered the prospects of being able to hail a cab from outside an apartment complex were at best iffy, and if he told the original cab he’d taken to the apartment to wait for him, there would be difficulties because how exactly would he reassure the cabbie that he really was coming right back out after dropping his bags and doing a quick spot check of the apartment’s condition and suitability instead of it being a ruse designed to defraud the driver of his fare, Sylvanshine ducking out the back of the Angler’s Cove apartment complex or even conceivably barricading himself in the apartment and not responding to the driver’s knock, or his ring if the apartment had a doorbell, which his and Reynolds’s current apartment in Martinsburg most assuredly did not, or the driver’s queries/threats through the apartment door, a scam that resided in Claude Sylvanshine’s awareness only because a number of independent Philadelphia commercial carriage operators had proposed heavy Schedule C losses under the proviso ‘Losses Through Theft of Service’ and detailed this type of scam as prevalent on the poorly typed or sometimes even handwritten attachments required to explain unusual or specific C-deductions like this, whereas were Sylvanshine to pay the fare and the tip and perhaps even a certain amount in advance on account so as to help assure the driver of his honorable intentions re the second leg of the sojourn there was no tangible guarantee that the average taxi driver—a cynical and ethically marginal species, hustlers, as even their smudged returns’ very low tip-income-vs.-number-of-fares-in-an-average-shift ratios in Philly had indicated—wouldn’t simply speed away with Sylvanshine’s money, creating enormous hassles in terms of filling out the internal forms for getting a percentage of his travel per diem reimbursed and also leaving Sylvanshine alone, famished (he was unable to eat before travel), phoneless, devoid of Reynolds’s counsel and logistical savvy in the sterile new unfurnished apartment, his stomach roiling in on itself in such a way that it would be all Sylvanshine could do to unpack in any kind of half-organized fashion and get to sleep on the nylon travel pallet on the unfinished floor in the possible presence of exotic Midwest bugs, to say nothing of putting in the hour of CPA exam review he’d promised himself this morning when he’d overslept slightly and then encountered last-minute packing problems that had canceled out the firmly scheduled hour of morning CPA review before one of the unmarked Systems vans arrived to take him and his bags out through Harpers Ferry and Ball’s Bluff to the airport, to say even less about any kind of systematic organization and mastery of the voluminous Post, Duty, Personnel, and Systems Protocols materials he should be receiving promptly after check-in and forms processing at the Post, which any reasonable Personnel Director would expect a new examiner to have thoroughly internalized before reporting for the first actual day interacting with REC examiners, and which there was no way in any real world that Sylvanshine could expect

breath, opened the pouch, and pulled out the parchment. Dearest Sister, I trust you received my earlier letter explaining why it was not safe for you to return. My mouth parted. Judas had written before—why had I not received it? The danger to you in Galilee has not fully passed, though it has lessened. Antipas is fully consumed by his lust to be named King of the Jews by Rome. Last week we came into Judea on our way to Jerusalem where we will remain through Passover. Antipas has no rule here. Come to us with all haste. Sail with Lavi to Joppa and make your way to Bethany where we lodge at the home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. The kingdom is close at hand. Vast throngs of people in Galilee and Judea now hail Jesus as the Messiah. He believes the fullness of time is upon us and he wishes you by his side. He compelled me to tell you that he is safe. I, though, must

Racism is group consciousness at its most repugnant, built on the premise that human beings can be divided by skin color into innately superior and inferior groups. Yet, paradoxically, racism is also a form of group blindness. Racial categories like 'black,' 'white,' and 'Asian' erase ethnic differences and identities. The original African slaves brought to America knew - and might have tried to tell their children - that they hailed from the Mandinka tribe or the Ashanti people, or that they were descended from a long line of Yoruba kings. But even as they were stripped of their rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, America's slaves were also stripped of these ethnic identities. Slave families were deliberately broken up, and heritages were lost, reduced by the powerful to a pigment and nothing more. Even now, immigrants from, say, Ghana, Jamaica, or Nigeria are often stunned to discover that in America they are just 'black.

Be calm! I entreat you to hear me, before you give vent to your hatred on my devoted head. Have I not suffered enough that you seek to increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine; my joints more supple. But I will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other, and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember, that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous." "Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and me; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one must fall." "How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me nothing? they spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days; the caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder to me than your fellow-beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for my destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great that not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved, and do not disdain me. Listen to my tale: when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they are, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask you not to spare me: listen to me; and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.

Benedict Arnold was appointed to the rank of general in the Continental Army by George Washington during the American War of Independence. It was up to him to protect the fortifications at West Point, New York, which in 1802 became the U.S. Military Academy. Arnold however planned to surrender his command to the British forces. When his treasonous act was discovered Arnold fled down the Hudson River to the British sloop-of-war Vulture, avoiding capture by the forces of George Washington, who had previously been alerted to the plot. Arnold was hailed a hero by the British, who gave him a commission in the British Army as brigadier general. In the winter of 1782, after the war, he moved to London with his wife where he was received as a hero by King George III. In the United States his name "Benedict Arnold" became synonyms for the words “TRAITOR & TREASON.” Cohorting with a foreign power to overthrow the government or purposely aiding the enemy is an act of Treason!

He raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get this? Is our Anne Boleyn suddenly from Mars?" He chuckled. "I always thought she hailed from Wiltshire." Luce's mind raced to catch up. She was playing Anne Boleyn? She'd never read this play, but Daniel's costume suggested he was playing the king, Henry VIII. "Mr. Shakespeare-ah,Will-thought it would look good-" "Oh,Will did?" Daniel smirked, bot believing her at all but seeming not to care. It was strange to feel that she could do or say almost anything and Daniel would still find it charming. "You're a little bit mad, aren't you, Lucinda?" "I-well-" He brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. "I adore you." "I adore you,too." The words tumbled from her mouth,feeling so real and so true after the last few stammering lies. It was like letting out a long-held breath. "I've been thinking, thinking a lot,and I wanted to tell you that-that-" "Yes?" "The truth is that what I feel for you is...deeper than adoration." She pressed her hands over his heart. "I trust you. I trust your love. I know how strong it is,and how beautiful." Luce knew that she couldn't come right out and say what she really meant-she was supposed to be a different version of herself,and the other times,when Daniel had figured out who she was, where she'd come from,he'd clammed up immediately and told her to leave. But maybe if she chose her words carefully, Daniel would understand. "It may seem like sometimes I-I forgot what you mean to me and what I mean to you,but deep down...I know.I know because we are meant to be together.I love you, Daniel." Daniel looked shocked. "You-you love me?" "Of course." Luce almost laughed at how obvious it was-but then she remembered: She had no idea which moment from her past she'd walked into.Maybe in this lifetime they'd only exchanged coy glances. Daniel's chest rose and fell violently and his lower lip began to quiver. "I want you to come away with me," he said quickly.There was a desperate edge to his voice. Luce wanted to cry out Yes!, but something held her back.It was so easy to get lost in Daniel when his body was pressed so close to hers and she could feel the heat coming off his skin and the beating of his heart through his shirt.She felt she could tell him anything now-from how glorious it had felt to die in his arms in Versailles to how devastated she was now that she knew the scope of his suffering. But she held back: The girl he thought she was in this lifetime wouldn't talk about those things, wouldn't know them. Neither would Daniel. So when she finally opened her mouth,her voice faltered. Daniel put a finger over her lips. "Wait. Don't protest yet. Let me ask you properly.By and by, my love." He peeked out the cracked wardrobe door, toward the curtain.A cheer came from the stage.The audience roared with laughter and applause. Luce hadn't even realized the play had begun. "That's my entrance.I'll see you soon." He kissed her forehead,then dashed out and onto the stage.

Throw the offerings!" Agnes and her husband had returned--- I could just make them out, clambering unsteadily down the hillside with their lanterns raised. In an act of ill-advised and entirely undeserved kindness, they had gathered up a handful of villagers to ride to the rescue of the idiot scholars who had tangled with the most fearsome of the local Folk, despite their warnings. A strangled sound escaped me, something between a sob and laugh. "Get back!" Eichorn shouted at the villagers. Rose was clambering to his feet, wheezing, for the fauns had released him to snatch at the "offerings" tossed their way by the villagers. I would have expected bloody hunks of meat, but instead, ludicrously, they seemed to be throwing vegetables--- carrots and onions, predominantly. How did it happen? The scene is a blur of noise and movement, to my memory. I believe I was laughing at the time--- yes, laughing. The image of those nightmarish beasts appeased by a hail of carrots was too much for my frayed composure, and for a moment it seemed this would become another story I told at conferences or to rouse a laugh from my students. For the Folk are terrible indeed, monsters or tyrants or both, but are they not also ridiculous? Whether they be violent beasts distracted by vegetables, or creatures powerful enough to spin straw into gold, which they will happily exchange for a simple necklace, or a great king overthrown by his own cloak, there is a thread of the absurd weaving through all faerie stories, to which the Folk themselves are utterly oblivious.

Dearest Sister, I trust you received my earlier letter explaining why it was not safe for you to return. My mouth parted. Judas had written before—why had I not received it? The danger to you in Galilee has not fully passed, though it has lessened. Antipas is fully consumed by his lust to be named King of the Jews by Rome. Last week we came into Judea on our way to Jerusalem where we will remain through Passover. Antipas has no rule here. Come to us with all haste. Sail with Lavi to Joppa and make your way to Bethany where we lodge at the home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. The kingdom is close at hand. Vast throngs of people in Galilee and Judea now hail Jesus as the Messiah. He believes the fullness of time is upon us and he wishes you by his side. He compelled me to tell you that he is safe. I, though, must warn of dangers. The people are emboldened by the appearance of a Messiah and there is much talk of revolution. Jesus teaches each day in the Temple and the Jewish authorities set spies upon us the moment we enter the gates. If there is unrest, the Temple guard will most certainly arrest him. Jesus continues to believe God’s kingdom can come without swords. But I am both a Cynic and a Zealot. I only know we cannot let this moment pass. If it is necessary, I will do what I must this Passover to ensure the masses rise up and overthrow the Romans at last. The sacrifice of one for many. As I write, I sit in Lazarus’s courtyard where your friend Tabitha is playing the lyre, filling the air with the sweetest of music. Jesus has gone to the Mount of Olives to pray. He has missed you, Ana. He bids me give you his love. We await you. Your brother, Judas 10th day of Shebat Judas’s words slammed into me. I will do what I must this Passover . . . The sacrifice of one for many. What

pouch, and pulled out the parchment. Dearest Sister, I trust you received my earlier letter explaining why it was not safe for you to return. My mouth parted. Judas had written before—why had I not received it? The danger to you in Galilee has not fully passed, though it has lessened. Antipas is fully consumed by his lust to be named King of the Jews by Rome. Last week we came into Judea on our way to Jerusalem where we will remain through Passover. Antipas has no rule here. Come to us with all haste. Sail with Lavi to Joppa and make your way to Bethany where we lodge at the home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. The kingdom is close at hand. Vast throngs of people in Galilee and Judea now hail Jesus as the Messiah. He believes the fullness of time is upon us and he wishes you by his side. He compelled me to tell you that he is safe. I, though, must warn of dangers. The people are emboldened by the appearance of a Messiah and there is much talk of revolution. Jesus teaches each day in the Temple and the Jewish authorities set spies upon us the moment we enter the gates. If there is unrest, the Temple guard will most certainly arrest him. Jesus continues to believe God’s kingdom can come without swords. But I am both a Cynic and a Zealot. I only know we cannot let this moment pass. If it is necessary, I will do what I must this Passover to ensure the masses rise up and overthrow the Romans at last. The sacrifice of one for many. As I write, I sit in Lazarus’s courtyard where your friend Tabitha is playing the lyre, filling the air with the sweetest of music. Jesus has gone to the Mount of Olives to pray. He has missed you, Ana. He bids me give you his love. We await you. Your brother, Judas 10th day of Shebat Judas’s words slammed into me. I will do what I must this Passover . . . The sacrifice of one for many. What did he mean? What was he trying to tell me? I

December 15 2 Chronicles 17 1Jehoshaphat his son reigned in his place and strengthened himself against Israel. 2He placed forces in all the fortified cities of Judah and set garrisons in the land of Judah, and in the cities of Ephraim that Asa his father had captured. 3The LORD was with Jehoshaphat, because he walked in the earlier ways of his father David. He did not seek the Baals, 4but sought the God of his father and walked in his commandments, and not according to the practices of Israel. 5Therefore the LORD established the kingdom in his hand. And all Judah brought tribute to Jehoshaphat, and he had great riches and honor. 6His heart was courageous in the ways of the LORD. And furthermore, he took the high places and the Asherim out of Judah. 7In the third year of his reign he sent his officials, Ben-hail, Obadiah, Zechariah, Nethanel, and Micaiah, to teach in the cities of Judah; 8and with them the Levites, Shemaiah, Nethaniah, Zebadiah, Asahel, Shemiramoth, Jehonathan, Adonijah, Tobijah, and Tobadonijah; and with these Levites, the priests Elishama and Jehoram. 9And they taught in Judah, having the Book of the Law of the LORD with them. They went about through all the cities of Judah and taught among the people. 10And the fear of the LORD fell upon all the kingdoms of the lands that were around Judah, and they made no war against Jehoshaphat. 11Some of the Philistines brought Jehoshaphat presents and silver for tribute, and the Arabians also brought him 7,700 rams and 7,700 goats. 12And Jehoshaphat grew steadily greater. He built in Judah fortresses and store cities, 13and he had large supplies in the cities of Judah. He had soldiers, mighty men of valor, in Jerusalem. 14This was the muster of them by fathers' houses: Of Judah, the commanders of thousands: Adnah the commander, with 300,000 mighty men of valor; 15and next to him Jehohanan the commander, with 280,000; 16and next to him Amasiah the son of Zichri, a volunteer for the service of the LORD, with 200,000 mighty men of valor. 17Of Benjamin: Eliada, a mighty man of valor, with 200,000 men armed with bow and shield; 18and next to him Jehozabad with 180,000 armed for war. 19These were in the service of the king, besides those whom the king had placed in the fortified cities throughout all Judah.

We are the music makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; — World-losers and world-forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world for ever, it seems. With wonderful deathless ditties We build up the world's great cities, And out of a fabulous story We fashion an empire's glory: One man with a dream, at pleasure, Shall go forth and conquer a crown; And three with a new song's measure Can trample a kingdom down. We, in the ages lying, In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself in our mirth; And o'erthrew them with prophesying To the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying, Or one that is coming to birth. A breath of our inspiration Is the life of each generation; A wondrous thing of our dreaming Unearthly, impossible seeming — The soldier, the king, and the peasant Are working together in one, Till our dream shall become their present, And their work in the world be done. They had no vision amazing Of the goodly house they are raising; They had no divine foreshowing Of the land to which they are going: But on one man's soul it hath broken, A light that doth not depart; And his look, or a word he hath spoken, Wrought flame in another man's heart. And therefore to-day is thrilling With a past day's late fulfilling; And the multitudes are enlisted In the faith that their fathers resisted, And, scorning the dream of to-morrow, Are bringing to pass, as they may, In the world, for its joy or its sorrow, The dream that was scorned yesterday. But we, with our dreaming and singing, Ceaseless and sorrowless we! The glory about us clinging Of the glorious futures we see, Our souls with high music ringing: O men! it must ever be That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing, A little apart from ye. For we are afar with the dawning And the suns that are not yet high, And out of the infinite morning Intrepid you hear us cry — How, spite of your human scorning, Once more God's future draws nigh, And already goes forth the warning That ye of the past must die. Great hail! we cry to the comers From the dazzling unknown shore; Bring us hither your sun and your summers; And renew our world as of yore; You shall teach us your song's new numbers, And things that we dreamed not before: Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers, And a singer who sings no more.

Two men were advancing towards the car along the cross track. One man carried a short wooden bench on his back, the other a big wooden object about the size of an upright piano. Richard hailed them, they greeted him with every sign of pleasure. Richard produced cigarettes and a cheerful party spirit seemed to be developing. Then Richard turned to her. “Fond of the cinema? Then you shall see a performance.” He spoke to the two men and they smiled with pleasure. They set up the bench and motioned to Victoria and Richard to sit on it. Then they set up the round contrivance on a stand of some kind. It had two eye-holes in it and as she looked at it, Victoria cried: “It’s like things on piers. What the butler saw.” “That’s it,” said Richard. “It’s a primitive form of same.” Victoria applied her eyes to the glass-fronted peephole, one man began slowly to turn a crank or handle, and the other began a monotonous kind of chant. “What is he saying?” Victoria asked. Richard translated as the singsong chant continued: “Draw near and prepare yourself for much wonder and delight. Prepare to behold the wonders of antiquity.” A crudely coloured picture of Negroes reaping wheat swam into Victoria’s gaze. “Fellahin in America,” announced Richard, translating. Then came: “The wife of the great Shah of the Western world,” and the Empress Eugénie simpered and fingered a long ringlet. A picture of the King’s Palace in Montenegro, another of the Great Exhibition. An odd and varied collection of pictures followed each other, all completely unrelated and sometimes announced in the strangest terms. The Prince Consort, Disraeli, Norwegian Fjords and Skaters in Switzerland completed this strange glimpse of olden far-off days. The showman ended his exposition with the following words: “And so we bring to you the wonders and marvels of antiquity in other lands and far-off places. Let your donation be generous to match the marvels you have seen, for all these things are true.” It was over. Victoria beamed with delight. “That really was marvellous!” she said. “I wouldn’t have believed it.” The proprietors of the travelling cinema were smiling proudly. Victoria got up from the bench and Richard who was sitting on the other end of it was thrown to the ground in a somewhat undignified posture. Victoria apologized but was not ill pleased. Richard rewarded the cinema men and with courteous farewells and expressions of concern for each other’s welfare, and invoking the blessing of God on each other, they parted company. Richard and Victoria got into the car again and the men trudged away into the desert. “Where are they going?” asked Victoria. “They travel all over the country. I met them first in Transjordan coming up the road from the Dead Sea to Amman. Actually they’re bound now for Kerbela, going of course by unfrequented routes so as to give shows in remote villages.” “Perhaps someone will give them a lift?

Twala's soldiers went down before his axe like corn before the hail

Belief in the Divinity of Haile Selassie Chevannes (1998a) observed that the most important belief of the Rastafari is that Haile Selassie, the late Emperor of Ethiopia, is God, thus leading to the Rastafari claim that God is Black. In the same vein, Henry observed that the foundation of Rastafari theology is the mystical knowledge of the divinity of Haile Selassie (1997, 160). However, there appears to be divergent views among Rastafari regarding the divinity of Haile Selassie. Thus, Barnett (2005) claims that the original Twelve Tribes of Israel teachings hold that Jesus Christ was manifested in his second coming in the person of Haile Selassie; the Bobo Shanti hold that Haile Selassie is the father of Jesus Christ (who is Prince Emmanuel, the founder of the house, so far as the Bobo Shanti are concerned); and the Nyahbinghi Order holds that Haile Selaisse is the Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost). The Ethiopian Zion Coptic Church (a mansion that occupies a marginal status in the movement) does not accept the divinity of Haile Selassie I, although they still believe that he is of the Solomonic dynasty, thereby linking him with King David and therefore to Christ (Barnett 2005).

Hail to the herbs within you! Welcome is the pure to me Utterance 304 Antechamber, North Wall The king climbs to the sky on a ladder

tn The expression ῾Ωσαννά (hōsanna, literally in Hebrew, “O Lord, save”) in the quotation from Ps 118:25-26 was probably by this time a familiar liturgical expression of praise, on the order of “Hail to the king,” although both the underlying Aramaic and Hebrew expressions meant “O Lord, save us.” In words familiar to every Jew, the author is indicating that at this point every messianic expectation is now at the point of realization. It is clear from the words of the psalm shouted by the crowd that Jesus is being proclaimed as messianic king. See E. Lohse, TDNT 9:682-84. sn Hosanna is an Aramaic expression that literally means, “help, I pray,” or “save, I pray.” By Jesus’ time it had become a strictly liturgical formula of praise, however, and was used as an exclamation of praise to God. 16 sn A quotation from Ps 118:25-26.

What are we going to do now?' Archbishop Albert asked. 'The Fuggers are holding a knife to our throat.' 'They are called the 'Kings of the Whores' for good reason,' said Ulrich, not waiting to be called this time. Albert sighed. 'What they purchase from the Pope, they sell for varying amounts, all paid by the Pope's flock. Moreover, they are supported by God.' 'Against the Church?' Albert raised his eyebrows. 'They house hundreds of poor in Augsburg, practically for free. They are only asked to say three prayers a day for the family of the Fuggers. A Lord's prayer, a Creed and a Hail Mary. So they pay the poor to pray for them. And God answers those prayers. So they can buy even God himself. One more reason to be on good terms with them.' Albert chuckled despite the bitterness inside.

It is a very grand carriage indeed, and behind it, Toshiro follows on foot, leading a small donkey, with a tiny wretched figure upon it, draped in a black robe, head bowed... Timothy. At once, the crowd is ugly and electric...the hatred so strong, I am literally sickened by it. I turn my head and vomit. When Timothy reaches the section of believers, they throw down rose petals and palm leaves into the street, shouting: "THE SAVIOR! THE KING'S AMBASSADOR! HAIL TO THE KING OF HEAVEN!!!

Ferrao blasted Shay. The orbs slammed into her, the heat warming her face, but the aura around her only brightening. “Impossible,” he yelled. Shay laughed. “You really need to check out a dictionary if you’re gonna keep

Buddhist tradition rooted itself in our land before Islam, rising to prominence under the Pala kings, who ruled from the years 750 to 1161, until the Sena warriors who hailed from Karnataka in South India overruled them, establishing their new Sena dynasty. They instated a rigid Brahminical social order in Bengal, and, slowly, Buddhism started to wane.

Heil Hitler, God save the king, Vande Mataram, Patria o Muerte - it's all the same - a declaration of tribal glory, with no concern for the rest of humanity. Such archaic attitude suits a bronze-age society, not a civilized one. It's time for Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam (world is family), not Vande Mataram (hail the motherland) - it's time for Mundo y Vida (world and life), not Patria o Muerte (homeland or death) - it's time for Humans save Humanity, not God save the king.

Yes,” Bryce said tightly. “Before Danika helped to save this city. Where’s the Pack of Devils?” she asked again, voice hitching. Something large growled and shifted in the shadows behind the Under-King, but remained hidden by the mists. Hunt’s lightning zapped at his fingers in warning. “Life is a beautiful ring of growth and decay,” the Under-King said, the words echoing through the Sleeping City around them. “No part left to waste. What we receive upon birth, we give back in death. What is granted to you mortals in the Eternal Lands is merely another step in the cycle. A waypoint along your journey toward the Void.” Hunt growled. “Let me guess: You hail from Hel, too?” “I hail from a place between stars, a place that has no name and never shall. But I know of the Void that the Princes of Hel worship. It birthed me, too.” The star in the center of Bryce’s chest flared. The Under-King smiled, and his horrific face turned ravenous. “I beheld your light across the river, that day. Had I only known when you first came to me—things might have been quite different.” Hunt’s lightning surged, but he reined it in. “What do you want with her?” “What I want from all souls who pass here. What I give back to the Dead Gate, to all of Midgard: energy, life, power. You did not give your power to the Eleusian system; you made the Drop outside of it. Thus, you still possess some firstlight. Raw, nutritious firstlight.” “Nutritious?” Bryce said. The Under-King waved a bony hand. “Can you blame me for sampling the goods as they pass through the Dead Gate?” Hunt’s mouth dried up. “You … you feed on the souls of the dead?

Then they knelt in front of him and mocked him. ‘Hail, king of the Jews!’ they said.

Love is our nationality, not land. Compassion is our religion, not creed. Conscience is our byword, not constitution. Heil Hitler, God save the king, Vande Mataram, Patria o Muerte - it's all the same - a declaration of tribal glory, with no concern for the rest of humanity. Such archaic attitude suits a bronze-age society, not a civilized one. It's time for Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam (world is family), not Vande Mataram (hail the motherland) - it's time for Mundo y Vida (world and life), not Patria o Muerte (homeland or death) - it's time for Humans save Humanity, not God save the king.

I’d written many film reviews excoriating the cheesy power move of throwing a drink in a guy’s face, but as I hailed a cab to go home, I concluded I’d been wrong. The move may be cliché, but it was damn satisfying. Sometimes, the rom-com’s got it right.

In the wood, the spindle is slight. A delicate tree against hail, wind, and might. But how the tree carries, and how the roots dig. She weathers all storms, no matter their bite. I managed to move. A small but incontestable ripple in those dark waters. I opened my mouth—called out his true name. “Taxus.” A cold hand found my arm—wrenched me to the surface. I looked up into yellow eyes. “There you are.” He wrapped me in his arms, holding me against his armored chest like a father would a child. “One day, you will be nothing more than memory, Elspeth Spindle. But not yet.” His yellow eyes rose to the blackened sky. “Don’t leave me alone with these fools.

Ravyn, Jespyr, now Emory, gone. Elm bit the inside of his cheek and kept going, hail pelting him as he crossed back into the bailey. “I’ll expect you at court tonight,” his father called into the wind. “I won’t be there.” “You will, Renelm. You’ll resign as Destrier. And you and Ione Hawthorn will pretend all is as it ever was, until I am ready to announce your succession. And her execution.

For a while, indeed, Stalin through sheer terrorism almost succeeded in turning himself into a Divine King in the image of Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great. he could be addressed, Russians have pointed out, only in the form that was used exclusively in the past in addressing a Czar. Stalin's solemn pronouncement on every subject from the mechanism of genetic inheritance to the origins of language were fatuously hailed as the voice of omniscience. So they became the ultimate guides to scholars and scientists who had spent their lifetime on research without ever reaching such ultimate and irrefragable truths. The same tendency later became magnified even to the point of gross caricature-if that were possible-in the pronouncements of Mao Tse-tung.

Praise God!* Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the LORD! Hail to the King of Israel!”*

When he had ate his fill, and proceeded from the urgent first cup and necessary second to the voluntary third which might be toyed with at leisure, without any particular outcry seeming to suggest he should be on his guard, he leant back, spread the city’s news before him, and, by glances between the items, took a longer survey of the room. Session of the Common Council. Vinegars, Malts, and Spirituous Liquors, Available on Best Terms. Had he been on familiar ground, he would have been able to tell at a glance what particular group of citizens in the great empire of coffee this house aspired to serve: whether it was the place for poetry or gluttony, philosophy or marine insurance, the Indies trade or the meat-porters’ burial club. Ships Landing. Ships Departed. Long Island Estate of Mr De Kyper, with Standing Timber, to be Sold at Auction. But the prints on the yellowed walls were a mixture. Some maps, some satires, some ballads, some bawdy, alongside the inevitable picture of the King: pop-eyed George reigning over a lukewarm graphical gruel, neither one thing nor t’other. Albany Letter, Relating to the Behaviour of the Mohawks. Sermon, Upon the Dedication of the Monument to the Late Revd. Vesey. Leases to be Let: Bouwerij, Out Ward, Environs of Rutgers’ Farm. And the company? River Cargos Landed. Escaped Negro Wench: Reward Offered. – All he could glean was an impression generally businesslike, perhaps intersown with law. Dramatic Rendition of the Classics, to be Performed by the Celebrated Mrs Tomlinson. Poem, ‘Hail Liberty, Sweet Succor of a Briton’s Breast’, Offered by ‘Urbanus’ on the Occasion of His Majesty’s Birthday. Over there there were maps on the table, and a contract a-signing; and a ring of men in merchants’ buff-and-grey quizzing one in advocate’s black-and-bands. But some of the clients had the wind-scoured countenance of mariners, and some were boys joshing one another. Proceedings of the Court of Judicature of the Province of New-York. Poor Law Assessment. Carriage Rates. Principal Goods at Mart, Prices Current. Here he pulled out a printed paper of his own from an inner pocket, and made comparison of certain figures, running his left and right forefingers down the columns together. Telescopes and Spy-Glasses Ground. Regimental Orders. Dinner of the Hungarian Club. Perhaps there were simply too few temples here to coffee, for them to specialise as he was used.

Nor was this the last time the two riders were seen. Travelers on the road between Salisbury and Charlotte often saw the riders. Sometimes they were traveling away from their destination. One stagecoach driver said he had “given them directions so many times that he was beginning to resent the delays every time he met them.” Particularly wherever the road forked, the forms of the two couriers were often seen huddled together looking at their map to decide which fork to take. And anyone who chanced by was always hailed and asked the way to Charlottesburg. “We must be there by morning,” one of the men would invariably say. Drivers of the stagecoaches found that their horses became fidgety and nervous when approaching the riders, as if they sensed the two shadowy figures no longer belonged to the natural world. —The King’s Messengers

news arrived several days later of the appalling defeat of Elizabeth’s army by the Irish rebels at Blackwater Fort—a defeat now infamously known as the Battle of the Yellow Ford. The Earl of Tyrone—indeed he had taken the title of The O’Neill—was being hailed as the King of Ireland, and he had quickly and with frightening ease begun bringing all of that blighted country under his control. His armies—unbelievable that they could be called armies at all—had streamed south into Leinster and Munster, overrunning the Pale and the plantations till there was hardly an English settler left in Ireland who was not dead or running for his life. All over the country the Crown’s armies, foolishly packed with Irish recruits, soon found those soldiers turning coat and defecting to the other side, most of them carrying with them their English weapons. The shock and horror of The Yellow Ford had, in one afternoon, seen Henry Bagenal and two thousand of his men slaughtered, and brought England to its knees. ’Twas unthinkable, but Ireland was on the brink of being lost to a pack of ragged rebels! Elizabeth, humiliated and furious, had raged at her council to do something.

Hail to thee, O teacher of Brahmins!” Onesikritos said after seeking out Dandamis in his forest retreat. “The son of the mighty God Zeus, being Alexander who is the Sovereign Lord of all men, asks you to go to him. If you comply, he will reward you with great gifts; if you refuse, he will cut off your head!” The yogi received calmly this fairly compulsive invitation, and “did not so much as lift up his head from his couch of leaves.” “I also am a son of Zeus, if Alexander be such,” he commented. “I want nothing that is Alexander’s, for I am content with what I have, while I see that he wanders with his men over sea and land for no advantage, and is never coming to an end of his wanderings. “Go and tell Alexander that God the Supreme King is never the Author of insolent wrong, but is the Creator of light, of peace, of life, of water, of the body of man and of souls; He receives all men when death sets them free, being then in no way subject to evil disease. He alone is the God of my homage, who abhors slaughter and instigates no wars. “Alexander is no god, since he must taste of death,” continued the sage in quiet scorn. “How can such as he be the world’s master, when he has not yet seated himself on a throne of inner universal dominion? Neither as yet has he entered living into Hades, nor does he even know the course of the sun over the vast regions of this earth. Most nations have not so much as heard his name!” After this chastisement—surely the most caustic ever sent to assault the ears of the “Lord of the World”—the sage added ironically,

to a historian specializing in the non-European world there is something puzzling about the excitement with which European historians hail the arrival of cities, trade, regular taxation, standing armies, legal codes, bureaucracies, absolutist kings and other commonplace appurtenances of civilized societies, as if they were unique and self evident stepping stones to modernity:

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the praetorium, and they gathered the whole battalion before him. And they stripped him and put a scarlet robe upon him, and plaiting a crown of thorns they put it on his head, and put a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him they mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” And they spat upon him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of the robe, and put his own clothes on him, and led him away to crucify him.

Grab a big-ass piece of paper. I have ideas.” Then he turns to our friends and families, holds up my hand, and yells, “I’m king of the world! Roxy Santos said she’ll marry me!” They cheer and clap and hoot. Laughing, I shake my head. “What about your Hail Mary today and your game-winning throw? Might that have contributed to your king of the world status?” Leaning down, he whispers, “That’s just icing on the cake, biscuit. You’re the real prize, and everyone here knows it.

Our reflections changed, giving way to a scene set in the bright light of day, looking down on this very amphitheatre. A stern and handsome man sat on the throne, his eyes sharp and narrowed on the pit below him. I recognised my father, Hail Vega, looking younger than he had before he met my mother in the previous visions I’d seen of him. To his right was Lionel Acrux and beyond him were the other Councillors, all looking tense as their gazes were set on the pit. A man was hauled to the centre of the sand in rags, his wrists cuffed so his magic was blocked. Around the edges of the arena, the black metal cages were filled with Nymphs that shrieked and roared at the crowd, the sight making my pulse spike. “My king!” the man in the pit cried. “I’m innocent.” The crowd jeered and the guard holding him shoved him to his knees before backing up and bowing to our father. “Who is he?” the Savage King murmured to Lionel. “A thief, Your Highness,” he whispered. “The Rat stole a hundred gold coins from my cousin Benjamin.” Hail scoffed. “Benjamin Acrux is a gambler who has brought plenty of shame on your name, Lionel.

The vision faded away and my breaths came quicker as I found myself on a battlefield with Hail in bloodied armour and hundreds of dead bodies stretching out before him and his army. Lionel stood at his side as Hail flicked his gaze to a town beyond the dead and turned to walk away. Lionel caught his arm, speaking in his ear and his voice sailed to me on the wind. “Leave none alive, everyone in the town must die. And they must die at your hand. This is your decision, you shall forget it was ever mine,” he growled, his voice thick with Dark Coercion and I wanted to cry out and stop the power from taking root in my father, but his eyes blackened and he turned to look at the town once more. He ran forward and his huge Order split apart from his skin. His Hydra form was enormous, as large as a building as he took off into the sky on leathery wings, all the eyes of its many snake-like heads directed at the town. Screams carried from the villagers and magic twisted up into the sky as they tried to defend themselves. Lionel watched with an envious expression as the King blasted the town to ruin with purple fire pouring from his lungs. Tears wet my cheeks as women and children were destroyed beneath his impossible power and the real monster stood observing it all with a twisted smile on his lips.

Dear Black Man (Poem) ***** I love you because you make me feel things that I have never felt before. You erase my pain and you bring me so much gain. You embrace me and hide me in your well built African and manly body. You make me want to never look at other bodies. I love how you cut your hair. I love to feel your love in the air. The texture of your hair, so beautiful, so artistic. Your beautiful smile, so amazing; it reminds me of hiding places. You walk like you own the world; at least, I assure you that you own mine and the rest of my words. Black Man, you are beautiful. Your skin tone is so dark, it makes me want to bark. Please allow me to run my hands on the hills of that skin. You are handsome, my amazing king. The way you speak your language. The way you speak your Xhosa. Your Hausa. Your Zulu. Your Kituba. Your Tswana. Your Lingala. Your Venda. Your Gadomba. Your Tsonga. Your Shona. Your Bateke. Your Ga. Your Sotho. Your Igbo. Your eyes. Black Man, your eyes tell me a story never heard before. You teach me; from your wisdom, I learn. From your strength, I know 'I can'. Black Man, they enslaved you because they found you intimidating. But today, they look for you to be their mate in dating. You look at my stretchmarks with an eye of an artist. You appreciate my big behind with no judgement. You kiss my big lips with love. And in my big thighs, you hide. You love me when I have no hair. You love me when I have fake hair. Black Man, I thought of you and I wrote to you. All hail the Black king! From your Black Woman, (with African curves) .

Vard’s head snapped around and he looked at my mother with a whole lot more interest than he had initially. “The new queen has The Sight?” he asked curiously, though I could tell how threatened he and the rest of his group of less talented Seers felt about that. “She does indeed,” Hail purred, drawing his new bride closer to his side. “She can see better than anyone I’ve ever known.” The Seers broke into muttered conversation over that, their attention fixed on the new queen who answered their questions politely with a soft smile on her face. Merissa straightened suddenly, her hand snapping out to catch an apple which had been aimed at Hail’s face and Lionel barked a laugh, clapping loudly as everyone whirled to look at him. “My King, I think you truly have found a gem to treasure here,” he cried, looking like he was honest to shit happy, though I knew enough of him after spending months trapped in his company to recognise that dangerous, conniving look in his eyes. “I aimed the fruit at you while she was distracted and yet she still saw it coming! She is a true Seer indeed and her love for you must be fierce for her to sense threats against you so easily.

Triple spring mated to beget all things. A divine stone quickened by the sun and moon Changed from egg to ape to reach the Great Way. Loanname and surname matched elixir made. Formless inside he yields no image known; His outward guise coheres in action shown. In every age all persons will yield to him: Hailed a king, a sage, he is free to roam.

Triple spring mated to beget all things. A divine stone quickened by the sun and moon Changed from egg to ape to reach the Great Way. Loanname and surname matched elixir made. Formless inside he yields no image known; His outward guise coheres in action shown. In every age all persons will yield to him: Hailed a king, a sage, he is free to roam.

Cain, soldier in the king’s army. I hail from the White Fang Mountains.

Hail swallowed hard, then raised his chin, the ferocity of a king falling over him. “Gwendalina, I wish I could walk through this glass and be there for you in this moment. But know this, you are a Vega. Your blood is royal and more powerful than anything you can imagine. You can move the sky if you want it enough, but you must banish all doubt from your heart, because it will steal that power from you. Do you understand me?

There is a tradition in The Palace of Souls, started years ago by one of the old kings…I forget which, but that’s beside the point. Every year during the Hydrids meteor shower, at the height of the celestial event, a celebration was held at the palace where we would all gather. But the year Hail brought your mother back from Voldrakia, Merissa used her magic to alter the throne because the meteor shower was linked to his Order form. It was a gift for her husband. When the meteor shower is at its fullest, magic awakes and sets the throne roaring with the voice of the creature itself – it was quite the extravagant surprise the first time we all heard it, let me tell you.

For Obatalá Obatalá okunrin ati obínrin ni laye eleda ni gbogbo na dara dara ati buruku oba ati ayaba, afin oga ni na bala ati gbogbo na shishe babá alaye alabo mi ati mi gbogbo na ejun, dara dara babá wa afin alano. Jekua babá mi, adupe. Great male and female deity, world creator of all good, health, and evil, king and queen, albino owner of purity and of all justice, father who shields, grand protector of all the world, my protector and of all good and healthy things, our merciful albino father, hail, my father; thank you. For

Triple spring mated to beget all things. A divine stone quickened by the sun and moon Changed from egg to ape to reach the Great Way. Loanname and surname matched elixir made. Formless inside he yields no image known; His outward guise coheres in action shown. In every age all persons will yield to him: Hailed a king, a sage, he is free to roam.

Triple spring mated to beget all things. A divine stone quickened by the sun and moon Changed from egg to ape to reach the Great Way. Loanname and surname matched elixir made. Formless inside he yields no image known; His outward guise coheres in action shown. In every age all persons will yield to him: Hailed a king, a sage, he is free to roam.

The second trend was American, too. At about the time of Holland mania, America’s robber barons decided they were no longer content to collect railroads and shipping lines. They had long been hailed as kings of coal and sultans of sausage, and now they wanted to display their aesthetic side. The robber barons needed art, and price was no object.

One d-day,” Old Gertrude muttered, in an agonizingly slow and leathery voice that suggested she was actually closer to two hundred years old, “there is going to be … a gigantic f-fish … called Brian ….” “Yes?” asked Yam, scribbling down her every word frantically (which was unnecessary, because she left such long pauses in between her words that he could have written them down, climbed to the top of one of the highest jungle trees bordering the village, tamed the fifty or so parrots living in its branches, and then come down again before she even said the next thing). Gertrude’s lips quivered. “It is going to eat ….” “Eat, yes, what’s it going to eat?” cried the Chief. Gertrude’s whole body was shaking from the sheer effort now. Sweat ran down her brow. Her blank face had morphed into a look of such concentration that it could probably be considered a workout. The whole village leaned forward, their breaths held in excitement. “It is going to eat,” Old Gertrude whispered …. “Yes!?” cried the Chief. “THE SUN,” Old Gertrude finished. Steve gawped in disbelief. “A fish is going to eat the sun?” “BRILLIANT!” shouted Yam, hurriedly writing the last words of Old Gertrude’s newest prediction into the book. “SHE’S DONE IT AGAIN!” bellowed the Chief—and with that, the entire village erupted into an enormous cheer—with the exception of Gertrude herself, that was, who had sagged in relief now the sheer effort of verbalizing her ‘prediction’ was over. “HURRAH FOR OLD GERTRUDE!” chorused the village. Chuck clucked crossly, rustling his feathers. “Hmph.” “AND ALL HAIL THE ONE TRUE KING, OF COURSE!” the natives added. Chuck stopped his rustling. “Better.” “Get her back to her hut and put her in bed, Yam,” said the Chief. “She looks like she’s about to fall over.” Yam nodded, then scooped up Old Gertrude and hurried her away, at rather a quicker pace than he’d brought her out at. “So, there you go,” said the Chief, looking pleased. “You’ve witnessed one of Old Gertrude’s amazing predictions. A gigantic fish eating the sun, eh? Madness! I do hope I’m alive to see it!

Our political system responds to large donors, so politicians create benefits for the rich, who then reward the politicians who created them. How different is this from the symbiosis in the Middle Ages between a king and the nobility, elevating aristocrats who repressed the peasantry at the same time that they hailed their own magnanimity and rolled their eyes at the peasants’ morals?

In presenting their stories of Jesus, the Gospel writers offer a powerful alternative to the Roman system, with its succession of “divine” emperors flatteringly hailed as world rulers and “saviors.” For the Evangelists, Jesus is the rightful king that Roman monarchs could only pretend to be, imperial propaganda notwithstanding. Pontius Pilate, representing Rome, had executed Jesus as “King of the Jews” (Matt. 27: 11, 37), but God had raised him to immortal life and made him ruler over the entire cosmos.

The 1916 Rising is today hailed as the moment when the modern Irish state was born. But it was O’Connell who created the modern Irish nation, for better or for worse, in the nineteenth century.

The great social, moral, and spiritual battles of the ages boiled down to Sandy McDougall slamming her snot-nosed kid in the corner and the kid would grow up and slam his own kid in the corner, world without end, hallelujah, chunky peanut butter. Hail Mary, full of grace, help me win this stock-car race. It was more than dull. It was terrifying in its consequences for any meaningful definition of life, and perhaps of heaven. What there? An eternity of church bingo, amusement park rides, and celestial drag strips?

Fifty-odd years after the Gordon Riots, Daniel O’Connell hailed the Emancipation Act as ‘one of the greatest triumphs recorded in history – a bloodless revolution more extensive in its operation than any other political change that could take place.

Who is he?” the Savage King murmured to Lionel. “A thief, Your Highness,” he whispered. “The Rat stole a hundred gold coins from my cousin Benjamin.” Hail scoffed. “Benjamin Acrux is a gambler who has brought plenty of shame on your name, Lionel.” “Be that as it may, the word of a Dragon is worth more than a Rat’s,” Lionel hissed and my blood burned hotter. “Nonsense,” Hail said, waving him off before calling out to the man below. “Speak your case!

She laughed. “I meant, how do you know if you’re lying to yourself?” He leaned against the side of his truck. “I don’t lie to myself. Ever.” “Everyone does, and I know you did, but given what Mom was saying, it’s obvious that you didn’t tell her. Are you going to honestly tell me you didn’t know about this pay-per-view thing for the last few days? It doesn’t sound like something that’d be set up in a day.” James winced. “Yeah, I’ve known about it for a few days.” “Which means you didn’t tell her on purpose, so you’re lying to yourself if you’re saying that you didn’t purposely keep it from her. That means that, on some level, you knew she’d worry.

Bryce said, “Why did you feel the need to attack? To pretend the Reapers were messengers of—the Prince of the Pit.” She clicked her tongue. “I thought we were friends.” “Death has no friends,” the Under-King said, eerily calm. “I did not send any Reapers to attack you. But I do not tolerate those who falsely accuse me in my realm.” “And we’re supposed to take you at your word that you’re innocent?” Bryce pushed. “Do you call me a liar, Bryce Quinlan?” Bryce said, cool and calm as a queen, “You mean to tell me that there are Reapers who can simply defect and serve Hel?” “From whence do you think the Reapers first came? Who first ruled them, ruled the vampyrs? The Reapers chose Midgard. But I am not surprised some have changed their minds.” Bryce demanded, “And you don’t care if Hel steps into your territory?” “Who said they were my Reapers to begin with? There are none unaccounted for here. There are many other necropolises they might hail from.” And other half-life rulers they answered to. “Reapers don’t travel far beyond their realms,” Hunt managed to say. “A comforting lie for mortals.” The Under-King smiled faintly.

All hail our King and Queen. May they reign forever.

deaf president now Most of you have probably seen the phrase, but what do you know about the “Deaf President Now” movement? Despite being the first Deaf university in the world, Gallaudet had never had a Deaf president before, and in March 1988 that was finally about to change. The Board of Trustees was slated to choose the next president from a list of three finalist candidates, two Deaf, one hearing. In the lead-up to the board meeting, students and faculty had been campaigning and rallying in support of a Deaf president. THE CANDIDATES DR. ELIZABETH ZINSER, hearing, Vice-Chancellor of Academic Affairs at University of North Carolina DR. HARVEY CORSON, Deaf, Superintendent of the Louisiana School for the Deaf DR. I. KING JORDAN, Deaf, Dean of College of Arts and Sciences at Gallaudet On March 6th, the board selected Zinser. No announcement was made. Students found out only after visiting the school’s PR office to extract the information. Students marched to the Mayflower hotel to confront the Board. Chair Jane Spilman defended the selection to the crowd, reportedly saying, “deaf people can’t function in the hearing world.” WHAT HAPPENED NEXT? MARCH 7TH: Students hot-wire buses to barricade campus gates, only allowing certain people on campus. Students meet with Board, no concessions made. Protesters march to the Capitol. MARCH 8TH: Students burn effigies, form a 16-member council of students, faculty, and staff to organize the movement. THE FOUR DEMANDS: Zinser’s resignation and the selection of a Deaf president Resignation of Jane Spilman A 51% Deaf majority on the Board of Trustees No reprisals against protesters WHAT HAPPENED NEXT? MARCH 9TH: Movement grows, gains widespread national support. Protest is featured on ABC’s Nightline. MARCH 10TH: Jordan, who’d previously conceded to Zinser’s appointment, joins the protests, saying “the four demands are justified.” Protests receive endorsements from national unions and politicians. DEAF PRESIDENT NOW! MARCH 10TH: Zinser resigns. MARCH 11TH: 2,500 march on Capitol Hill, bearing a banner that says “We still have a dream.” MARCH 13: Spilman resigns, Jordan is announced president. Protesters receive no punishments, DPN is hailed as a success and one of the precursors to the passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).

Then Éowyn bade those that served to fill the cups, and all there assembled rose and drank to the new king, crying: ‘Hail, Éomer, King of the Mark!

In 74 AC, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne were blessed again by the gods when Prince Aemon’s wife, the Lady Jocelyn, presented them with their first grandchild. Princess Rhaenys was born on the seventh day of the seventh moon of the year, which the septons judged to be highly auspicious. Large and fierce, she had the black hair of her Baratheon mother and the pale violet eyes of her Targaryen father. As the firstborn child of the Prince of Dragonstone, many hailed her as next in line for the Iron Throne after her father. When Queen Alysanne held her in her arms for the first time, she was heard to call the little girl “our queen to be.

In the depths of hell, where darkness reigns, Lies a being feared by all, Pandemonic Satanica is his name. He is the master of the underworld, A force to be reckoned with, an entity unfurled. His power is unmatched, his darkness unyielding, He is the embodiment of all that is evil and unfeeling. His followers worship him, with fervor and zeal, For they know that his power is absolute, and his will is real. Pandemonic Satanica, the lord of the abyss, His power cannot be denied, nor can it be dismissed. His followers revel in his dark embrace, For they know that they are protected by his grace. To the uninitiated, he may seem like a monster, But to his followers, he is a savior, a redeemer. He offers them power, and eternal life, And they willingly give themselves to his strife. His evil is all-encompassing, his darkness unrelenting, But those who follow him find his embrace comforting. For they know that in his clutches, they are safe, And that his power will protect them from all that is base. So hail Pandemonic Satanica, the lord of all that is dark, He is the master of the underworld, and his power leaves a mark. His followers are devoted, and they will never waver, For they know that in his dark embrace, they will find their savior. They call him the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of the Pit, And in his realm, he commands respect, and none dare to quit. His power is absolute, his rule is supreme, And those who oppose him, will find their end in a dream. For Pandemonic Satanica, is the embodiment of all that is evil, And his followers embrace that darkness, for in it, they find a sense of upheaval. They revel in the chaos, the destruction, the mayhem, And they know that in his name, they can achieve their ultimate aim. To the uninitiated, he is a horror, a terror beyond compare, But those who follow him, see in him, a god, a deity, a force to bear. They worship him with passion, with devotion, with love, And they know that in his name, they will rise above. So let us hail Pandemonic Satanica, the king of the damned, For in his presence, we are strong, and in his embrace, we are calm. His power is absolute, his darkness unyielding, And in his name, we find solace, and our souls are healed. For in the dark embrace of Pandemonic Satanica, We find a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging, a sense of euphoria. And we know that in his realm, we are safe, For his power will protect us, and his darkness will keep us brave.

Trey thought back to their discussions of the future. He’d convinced himself that just because he no longer assumed he would die young, he’d been thinking about the future, but in truth, he hadn’t put thought into how to live, only how to not die.

the only thing we can really control is ourselves. Not our circumstances, not others, and certainly not damned fate.

Hail to the King” by Avenged Sevenfold.

You realize that this entire plan relies on a demon of the chthonic realm, right?” Wick said. “That’s why Gryph called it a Hail Mary. I do not know what kind of god this Mary is, but if she helps us get through this, I’ll make whatever sacrifice she desires.

Chr.: Apollyon, beware what you do, for I am in the King’s High-way, the way of Holiness, therefore take heed to yourself. Apol.: Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this matter, prepare thyself to die; for I swear by my infernal Den, that thou shalt go no further; here will I spill thy soul. And with that he threw a flaming Dart at his breast, but Christian had a Shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and so prevented the danger of that. Christian wounded in his understanding, faith, and conversation Then did Christian draw, for he saw ’twas time to bestir him: and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing Darts as thick as Hail; by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and foot: This made Christian give a little back; Apollyon therefore followed his work amain, and Christian again took courage, and resisted as manfully as he could. This sore Combat lasted for above half a day, even till Christian was almost quite spent; for you must know that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker. Apollyon casteth down to the ground Christian Christian’s victory over Apollyon Then Apollyon espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and with that Christian’s Sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now: and with that he had almost pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life: but as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly stretched out his hand for his Sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall I shall arise; and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound: Christian, perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these things we are more than Conquerors through him that loved us. And with that Apollyon spread forth his Dragon’s wings, and sped him away, that Christian for a season saw him no more.

One Immortal Prince by Maisie Aletha Smikle One Prince comes Born in a stable An army He did not bring Throngs and arms He had none Alone on a colt He comes Humble and filled with Peace One Prince comes to save the world To save generations and spread goodwill To save billions a Prince came So people may abide in peace All hail the Prince The Prince of Glory A Prince Immortal Filled with holy power Full of might So fair and so bright Like the stars He shone Radiant as the sun Is the Son who comes on a colt They call Him Emmanuel They call Him Messiah They call Him Rabbi They call Him Savior They call Him Prince They call Him King They call Him Master They call Him Jesus They call Him Christ Son of God Prince of the Kingdom of everlasting Peace Redeemer and Savior who makes completely whole A world of shattered disheveled pieces

Let Aloria rejoice!” Belgarath called out in a voice like thunder, “for the Rivan King has returned! All hail Belgarion, King of Riva and Overlord of the West!

Unlike the Al Rasheed of Ha’il, the Al Saud had not traditionally engaged in commerce. Abdulaziz sought to promote the merchants’ prosperity because he relied on them for taxes, customs duties, and loans. He did not compete with them and instructed his sons to stay out of business. King Saud continued his father’s policy, and in 1956 and 1959 issued royal decrees prohibiting princes and civil servants from engaging in private business.

Unlike the Al Rasheed of Ha’il, the Al Saud had not traditionally engaged in commerce. Abdulaziz sought to promote the merchants’ prosperity because he relied on them for taxes, customs duties, and loans. He did not compete with them and instructed his sons to stay out of business. King Saud continued his father’s policy, and in 1956 and 1959 issued royal decrees prohibiting princes and civil servants from engaging in private business. King Faisal, however, recognized the need for change. With more and more princes coming of age, they could not all be given large stipends or senior government positions—nor could they be prohibited from earning a living. King Faisal’s own son, Abdullah, had served as minister of the interior but wanted to go into business. When a new decree was issued in 1976 allowing members of the royal family to engage in commerce, Prince Abdullah al-Faisal became Saudi Arabia’s Sony dealer.20 This fundamental legal change ensured that the Al Saud would eventually join the kingdom’s commercial, as well as its social and political, elite.