Helmet Visor Quotes

What kind of woman agrees to a blind date at the top of a tower? And what kind of man spends his nights with a helmet on his head, visor closed, communicated with people via tennis balls?

The picture he was cleaning showed an armored figure standing in a desolate landscape. It had no weapon, but held a staff bearing a strange, stiff banner. The visor of this figure’s helmet was entirely of gold, without eye slits or ventilation; in its polished surface the deathly desert could be seen in reflection, and nothing more.

One of the special forces asked Skippy whether we could see the Sun from there, and Skippy enhanced the image in our helmet visors, so we could see the faint light of our home star. I remember Skippy reminding us that the light we were seeing then left the sun eighteen hundred years ago. The Roman Empire ruled the Mediterranean back then. Under that perspective, the authority of Earth begins to seem thin after we pass through a couple wormholes.

What's the latest beast in your collection, I wonder?" "Me." Metal clanged as Gabriel flipped the helmet's visor. "I'm her latest beast." The Irving sisters choked on their laughter, then swallowed it hard. He took a clanking step forward, towering over them. "Let me tell you, Lady Penelope has her hands full. I'm vicious. Untamed. I won't come to heel." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a growl. "And I bite." He turned, and- confronted with the wall of hedges- stormed through it like the Ottomans breaching the walls of Tyre. Once he'd cleared a path with his armored body, he extended a gauntlet, inviting Penny to follow. She put her gloved hand in his shining one. Rather than leading her through, he pulled her to him, slid his hand to her backside, and lifted her off her feet, keeping her slippers free of the trampled shrubs. Her beast in shining armor. As he carried her through the hedge, she waved farewell to the bug-eyed Irving sisters. "It's been lovely seeing you.

extreme zombie fighting” kit. Tactical boots and tacticals. Firefighting bunker gear. Nomex head cover tucked under the collar of the bunker gear. Full face respirator. Helmet with integrated visor. Body armor with integral MOLLE. Knee, elbow and shin guards. Nitrile gloves. Tactical gloves. Rubber gloves. Assault pack with hydration unit. Saiga shotgun on friction strap rig. A .45 USP in tactical fast-draw holster. Two .45 USP in chest holsters. Fourteen Saiga ten-round 12-gauge magazines plus one in the weapon. Nine pistol magazines in holster plus three in weapons. Kukri in waist sheath. Machete in over-shoulder sheath, right. Halligan tool in over-shoulder sheath, left. Tactical knife in chest sheath. Tactical knife in waist sheath. Bowie knife in thigh sheath. Calf tactical knife times two. A few clasp knives dangling in various places. There was the head of a teddy bear peeking out of her assault pack.

There's a reason I've always relied on you for the necessary political miracles, Emily," Hamish told her with a smile. "Give me a fleet problem, or a naval battle to fight, and I “know exactly what to do. But dealing with scum like High Ridge and Descroix—?" He shook his head. "I just can't wrap my mind around how to handle them." "Be honest, dear," Emily corrected him gently. "It's not that you really can't do it, and you know it. It's that you get so furious with them that you wind up climbing onto your high moral horse so you can ride them under the hooves of your righteous fury. But when you close your knight errant's helmet, the visibility through that visor is just a little limited, isn't it?

It’s hard to send someone to their death,” she said, answering his silent question. His expression was hidden behind the visor of his helmet. She didn’t need to call on any of her abilities as a Jedi to know what he was thinking: one day she would do the same to men like him. The realization caught her unawares. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. She doubted it.

You know, we can still put that suit to use, though.” I glanced toward the truck and Lock’s face lit up as I closed the distance between us. “What happened to needing a shower?” “Showers are overrated,” I whispered, holding his gaze through the visor. “Plus,” I turned my head to look down the hall, “Jay is down there now.” “That’d be right. Let me just hang up my hat.” He was pulling away when I caught his wrist. “Nuh-uh. Keep the helmet. I want to be with my firefighter.

The four guardian ships swarmed toward us, firing again. “Bim!” I screamed. I was pretty sure I saw him look toward me—light reflecting on his helmet visor—as the blasts hit his ship, overwhelming his shield with concentrated fire. Bim’s ship exploded into several large chunks, one of which slammed into my ship. I was flung to the side as my Poco went into a spin. Quirk screamed my name as the world rocked. The lights on my dash went insane, the “shield down” warning blaring.

When we entered a classroom we always tossed our caps on the floor, to free our hands; as soon as we crossed the threshold we would throw them under the bench so hard that they struck the wall and raised a cloud of dust; this was "the way it should be done." But the new boy either failed to notice this maneuver or was too shy to perform it himself, for he was still holding his cap on his lap at the end of the prayer. It was a head-gear of composite nature, combining elements of the busby, the lancer cap, the round hat, the otter-skin cap and the cotton nightcap--one of those wretched things whose mute ugliness has great depths of expression, like an idiot's face. Egg-shaped and stiffened by whalebone, it began with three rounded bands, followed by alternating diamond-shaped patches of velvet and rabbit fur separated by a red stripe, and finally there was a kind of bag terminating in a cardboard-lined polygon covered with complicated braid. A network of gold wire was attached to the top of this polygon by a long, extremely thin cord, forming a kind of tassel. The cap was new; its visor was shiny. "Stand up," said the teacher. He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class began to laugh. He bent down and picked it up. A boy beside him knocked it down again with his elbow; he picked it up once again. "Will you please put your helmet away?" said the teacher, a witty man.

Colonel Kassad returns to the fire and slides the night visor up onto the top of his helmet. Kassad is wearing full combat gear, and the activated chameleon polymer shows only his face, floating two meters above the ground. “Nothing,” he says. “No movement. No heat traces. No sound besides the wind.” Kassad leans the FORCE multipurpose assault rifle against a rock and sits near the others, the fibers of his impact armor deactivating into a matte black not much more visible than before.

Helmets up,” Dagon commanded. Every man present donned a helmet then touched the side of it. A clear window slid down in front, forming a bubble that covered their faces. Hisses sounded as the visors locked with the rest of the helmet. Dagon met Eliana’s gaze. “You, too. We know the Gathendiens aren’t going to execute a fair trade. We don’t know why they changed their tactics, but they are still hunting you.” He touched her back. “I don’t want you to be harmed by tengonis or any other gasses they may hurl at us.” “Okay,” she replied somberly. “But I don’t think any gas they hurl at me could be more noxious than Maarev’s after he eats mamitwa.” The men all laughed.

She saw Daniel hovering over her in his simple peasant's clothes...but then, a moment later, he was bare-chested, with long blond hair...and suddenly he wore a knight's helmet, whose visor he lifted to kiss her lips...but before he did,he shifted into his present self, the Daniel she'd left in her parents' backyard in Thunderbolt when she stepped through into time. This was the Daniel, she realized, she'd been looking for all along. She reached for him,she called his name, but then he changed again. And again. She saw more Daniels than she'd ever thought possible,each one more gorgeous than the last.They folded into each other like a vast accordion, each image of him tilting and altering in the light of the sky behind him.The cut of his nose,the line of his jawbone, the tone of his skin,the shape of his lips, all whirled in and out of focus,morphing all the time. Everything changed except his eyes. His violet eyes always stayed the same. They haunted her,hiding something terrible,something she didn't understand. Something she didn't want to understand. Fear? In the visions,the terror in Daniel's eyes was so intense Luce actually wanted to look away from their beauty. What could someone as powerful as Daniel fear? There was only one thing: Luce's dying. She was experiencing a montage of her death over and over and over again. This was what Daniel's eyes looked like, throughout time,just before her life went up in flames. She had seen this fear in him before.She hated it because it always meant their time was over.She saw it now in every one of his faces. The fear flashed from infinite times and places. Suddenly,she knew there was more: He wasn't afraid for her,not because she was walking into the darkness of another death.He didn't fear that it might cause her pain. Daniel was afraid of her. "Lu Xin!" his voice cried out to her from the battlefield. She could see him through the haze of visions.He was the only thing coming in clearly-because everything else around her was lit up startingly white.Everything inside her was,too.Was her love of Daniel burning her up? Was it her own passion,not his,that destroyed her every time? "No!" His hand reached out for hers. But it was too late.

open. Lt. Hinis stormed in, dressed in her environment suit, huge and bulky with its bronze helmet and grilled visor. “Doctor, come quick, we need your help. There’s been a killing.” “Another one?” Janx

Sorry, Commander. Just finishing off this carrot. Ahm…Dublin, let’s see. Seventy-five…Eighteen seventy-five.” “I thought so! This place is completely different. The humans have even managed to change the shape of the coastline.” Foaly was silent for a moment. Root could just imagine him wrestling with the problem. The centaur did not like to be told that any part of his system was out of date. “Okay,” he said at last. “Here’s what I’m going to do. We have a Scope on a satellite TV bird with a footprint in Ireland.” “I see,” muttered Root—which was basically a lie. “I’m going to e-mail last week’s sweep direct to your visor. Luckily there’s a video card in all the new helmets.” “Luckily.” “The tricky bit will be to coordinate your flight pattern with the video feed.…” Root had had enough. “How long, Foaly?” “Ahm…Two minutes, give or take.” “Give or take what?” “About ten years if my calculations are off.” “They’d better not be off then. I’ll hover until we know.” One hundred and twenty-four seconds later, Root’s black-and-white blueprints faded out, to be replaced by full-color daylight imaging. When Root moved, it moved, and Holly’s locator beacon dot moved too. “Impressive,” said Root. “What was that, Commander?” “I said impressive,” shouted Root. “No need to get a swelled head.” The commander heard the sound of a roomful of laughter, and realized that Foaly had him on the speakers. Everyone had heard him complimenting the centaur’s work. There’d be no talking to him for at least a month. But it was worth it. The video he was receiving now was bang up to date. If Captain Short was being held in a building, the

He gave me a hard smile before clapping on his helmet. It enclosed his entire head and featured a multifunction power-optic visor, holovid camera with continuous map-revise data stream, laser communication capability, and an omnifilter respirator. Like his soft-armored combat jumpsuit, it had an environmental system to keep him comfy. His belt held a Kagi sidearm, a monster commando knife in place of the usual Ivanov stunner, small flexcanteens of water, coffee and nutrigoo, and a bulb of trailblazer spray.

In his book Goddesses: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine, the mythologist Joseph Campbell depicts Athena’s birth from the head of Zeus as an example of the patriarchal culture’s assimilation of the goddess. Athena was the only goddess always clothed in armor and pictured with the visor of her helmet open to show her beauty.

By the time they reached the lake, the sky was spitting raindrops at them. Dare pulled into the dirt parking lot nearest the little beach everyone in the club used for swimming. He killed the engine and turned in his seat to face her. "What d'ya think about..." The question died in his throat. Because under the helmet's clear visor, Haven wore the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen in his life. "God, I love riding," she said. She lifted the helmet from her head, shaking out her new brown hair. The movement made him hard. "What do I think about what?" She grinned up at the sky as a few fat drops landed on her face. "The weather," Dare said distractedly, just struck stupid by her declaration, her beauty, the knowledge that riding with him made so damn happy. She shrugged, her expression entirely untroubled. "I'm gonna get wet anyway." He swallows around the desire stalking through his body. "Are you now?" he asked, purposely playing on the innuendo of her words when he knew she hadn't meant anything by them. Just to see if she'd take the bait. Lips pressed together in a mischievous smirk, she looked him right in the eyes. "Sure hope so." Game. Fucking. On.

Simon, speaking as one sovereign prince to another, you have a lot to learn. You've learned one important lesson already, that a ruler must be willing to use force and shed blood to enforce his rule. You have to learn, too, that a ruler cannot afford to be guided by his fears of what people will say about him. Not even what history will say about him. A ruler's only judge is himself." Bentrik slid the transpex visor of his helmet up and down experimentally, checked the chambers of his pistol and carbine. "All that matters to me is the peace and well-being of Marduk. I'll have to talk it over with ... with my only judge. Well, let's go." The

It’s mayhem, it’s chaos, and then the hose is unleashed. An icy torrent of water knocks me to the ground and separates me from Seth. Water fills my nose, and I choke on it, coughing hard and desperately trying to shield my eyes from the worst of it so I can see. The spray moves away from me long enough that I can stand on shaky legs. It’s a fight to regain my bearings, my vision still blurred, and stray limbs and bodies tangle across the ground, tripping me with every step. The gate is at my back, and everywhere I look is a mess of water, people, and mud. It’s so loud; even when I blink away the last of the water, I still feel too disoriented, like I’m disconnected from my body. I slip. My shoulder slams into concrete, and I breathe through the pain as I force myself to my feet again. Someone shouts my name, but then there’s a guard in front of me, his helmet visor pulled up so I can see the wicked gleam in his eyes when he pulls out a small black object from his belt. I spot the metal prongs and realize what’s about to happen. Terror lances up my spine, thick and suffocating in my throat. I can’t move. Behind me, Ajei screams. A large hand wrenches me back by the arm, and I lose my balance. Electricity crackles from the end of the taser, missing my drenched side by a centimeter as I crash to the ground hard. “We saw you!” Someone screams. “We have a video! Murderer! You tried to kill him!” Without warning, hands are everywhere, grabbing me and pulling me back to safety. “No, wait!” I shout, struggling to free myself from their grasp. I can’t leave now, not like this. I need to be up at the front, strong in the face of danger, just like our ancestors. I need to make my family proud; need to protect them and the land we were blessed with the way I promised I would. There’s a cry of pain, and I catch a glimpse of Seth yanking my attacker’s arm behind his back until he’s forced to drop the taser, which Seth kicks away. His eyes are ablaze, and he’s utterly ruthless, but despite everything, I can only think of how beautiful he looks. Then, he swings out a leg and takes out another guard who is going after a fleeing Ajei, her phone in her hand from where she had been recording everything. He spies me on the ground amidst the throngs of protestors, something like fear on his face, and roars, “Get him out of here!

I press my visor against the glass. “I’m so hard right now.” “Beckett!” Coach shakes my helmet. “Stop flirting with your girlfriend and get your ass back on the ice for warm-up!

sheathed his hands, fingerless, to allow a better grip on his shotgun. An aluminum baseball bat was slung across his back, Samurai style, in a crude scabbard next to a backpack. A motorcycle helmet and visor hid his features, and completed

Is the rift dividing them in fact a bottomless chasm; is that why such powerful turbulences have been released? And is it a rift between Black and White? Or Poor or Rich? Stranger and Friend? Or between those whose father's have died and those whose father's are still alive? Or those with curly hair and those with straight? Those who call their dinner fufu and those that call it stew? Or those who like to wear yellow, red, and green t-shirts and those who prefer neckties? Or those who like to drink water and those who prefer beer? Or between speakers of one language or another? How many borders exist within a single universe? Or, to ask it differently, what is the one true, crucial border? ... it's just a matter of a few pigments in the material that's known as skin in all the languages of the world, meaning that the violence on display here is not at all the harbinger of a storm in the center of the universe but is in fact due merely to an absurd misunderstanding that has been dividing humankind and preventing it from realizing how enormously long the lifespan of a planet is compared to the life and breath of any one human being. Whether you clothe your body in hand-me-down pants and jackets from a donation bin, brand-name sweater's, expensive or cheap dresses, or uniforms with a helmet and visor- underneath this clothing, every one of us is naked and must surely, let's hope, have taken pleasure in sunshine and wind, in water and snow, have eaten or drunk this and that tasty thing, perhaps even have loved someone and been loved in return before dying one day.

seemed to mark every inch of his body. His shaven head gleamed in the light. “Your luck’ll turn, Doc,” he said. “See if it don’t.” Avery raised his eyebrows. After a look at his cards, he said, “I think not.” “You’re bluff—” The door burst open. Lt. Hinis stormed in, dressed in her environment suit, huge and bulky with its bronze helmet and grilled visor. “Doctor, come quick, we need your help. There’s been a killing.” “Another

Executioner,” Primus wiped away tears, “end this farce. Light the fire!” The executioner flinched. He slowly headed toward the brushwood, but...  was stopped once again. A stone had been thrown at his head. A second stone hit the helmet of one of the legionnaires surrounding the platform. A little boy came forward, to the front of the crowd. His long, black hair was in a tight bun. He was wearing ragged sandals and dirty, old clothes. In his hands, he held a wooden sword that had ‘Moon Beam’ carved on it. “The Mad General isn’t afraid of anyone! I’m with you, Prince!” The boy shouted and, raising his sword above his head, rushed at the nearest legionnaire. The soldier smiled wryly and swung the blade at the child’s head. Blood began to flow. From a hand. A tall, muscular man had caught the legionnaire’s blade with his bare hand. “I’m with you, Prince!” He growled and slammed his fist into the visor of the legionnaire with enough force to dent it. “I’m with you, Prince!” Someone shouted, picking up a stone. “I’m with you...” The sound of blades being unsheathed filled the air. “I’m with you...” Arrows were nocked. “I’m with you...” The entire crowd began to move. It rushed toward the ring of legionnaires like an angry tide. “Kill Hadjar!” The King shouted. One of the legionnaires jumped up to the platform. But then he grabbed his face and cried out — the executioner had slammed the flaming torch into his face. “I’m with you, my Prince,” sounded from under the cap. “Fuck my oath. I’ll meet my forefathers with honor even if they call me an oathbreaker.