Koa Quotes

There are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.' Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. 'I am a god.

To whatever end,” he whispered. Silver lined her eyes. “To whatever end.” A reminder—and a vow, more sacred than the wedding oaths they’d sworn on that ship. To walk this path together, back from the darkness of the iron coffin. To face what waited in Terrasen, ancient promises to the gods be damned.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.

A princess who was to live for a Thousand years. Longer. That had been her gift. It was now her curse.

And it was not darkness, but light—light, bright and pure as the sun on snow, that erupted from Asterin. Light, as Asterin made the Yielding. As the Thirteen, their broken bodies scattered around the tower in a near-circle, made the Yielding as well. Light. They all burned with it. Radiated it. Light that flowed from their souls, their fierce hearts as they gave themselves over to that power. Became incandescent with it.

Aelin wiped her hands. “Well, that’s over and done with,” she announced, and strode to the desk and map. “Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?

An unspoken question arose in those green eyes. Aelin? She ignored the silent inquiry, unable to bear opening that silent channel between them again, and surveyed the powerful lines of his body, the sheer size of him. A gentle wind kissed with ice and lightning brushed against her wall offlame, an echo of his silent inquiry. Her magic flared in answer, a ripple of power dancing through her. As if it had found a mirror of itself in the world, as if it had found the countermelody to its own song. Not once in those illusions or dreams had it done that. Had her own flame leaped in joy at his nearness, his power. He was here. It was him, and he’d come for her.

An idea means nothing. It is the execution that makes it great.

You're bigger than the sea your sinking in, Koa Whiley.

For my parents—who taught me to believe that girls can save the world

The greater koa finch, an innocuous member of the honeycreeper family, lurked shyly in the canopies of koa trees, but if someone imitated its song it would abandon its cover at once and fly down in a show of welcome.

With many high-earning, public women espousing operating as individuals, "feminism" was reduced to a self-empowerment strategy. A way to get things. A way to get more of the things you thought you deserved. A way to consume. But it also performed something far more sinister: "feminism" became automatically imbued with agency and autonomy, starting popular feminist discourse with a lack of class literacy. Centering popular feminism there meant that the women and other marginalized genders who didn't have the necessary means to secure independence or power—in broader culture, in their families, in their communities, in their workplaces—were not a part of this conversation about becoming an optimized agent of self.

Discomfort, for more privileged sects, can be the threshold into increased awareness. It's the moments in which you shrink from that discomfort, that you don't walk through it, that you don't interrogate why you have such a corporal reaction to the demands of others, that those biases maintain their place.

tada je po prvi puta shvatila da smo svasta ustanju progutati [...] i sve se to moze podnijeti, samo je jedna stvar tesko svarljiva: prizor tudje boli ciji smo slucajni svjedoci, pogled na dusu koja nezaustavljivo curi iz tijela koa mlaz mokrace... Pred takvim prizorom ostajemo hipnotizirani kao zec pred udavom.

Regardless of how many times they can say “feminist!” in a product or ad, it’s the allegiance to money that has hindered progress.

A hallmark of many grassroots movements shunned by white feminism, across multiple and intersecting identities, is that they put forward collective rights before an individual’s progress.

But in creating a hierarchy of acceptable bodies versus unacceptable ones, fat stigma also pulled considerably from racist, classist, and sexist ideologies. Not-thin bodies were interpreted as not as controlled, not as “civilized,” and therefore indicative of savagery. Dr. Farrell observes of this history, “Fatness, then, served as yet another attribute demarcating the divide between civilization and primitive cultures, whiteness and blackness, good and bad.

Behaving like men or obtaining what men have or achieving parity with men was (and still is) not only shortsighted, it was deemed innately oppressive and therefore not in line with Black feminism. After all, the machinations that make what men have and how they historically operate—patriarchy—possible relies on the exploitation of others. The oversight of economic interests as the fundamental guiding principles of how our society has been constructed has had devastating historical consequences.

In a time of alleged heightened "feminism" women of color and poor women are being left behind, and yet the trappings that uniquely target us, like poverty, incarceration, police brutality, and immigration, aren't often quantified as "feminist issues". The reason there is so much dissidence between what a female CEO says you can do and the lived reality of what you can feasibly do is that this type feminism wasn't made for us. We need a movement that addresses the reality of women's lives rather than the aspiration of what they hope to be.

For Zuk and the other woman boycotters, this endeavor was not about escaping the confines of being working class, but about protecting the rights of the working class. What this strategy innately relies on is the foremost recognition that poor and working-class people have and deserve rights in the first place—and aren’t plagues on society who are lazy, unwilling to apply themselves, or should, through some elaborate matrix and suspension of systemic blockades, simply not be working class. Existing in this socioeconomic bracket with these intrinsic financial realities was a legitimate life, across their families as well as their neighbors. And this communal approach to understanding their needs and successes was anchored deeply in protecting food prices for everyone rather than reverse engineering their individual lives to accommodate the price hike.

Women’s work is a natural resource that we don’t think we need to account for. Because we assume it will always be there. It’s considered invisible, indelible infrastructure.”10And because changing diapers, grocery shopping, doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen, and cooking dinner are all coded as “a natural resource,” this labor doesn’t require maintenance, upkeep, replenishing, or even materials as far as traditional economics is concerned.

Without taking into account the ways in which money has motivated oppression, we are missing an essential layer as to why so many powerful and influential entities, business owners, entrepreneurs, and moguls refuse to take on social justice: it’s just not cost effective to do so. And this legacy has continued and even adapted as some businesses have feigned a more populist message regarding representation of women. Regardless of how many times they can say “feminist!” in a product or ad, it’s the allegiance to money that has hindered progress.

With the absence of subsidized childcare, paid federal parental leave, and rampant pregnancy discrimination, young women who have had a healthy amount of class advantages are left to ask themselves if they want to effectively lose them—because that’s what parenthood in the United States will ultimately entail: If they want to partake in a different kind of labor that will offer them fewer legal protections, limited pay, increased hours, increased personal financial burdens, and with zero support from the institutions to which they have dedicated expanding days and increased workloads. In

However, Rothschild was easily the most scientific collector of his age, though also the most regrettably lethal, for in the 1890s he became interested in Hawaii, perhaps the most temptingly vulnerable environment Earth has yet produced. Millions of years of isolation had allowed Hawaii to evolve 8,800 unique species of animals and plants. Of particular interest to Rothschild were the islands’ colorful and distinctive birds, often consisting of very small populations inhabiting extremely specific ranges. The tragedy for many Hawaiian birds was that they were not only distinctive, desirable, and rare—a dangerous combination in the best of circumstances—but also often heartbreakingly easy to take. The greater koa finch, an innocuous member of the honeycreeper family, lurked shyly in the canopies of koa trees, but if someone imitated its song it would abandon its cover at once and fly down in a show of welcome. The last of the species vanished in 1896, killed by Rothschild’s ace collector Harry Palmer, five years after the disappearance of its cousin the lesser koa finch, a bird so sublimely rare that only one has ever been seen: the one shot for Rothschild’s collection. Altogether during the decade or so of Rothschild’s most intensive collecting, at least nine species of Hawaiian birds vanished, but it may have been more. Rothschild was by no means alone in his zeal to capture birds at more or less any cost. Others in fact were more ruthless. In 1907 when a well-known collector named Alanson Bryan realized that he had shot the last three specimens of black mamos, a species of forest bird that had only been discovered the previous decade, he noted that the news filled him with “joy.

It was common knowledge at one prominent women’s brand I worked for that the reason they didn’t have more women of color, specifically Black women, on their legacy magazine covers was because they didn’t sell as well. For a business enterprise, and a financially struggling one at that, the editorial strategy to routinely flood the covers with normatively sized straight white women was presented as necessary business, and not a deeply racist lens. But this is where I’ve encountered capitalism to be at its most damaging: it provides an all-encompassing language to code racism, heterosexism, and classism as something else—to establish distance between these deeply coursing prejudices and the unavoidable realities of running a business. This distance insulates. It establishes an alternative reality in which testimonials, diversity reports, investigations, and data analysis on representation don’t resonate because making money is the ultimate objective above all else. But that’s all the more reason why the impetus to drive profits also needs to be aligned and analyzed in endeavors against oppression. Because the drive to make money, more money, more money than your competitors, more money than you made last year, more money than projected for the following year is an enduring vehicle for suppression.

But to them, I say that we have green fields and lovely flowers and our arms stretched out.

With the absence of subsidized childcare, paid federal parental leave, and rampant pregnancy discrimination, young women who have had a healthy amount of class advantages are left to ask themselves if they want to effectively lose them—because that’s what parenthood in the United States will ultimately entail: If they want to partake in a different kind of labor that will offer them fewer legal protections, limited pay, increased hours, increased personal financial burdens, and with zero support from the institutions to which they have dedicated expanding days and increased workloads. In this increasing neoliberal cultural terrain, where everyone is encouraged to optimize themselves for the best employment, the strongest partnerships, the most successful path, what strategically middle-class, somewhat self-aware woman wants to do more work for less money? If it wasn’t parenthood we were talking about but a white-collar job, Sheryl Sandberg would tell these young women to lean out. The pragmatics of having a baby are fundamentally incompatible with the dominant cultural messages surrounding economic security, class ascension, and performance aimed at women of these particular socioeconomic backgrounds. This is the tension that underlies many of these waffling motherhood essays and, I think, what young, professional, child-curious people are looking to reconcile when they click on these “Should I, a Middle-Class Woman Who Went to NYU, Have a Baby and Fuck Up This Good Thing?” headlines. But what often awaits them is a contemplation of “choice” and very seldom an expanded structural critique. They are placated into the numbing mantra that having children is “a personal choice,” encouraging increased individual reflection on what is actually a raging systemic failure that relies on women’s free labor. But structuring the conversation of having children around personal autonomy and lone circumstances also successfully eclipses the identification of parenthood as labor in the first place.

I’m not done talking.” She shook her head and my head pulled back, surprised and amused. “You want to feel up random girls who are substantially less attractive than I am? That’s your prerogative. But when I’m in the same room as you, I am all you see.” Probably never wanted her more than I did in that moment. Played it cool though. “Is that right?” I asked her like I was bored. “That’s right.” I nodded my chin at her. “Or what?” “Or we’re done.” She shrugged too easily and I know my face faltered and I know she saw it. “Which is fine with me, by the way. You’ve wanted me for—hmm . . .” She pretended to think about it and glanced over at Kekoa. “What would you say, Kekoa—four or so years?” Koa was biting back a smile, gave her a little nod. “Reckon it’s more like five.” Thought about firing him for that.

Da brauchst gar koa Angst haben, Dir passiert gar nix, überhaupts wir da herinnen, vom Watzmann bis zum Wendlstoa, uns gschieht nichts, weil uns d' Mutter Gottes von Altötting schützt, da kimmt keiner her, das ist wahr, das darfst mir glauben, was ich Dir sag, das woaß i ganz gwiß. Aber wo anderscht, da schaugts schiach aus, das mag i Dir gar net erzählen.

Maybe if women of color weren't relegated to sweeping floors, caring for children, and doing laundry for little to no money for centuries, we could have been recognized as chemists, essayists, doctors, and artists.

Get your rain slicker on 'cause shit is gonna come pouring down

Only Pele knows

Sandberg’s definition of feminism begins and ends with the notion that it’s all about gender equality within the existing social system. From this perspective, the structures of imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy need not be challenged.… No matter their standpoint, anyone who advocates feminist politics needs to understand the work does not end with the fight for equality of opportunity within the existing patriarchal structure. We must understand that challenging and dismantling patriarchy is at the core of contemporary feminist struggle—

The activist bell hooks famously noted that the absence of structural critique was very revealing: Sandberg’s definition of feminism begins and ends with the notion that it’s all about gender equality within the existing social system. From this perspective, the structures of imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy need not be challenged.… No matter their standpoint, anyone who advocates feminist politics needs to understand the work does not end with the fight for equality of opportunity within the existing patriarchal structure. We must understand that challenging and dismantling patriarchy is at the core of contemporary feminist struggle—this is essential and necessary if women and men are to be truly liberated from outmoded sexist thinking and actions.20

RAIN AT NIGHT This is what I have heard at last the wind in December lashing the old trees with rain unseen rain racing along the tiles under the moon wind rising and falling wind with many clouds trees in the night wind after an age of leaves and feathers someone dead thought of this mountain as money and cut the trees that were here in the wind in the rain at night it is hard to say it but they cut the sacred ‘ohias then the sacred koas then the sandalwood and the halas holding aloft their green fires and somebody dead turned cattle loose among the stumps until killing time but the trees have risen one more time and the night wind makes them sound like the sea that is yet unknown the black clouds race over the moon the rain is falling on the last place

Denouncing white supremacy means that I will no longer be supreme. Fostering diversity in my workplace means I will talk less as the dominant power in the room. Being pro-LGBTQ doesn’t entitle me to explain to my lesbian colleague that her relationships are “easier.” A

But it was still a poor man’s version of what radio once was, an echo of its unfulfilled promise. CBS gave the time but precious little money, and the affiliates felt free to tape-delay or drop it from the schedule at will. At KOA in Denver, it was often a casualty of the station’s sports docket. A complaining listener was told that, in effect, he was lucky they were carrying it at all. Sports pays, drama doesn’t: that was the bottom line in the ’70s and continued to be in the ’90s. To have any chance of success, radio drama would have to be approached as it is on the BBC in England, where it has never been allowed to die. As radio actress Virginia Gregg once put it, “The British know a good medium when they hear it.

the Mount Rushmore KOA complex near

Someone needs to remain on over-watch. We don’t know when those bats will come back.”   Trenton tilted his head. “That’s already taken care of. A couple of pathfinders and your friend Dane showed up shortly after we started using the Koa to help defend it. They’ll stay here. Braden’s also sent some of his warriors to protect the poor darlings.”   He sent a wicked glance at the woman at his side. The woman rolled her eyes but didn’t contradict him.   Good enough for Shea. She slid the sword into its scabbard as Gawain did the same.   “Let’s see what Fallon wants, then,” she said, clapping Trenton on the shoulder and easing past him.   He barely controlled his wince before he followed her.   “What’s the matter? One of the bats get a little too close?” Gawain asked in a sarcastic tone.   Shea hid her grin when her guard sent the clan leader a nasty glare.   “More than a little close,” Eliza said with a sidelong glance. “When we showed up, one of them had him by the arm and was about to drag him over the cliff. Good thing we arrived when we did or else someone would have had to scrape the poor darling off the rocks below.”   Trenton gave her a dour look and Shea choked back a laugh. She could just imagine how much he hadn’t enjoyed being rescued.   “You’re getting a bit slow from your easy assignment,” Gawain said, prodding the other man.   Trenton slid a dark look his way. “You’ve seen the types of situations she gets herself into. Does this seem like a cushy assignment to you?”   Gawain gave a small shrug, conceding Trenton’s point with a small smirk.   Shea ignored the banter. She did not get herself into situations. She saw a problem and fixed it. Not her fault that things often avalanched from there.

What I ultimately learned, though, is that these weren't slips or blunders-a simple lack of awareness. White feminism is an ideology; it has completely different priorities, goals, and strategies for achieving gender equality: personalized autonomy, individual wealth, perpetual self-optimization, and supremacy. It's a practice and a way of seeing gender equality that has it's own ideals and principles, much like racism or hetero sexism or patriarchy.