Magnum Force Quotes

J. R. R. Tolkien, the near-universally-hailed father of modern epic fantasy, crafted his magnum opus The Lord of the Rings to explore the forces of creation as he saw them: God and country, race and class, journeying to war and returning home. I’ve heard it said that he was trying to create some kind of original British mythology using the structure of other cultures’ myths, and maybe that was true. I don’t know. What I see, when I read his work, is a man trying desperately to dream. Dreaming is impossible without myths. If we don’t have enough myths of our own, we’ll latch onto those of others — even if those myths make us believe terrible or false things about ourselves. Tolkien understood this, I think because it’s human nature. Call it the superego, call it common sense, call it pragmatism, call it learned helplessness, but the mind craves boundaries. Depending on the myths we believe in, those boundaries can be magnificently vast, or crushingly tight.

A man has to know his limitations.

So here we are, in the family planning aisle with a cart full of sports drinks and our hands full of . . . “Trojans, Ramses, Magnum . . . Jeez, these are worse than names for muscle cars,” Jase observes, sliding his finger along the display. “They do sound sorta, well, forceful.” I flip over the box I’m holding to read the instructions. Jase glances up to smile at me. “Don’t worry, Sam. It’s just us.” “I don’t get what half these descriptions mean . . . What’s a vibrating ring?” “Sounds like the part that breaks on the washing machine. What’s extra-sensitive? That sounds like how we describe George.” I’m giggling. “Okay, would that be better or worse than ‘ultimate feeling’—and look—there’s ‘shared pleasure’ condoms and ‘her pleasure’ condoms. But there’s no ‘his pleasure.’” “I’m pretty sure that comes with the territory,” Jase says dryly. “Put down those Technicolor ones. No freaking way.” “But blue’s my favorite color,” I say, batting my eyelashes at him. “Put them down. The glow-in-the-dark ones too. Jesus. Why do they even make those?” “For the visually impaired?” I ask, reshelving the boxes. We move to the checkout line. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the clerk calls as we leave. “Do you think he knew?” I ask. “You’re blushing again,” Jase mutters absently. “Did who know what?” “The sales guy. Why we were buying these?” A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Of course not. I’m sure it never occurred to him that we were actually buying birth control for ourselves. I bet he thought it was a . . . a . . . housewarming gift.” Okay, I’m ridiculous. “Or party favors,” I laugh. “Or”—he scrutinized the receipt—“supplies for a really expensive water balloon fight.” “Visual aids for health class?” I slip my hand into the back pocket of Jase’s jeans. “Or little raincoats for . . .” He pauses, stumped. “Barbie dolls,” I suggest. “G.I. Joes,” he corrects, and slips his free hand into the back pocket of my jeans, bumping his hip against mine as we head back to the car.

Mr. Constant,” he said, “right now you’re as easy for the Bureau of Internal Revenue to watch as a man on a street corner selling apples and pears. But just imagine how hard you would be to watch if you had a whole office building jammed to the rafters with industrial bureaucrats—men who lose things and use the wrong forms and create new forms and demand everything in quintuplicate, and who understand perhaps a third of what is said to them; who habitually give misleading answers in order to gain time in which to think, who make decisions only when forced to, and who then cover their tracks; who make perfectly honest mistakes in addition and subtraction, who call meetings whenever they feel lonely, who write memos whenever they feel unloved; men who never throw anything away unless they think it could get them fired. A single industrial bureaucrat, if he is sufficiently vital and nervous, should be able to create a ton of meaningless papers a year for the Bureau of Internal Revenue to examine. In the Magnum Opus Building, we will have thousands of them! And you and I can have the top two stories, and you can go on keeping track of what’s really going on the way you do now.

A Magnum Paucity by Stewart Stafford Build the nation's mausoleum, Light the people's funeral pyre, For Hibernia's sons and daughters, In genocide to expire. Romantic Ireland has no grave, It died foraging at the roadside for bites, Or on a coffin ship out of reach of the New World, An empire's boot on the throat for last rites. Did you know your identity all along? Or find it struggling and aghast? Old Eireann was the first expendable colony, And egregiously, not Britannia's last. Constricting stomachs do not growl patriotic oaths, Freedom is a stranger to a starved mind, Force-feed our children grapes of wrath, With liberation dead on the vine. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.

during the 1970' s, including "Towering Inferno," "High Anxiety," "Magnum Force," and "Streets of San Francisco." He now blogs

I hate the goddamn system, but until someone comes along with some changes that make sense, I’ll stick with it. —Clint Eastwood as “Dirty Harry,” Magnum Force, 1973

The gang that I’m a part of was best known for its unity. But right now, it was quickly disintegrating, not from forces without, but from within. We were turning our guns on each other. I had already survived two such encounters that could’ve been fatal. Instead, both times I just limped away with a shot to my left leg. I wonder how unlucky can one leg be, to be hit twice with a .357 magnum. But who’s complaining? My left leg is as good as ever and I’m alive to fight another day. Gang life, internal fighting, war within, friend enemies, hand guns, gang wars, gunshot, being shot, close encounters, close call, gang members, gangs, .357 magnum, fire arms, unlucky The gang that I’m a part of was best known for its unity. But right now, it was quickly disintegrating, not from forces without, but from within. We were turning our guns on each other. I had already survived two such encounters that could’ve been fatal. Instead, both times I just limped away with a shot to my left leg. I wonder how unlucky can one leg be, to be hit twice with a .357 magnum. But who’s complaining? My left leg is as good as ever and I’m alive to fight another day.

Mr. Constant," he said, "right now you’re as easy for the Bureau of Internal Revenue to watch as a man on a street corner selling apples and pears. But just imagine how hard you would be to watch if you had a whole office building jammed to the rafters with industrial bureaucrats—men who lose things and use the wrong forms and create new forms and demand everything in quintuplicate, and who understand perhaps a third of what is said to them; who habitually give misleading answers in order to gain time in which to think, who make decisions only when forced to, and who then cover their tracks; who make perfectly honest mistakes in addition and subtraction, who call meetings whenever they feel lonely, who write memos whenever they feel unloved; men who never throw anything away unless they think it could get them fired. A single industrial bureaucrat, if he is sufficiently vital and nervous, should be able to create a ton of meaningless papers a year for the Bureau of Internal Revenue to examine. In the Magnum Opus Building, we will have thousands of them! And you and I can have the top two stories, and you can go on keeping track of what’s really going on the way you do now." He looked around the room. "How do you keep track now, by the way— writing with a burnt match on the margins of a telephone directory?

In the hands of a Magnum photographer, the camera is not just an objective eye, but an instrument to enlighten and inform, a stimulating force to influence opinion and sometimes to speak for those with no voice.

If Machiavelli had not made Valentino the model for The Prince, however, it is unlikely he would have achieved his own immortality. Machiavelli’s magnum opus, Discourses on the First Decade of Titus Livy, represented his true political philosophy: An ardent champion of the Florentine republic, Machiavelli preferred the imperfect wisdom of the people to the will of princes and passionately advocated representative government—a radical egalitarianism that would not become a potent political force until the American and French revolutions more than 250 years later. The Prince was, in effect, merely Machiavelli’s plan B: what to do when political prudence has long been disregarded, chaos reigns, and the only choice is between effective or ineffective despotism

Your physical senses, which you may rationally believe pick up energy (electromagnetic energy) from the environment, actually project energy first; they project energy through attention because the physical senses are really attention focusing and modulation organs. And it is this attention that creates your personal world. The energy projected through this attention gives the world substance, thickness, and it is this thickness that you then classify as sight, sound, feeling, etc. Attention then is an actual force in the world, a type of very specific and powerful energy that is used consciously and subconsciously by all human beings.

Certains des nôtres savent déjà - mais ne le savaient-ils pas depuis toujours - que le signe fondamental, que le signum magnum de ce changement abyssal de l'histoire de ce monde annoncé par Joseph de Maistre n'est autre que celui de la mise en chantier, à la fois historique et suprahistorique, de cet Imperium Ultimum, condition préliminaire de l'avènement du Regnum Sanctum, que des forces considérables s'utilisent à l'heure actuelle à en préparer les voies, révolutionnaires et impériales, dans le visible et dans l'invisible, dans l'espace intérieur secret de l'histoire où se passent les grandes décisions du destin. Imperium Ultimum que l'on pourra désormais identifier dans le projet révolutionnaire impérial grand-continental et planétaire d'un certain gaullisme transcendantal, occulte, se maintenant très à dessein encore dans l'ombre, le projet de ce que nous autres nous appelons du nom de l'Empire Eurasitaique de la Fin. Un projet dont le "concept absolu" apparaît comme avoir été, et qui restera, jusqu'à la fin, la figure déjà suprahistorique de Charles de Gaulle, à la fois dans sa trajectoire politico-historique propre et dans les dimensions encore inconnues, nocturnes, de sa personnalité cachée et de son "grand dessein" secret, "grand dessein" impérial planétaire en appelant à sa vision mystique du Regnum Sanctum, en qui celui-là trouvera son accomplissement final, son affirmation suprême.