Sentinel Character Quotes

After character becomes imbued with conscious principles of love, integrity, and faith, it opens the door for purity and holiness to converge at the portals of the soul like sentinels guarding against any counter attacks from the ego.

It will generally be found that, as soon as the terrors of life reach the point at which they outweigh the terrors of death, a man will put an end to his life. But the terrors of death offer considerable resistance; they stand like a sentinel at the gate leading out of this world. Perhaps there is no man alive who would not have already put an end to his life, if this end had been of a purely negative character, a sudden stoppage of existence. There is something positive about it; it is the destruction of the body; and a man shrinks from that, because his body is the manifestation of the will to live.

All of the combat was stirring up the magic. It filled the air like steam. But that wasn’t all. There was magic in the trampled grass of the courtyard, in trees surrounding the fort like sentinels, and in the moon and starlight streaming down from the sky. It was all swirling down into the courtyard and down into the earth. There was more magic available than Raziel could have possibly taken in. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. Raziel drew in everything he could, pulling magic from every direction. It was like trying to continuously inhale without exhaling. He burst into sweat as his whole body began to burn with the effort of containing the magic. The air around him was swirling, turbulent and constantly shifting directions. Soon it felt like his veins were filled with liquid fire and thunder pounded in his head. When he couldn’t take anymore, he began to force the energy up his shoulder and down his arm into his right hand. Everywhere the magic left felt like it was freezing, but his arm felt like it was being dipped in molten metal. Raziel opened his eyes to find his hand engulfed in a blazing ball of blue light. Hoeru was transfixed by it. There were a few gremlin bodies on the ground nearby, but they weren’t attacking anymore. They were running from the light Raziel held.

I would travel far and wide...seeing, listening, creating. I would weave tales for an enthralled audience. A song would be heard throughout the kingdom, and I would be a part of that. You would normally think that a bard would pick up his tales from stories heard in his travels or, perhaps, from personal observation of these events. Perhaps some bards would create the stories themselves or, at least, adapt the original versions heard... But what if the bard were really more than a bard? What if he were once a gallant knight or an old sea captain...perhaps even a forgotten prince? What if the stories he told, what if the characters brought to life in his stories, were really of his comrades and himself? Stories from long ago that he finally wished to be heard? What if those who listened to his tales, all the while assuming that they were far disconnected from their communicator, were really listening to the narrative of a wanderer intimately connected to it all? And where would such an individual go when his final days as an “official” bard were spent? Perhaps he would decide to retire in a lighthouse. For, surely, no place would be more fitting for the hero emeritus. He would gaze upon the glorious sea in recollection...guiding others with the beacon of light atop his home as he had once been shepherded. The adventurer became the storyteller...and then the Sentinel of the Sea.

We walked the length of Jackson Square, stopping to look at the work of a couple of artists who'd set up their sidewalk shops for the day. "Look." Eugenie stopped in front of an acrylic painting of a mustached man with curly dark hair, hooded eyes, and a big hooked nose. He looked like he'd steal the hubcaps off your grandmother's Cadillac. "It's Jean Lafitte, our most famous pirate," the artist said. "He was quite a character." She had no idea. She also had badly missed the mark on his looks. His hair wasn't that curly, he'd been clean-shaven the whole time I'd known him, his nose was straight and in perfect proportion to the rest of his features, and he didn't have hooded black eyes. Still, he might find it entertaining. "How much?" I asked.

Each of us must use self-scrutiny in order to ascertain how to immerse ourselves into prevailing culture and develop personals skills and survival mechanisms in order to cope with all the paradoxes and complications of a chaotic world. We cannot gauge the equipoise of our emotional health by examining the columns of numbers representing money earned or sums owed on a financial balance sheet. We must periodically take stock of our character assets and personality liabilities. Maintaining a permanency of felicity lodged in our lightsome soul might be the most important asset besides physical genetics that we will ever possess. Unlike our genetic disposition, we are the sole sentinels of our emotional health.