Star Wars A New Hope Quotes

May the Force be with you.

They were at the wrong place at the wrong time naturally they became heroes

True it is,/ That these are not the droids for which thou search'st. -Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi

I pray thee, sir, forgive me for the mess/And whether I shot first, I'll not confess. - Han Solo

Someday you're going to have to learn to separate what seems to be important from what really is important.

Luke: Boy, it's lucky you have these compartments. Han: I use them for smuggling. I never thought I'd be smuggling myself in them. This is ridiculous.

- Be thou not technical with me,/Or else thine input valve may swift receive/a hearty helping of my golden foot.

O help/ Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, help. Thou art/ Mine only hope. -Leia Organa

there are two things men have never been able to satisfy: their curiosity and their greed.

LUKE —But O, what now? What light through yonder flashing sensor breaks?

Thou truly art in jest. Art thou not small/Of stature, if thou art a stormtrooper? -Leia Organa

We’re a couple of shooting stars, Biggs, and we’ll never be stopped.

For Jenn At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don't. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I could never make dying beautiful. The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myself veins are kite strings you can only cut free. I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree, and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers, and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe. But my lungs remember the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat. And I knew life would tremble like the first tear on a prison guard's hardened cheek, like a prayer on a dying man's lips, like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone… just take me just take me Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much, the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood. We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday. You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess and hope she knows you can hit a baseball further than any boy in the whole third grade and I've been running for home through the windpipe of a man who sings while his hands playing washboard with a spoon on a street corner in New Orleans where every boarded up window is still painted with the words We're Coming Back like a promise to the ocean that we will always keep moving towards the music, the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain. Beauty, catch me on your tongue. Thunder, clap us open. The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks. Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert, then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun. I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun. I know the heartbeat of his mother. Don't cover your ears, Love. Don't cover your ears, Life. There is a boy writing poems in Central Park and as he writes he moves and his bones become the bars of Mandela's jail cell stretching apart, and there are men playing chess in the December cold who can't tell if the breath rising from the board is their opponents or their own, and there's a woman on the stairwell of the subway swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn, and I'm remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun with strip malls and traffic and vendors and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.

What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star? That, by the way, is a phrase of Julian's. I remember it from a lecture of his on the Iliad, when Patroklos appears to Achilles in a dream. There is a very moving passage where Achilles overjoyed at the sight of the apparition – tries to throw his arms around the ghost of his old friend, and it vanishes. The dead appear to us in dreams, said Julian, because that's the only way they can make us see them; what we see is only a projection, beamed from a great distance, light shining at us from a dead star… Which reminds me, by the way, of a dream I had a couple of weeks ago. I found myself in a strange deserted city – an old city, like London – underpopulated by war or disease. It was night; the streets were dark, bombed-out, abandoned. For a long time, I wandered aimlessly – past ruined parks, blasted statuary, vacant lots overgrown with weeds and collapsed apartment houses with rusted girders poking out of their sides like ribs. But here and there, interspersed among the desolate shells of the heavy old public buildings, I began to see new buildings, too, which were connected by futuristic walkways lit from beneath. Long, cool perspectives of modern architecture, rising phosphorescent and eerie from the rubble. I went inside one of these new buildings. It was like a laboratory, maybe, or a museum. My footsteps echoed on the tile floors.There was a cluster of men, all smoking pipes, gathered around an exhibit in a glass case that gleamed in the dim light and lit their faces ghoulishly from below. I drew nearer. In the case was a machine revolving slowly on a turntable, a machine with metal parts that slid in and out and collapsed in upon themselves to form new images. An Inca temple… click click click… the Pyramids… the Parthenon. History passing beneath my very eyes, changing every moment. 'I thought I'd find you here,' said a voice at my elbow. It was Henry. His gaze was steady and impassive in the dim light. Above his ear, beneath the wire stem of his spectacles, I could just make out the powder burn and the dark hole in his right temple. I was glad to see him, though not exactly surprised. 'You know,' I said to him, 'everybody is saying that you're dead.' He stared down at the machine. The Colosseum… click click click… the Pantheon. 'I'm not dead,' he said. 'I'm only having a bit of trouble with my passport.' 'What?' He cleared his throat. 'My movements are restricted,' he said. 'I no longer have the ability to travel as freely as I would like.' Hagia Sophia. St. Mark's, in Venice. 'What is this place?' I asked him. 'That information is classified, I'm afraid.' 1 looked around curiously. It seemed that I was the only visitor. 'Is it open to the public?' I said. 'Not generally, no.' I looked at him. There was so much I wanted to ask him, so much I wanted to say; but somehow I knew there wasn't time and even if there was, that it was all, somehow, beside the point. 'Are you happy here?' I said at last. He considered this for a moment. 'Not particularly,' he said. 'But you're not very happy where you are, either.' St. Basil's, in Moscow. Chartres. Salisbury and Amiens. He glanced at his watch. 'I hope you'll excuse me,' he said, 'but I'm late for an appointment.' He turned from me and walked away. I watched his back receding down the long, gleaming hall.

[Luke, holding stormtrooper helmet.] Alas, poor stormtrooper, I knew ye not,/ yet have I taken both uniform and life/ From thee. What manner of a man wert thou?/ A man of inf'nite jest or cruelty?/ A man with helpmate and with children too?/ A man who hath his Empire serv'd with pride?/ A man, perhaps, who wish'd for perfect peace?/ What'er thou wert, goodman, thy pardon grant/ Unto the one who took thy place: e'en me.

A plague on 3PO for action slow,/ A plague upon my quest that led us here,/ A plague on both our circuit boards, I say! [R2-D2}

This Force, by troth, I'll never comprehend! It doth control and also doth obey? And 'tis within and yet it is beyond, 'Tis both inside and yet outside one's self? What paradox! What fickle-natur'd pow'r! Aye: frailty, thy name-- belike--is Force.

LUKE —But O, what now? What light through yonder flashing sensor breaks? HAN It marks the loss of yon deflector shield.

[They shoot, Greedo dies. [To innkeeper:] Pray, goodly Sir, forgive me for the mess. [Aside:] And whether I shot first, I’ll ne’er confess! [Exeunt.

To Alderaan we fly on course direct, And to this feast of death I’ll not object. [Exit Darth Vader.

Once more unto the trench, dear friends, once more!

O be not anxious, comrades, fear ye not! The siuation here hath been controll'd. All merry 'tis in the detention block!.... That conversation did my spirits bore! Now Luke, prepare thyself for company.

She eyes me as if gauging my mood. “ ‘I hate tiny parties—they force one into constant exertion.’ ” I squint, searching my memories for the familiar words. “Did you—did you just Jane Austen me?” Her dark eyes twinkle. “Who’s the literary nerd? The quoter or the one who recognizes the quote?” “Wait.” I shake my head in amusement. “Did you just Star Wars me?” “Nah.” She grins. “I New Hope’d you.

LEIA Ah! Gov’nor Tarkin, scurvy knave art thou.

LEIA [to Han:] Hast thou come here in that ungainly heap? Thou art, perhaps, then braver than I thought.

LUKE Friends, rebels, starfighters, lend me your ears. Wish not we had a single fighter more, If we are mark’d to die, we are enough To make our planets proud. But should we win, We fewer rebels share the greater fame. We all have sacrific’d unto this cause.

This golden droid has been a friend, 'tis true,/ And yet I wish to still his prating tongue!/ An imp, he calleth me? I'll be reveng'd,/ And merry pranks aplenty I shall play/ Upon this pompous droid C-3PO!/ Yet not in language shall my pranks be done:/ Around both humans and droids I must/ Be seen to make such errant beeps and squeaks/ That they shall think me simple. Truly, though,/ Although with sounds obilque I speak to them, I clearly see how I shall play my part,/ And how a vast rebellion shall succeed/ by wit and wisdom of a simple droid. [R2-D2]

Aye, say thou fool? Then fool, good Sir, am I. But when thou sayest fool remember well That fools do walk in foolish company. So if I am a fool, perhaps ’tis true That other fools around me may be found.

It is a period of civil war. The spaceships of the rebels, striking swift From base unseen, have gain’d a vict’ry o’er The cruel Galactic Empire, now adrift. Amidst the battle, rebel spies prevail’d And stole the plans to a space station vast, Whose pow’rful beams will later be unveil’d And crush a planet: ’tis the DEATH STAR blast. Pursu’d by agents sinister and cold, Now Princess Leia to her home doth flee, Deliv’ring plans and a new hope they hold: Of bringing freedom to the galaxy. In time so long ago begins our play, In star-crossed galaxy far, far away.

I do believe—that all the world's a star. Beyond that heav'nly light I shall fly far!" Luke (ACT I, Scene 7)

LUKE But unto Tosche Station would I go, And there obtain some pow’r converters. Fie!

C-3PO —Thou shalt not label me A mindless, brute philosopher! Nay, nay, Thou overladen glob of grease, thou imp, Thou rubbish bucket fit for scrap, thou blue And silver pile of bantha dung! Now, come, And get thee hence away lest someone sees.

LEIA —O help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, help. Thou art Mine only hope. LUKE —I wonder who she is. Whoever she may be, whatever is Her cause, I shall unto her pleas respond. Not e’en were she my sister could I know A duty of more weight than I feel now. It seemeth she some dreadful trouble hath— Mayhap I should replay the message whole.

This door is lock’d. And as my father oft Hath said, a lockèd door no mischief makes. So sure am I that, thus, behind this door Cannot be found the droids for which we search. And thus may we move on with conscience clear.

LEIA Thou truly art in jest. Art thou not small Of stature, if thou art a stormtrooper? Does Empire shrink for want of taller troops? The Empire’s evil ways, I’ll grant, are grand, But must its soldiers want for fear of height?

...Have they been cruelly kill'd for what I want?/So shall I never want again if in/ The wanting all I love shall be destroy'd. -Luke II,4 lines 56-58

At early morn, with eager wills they rise, A shar’d endeavor binding them anew. The fast landspeeder o’er the desert flies— They go to find the errant droid R2.

R2-D2, where art thou?

LEIA O, I do love thee wholly, Han. HAN —I know.

LUKE Alas, poor stormtrooper, I knew ye not, Yet have I ta’en both uniform and life From thee. What manner of a man wert thou? A man of inf’nite jest or cruelty? A man with helpmate and with children too? A man who hath his Empire serv’d with pride?

R2-D2 [aside:]         —Almost I could My metal tongue release and speak to him. This man doth show sure signs of wisdom and Experience. [To Obi-Wan:] Beep, beep, meep, beep, meep, squeak.

OBI-WAN Forsooth, a great disturbance in the Force Have I just felt. ’Twas like a million mouths Cried out in fear at once, and then were gone, All hush’d and quiet—silent to the last. I fear a stroke of evil hath occurr’d. But thou, good Luke, thy practice recommence.

For all these stars, nothing is new. They’ve seen all kinds of wars and miracles, too. They know the messengers with their holy books will smile and wash their hands in blood. They know the politicians with their good looks will make the poor eat pies of mud. They’ve seen the Earth freeze and then burn with greed. They’ve seen the trees and the seas emptied. Yet, you won’t hear their sneers when a man arrives and, having experienced a number of years, proclaims: 'I have lived!' Because nothing is new under these stars: the lies, the love, the memories and scars, the ruin, the revolution, the fakes and true, the families, the friends, none of it is new. All of it—even the me and you.

HAN Ha, ha! Thy errant systems of belief— Thy weapons ancient, all thy mysteries, Thy robes and meditations o’er the air, Thy superstitions, e’en thy precious Force— Cannot compare to my religion true: A trusty blaster ever by my side. With thus I say my prayers and guard my soul.

You must try to divorce your actions from conscious control. Try not to focus on anything concrete, visually or mentally. You must let your mind drift, drift; only then you can use the force. You have to enter to a state in which you act on what you sense, not on what you think beforehand. You must cease cognition, relax, stop thinking... let yourself drift... free... free...

Once, under the wise rule of the Senate and the protection of the Jedi Knights, the Republic throve and grew. But as often happens when wealth and power pass beyond the admirable and attain the awesome, then appear those evil ones who have greed to match.

TK-421, why aren't you at your post?

The final curtain of life’s play is dropp’d.

I was born to make people feel good when everything around them seemed just awful. Which, if you think about it, is what all good parents – and café owners – are meant to do.

In time so long ago begins our play, In star-crossed galaxy far, far away.

You asked what I hoped to gain by meeting you on the bridge, Admiral?” Thrawn asked softly. Savit looked back at Thrawn. The blue face was still calm, but the glowing eyes seemed to have taken on a new intensity. “So tell me,” he invited. “It’s very simple,” Thrawn said. “I wished for a better view of the coming battle.

We have one collective hope: the Earth And yet, uncounted people remain hopeless, famine and calamity abound Sufferers hurl themselves into the arms of war; people kill and get killed in the name of someone else’s concept of God Do we admit that our thoughts & behaviors spring from a belief that the world revolves around us? Each fabricated conflict, self-murdering bomb, vanished airplane, every fictionalized dictator, biased or partisan, and wayward son, are part of the curtains of society’s racial, ethnic, religious, national, and cultural conflicts, and you find the human ego turning the knobs and pulling the levers When I track the orbits of asteroids, comets, and planets, each one a pirouetting dancer in a cosmic ballet, choreographed by the forces of gravity, I see beyond the plight of humans I see a universe ever-expanding, with its galaxies embedded within the ever-stretching four-dimensional fabric of space and time However big our world is, our hearts, our minds, our outsize atlases, the universe is even bigger There are more stars in the universe than grains of sand on the world’s beaches, more stars in the universe than seconds of time that have passed since Earth formed, more stars than words & sounds ever uttered by all humans who have ever lived The day we cease the exploration of the cosmos is the day we threaten the continuing of our species In that bleak world, arms-bearing, resource-hungry people & nations would be prone to act on their low-contracted prejudices, and would have seen the last gasp of human enlightenment Until the rise of a visionary new culture that once again embraces the cosmic perspective; a perspective in which we are one, fitting neither above nor below, but within

There was little he loved to dwell upon more than the thought of young Skywalker coming into herself, learning the powers that lay deep within her, an perhaps bringing to the galaxy a new age that she could not even hope to imagine.

Our cause is for the truth, for righteousness, For anyone who e’er oppression knew. ’Tis not rebellion for the sake of one, ’Tis not a cause to serve a priv’leg’d few— This moment shall resound in history For ev’ry person who would freedom know! So Biggs, stand with me now, and be my aide, And Wedge, fly at my side to lead the charge— We three, we happy three, we band of brothers, Shall fly unto the trench with throttles full!

Do or do not...there is no try.

The sands of time ne’er turnèd backward yet, And forward marches Fate, not the reverse.

Thou oversizèd child, thou friend of slime, Thou man of scruffy looks, thou who herd’st nerfs,

Relax!” old Ben urged him. “Be free. You’re trying to use your eyes and ears. Stop predicting and use the rest of your mind.

The Force is with us always!

The Empire is in chaos. As the old order crumbles, the fledgling New Republic seeks a swift end to the galactic conflict. Many Imperial leaders have fled from their posts, hoping to escape justice in the farthest corners of known space.

After the first Death Star has been destroyed at the end of A New Hope and the rebel pilots touch down back at the base, listen carefully as Luke climbs down from his X-Wing and rushes to embrace Leia. He is so excited that he accidently calls her “Carrie.

Exoneration of Jesus Christ If Christ was in fact God, he knew all the future. Before Him like a panorama moved the history yet to be. He knew how his words would be interpreted. He knew what crimes, what horrors, what infamies, would be committed in his name. He knew that the hungry flames of persecution would climb around the limbs of countless martyrs. He knew that thousands and thousands of brave men and women would languish in dungeons in darkness, filled with pain. He knew that his church would invent and use instruments of torture; that his followers would appeal to whip and fagot, to chain and rack. He saw the horizon of the future lurid with the flames of the auto da fe. He knew what creeds would spring like poisonous fungi from every text. He saw the ignorant sects waging war against each other. He saw thousands of men, under the orders of priests, building prisons for their fellow-men. He saw thousands of scaffolds dripping with the best and bravest blood. He saw his followers using the instruments of pain. He heard the groans—saw the faces white with agony. He heard the shrieks and sobs and cries of all the moaning, martyred multitudes. He knew that commentaries would be written on his words with swords, to be read by the light of fagots. He knew that the Inquisition would be born of the teachings attributed to him. He saw the interpolations and falsehoods that hypocrisy would write and tell. He saw all wars that would be waged, and-he knew that above these fields of death, these dungeons, these rackings, these burnings, these executions, for a thousand years would float the dripping banner of the cross. He knew that hypocrisy would be robed and crowned—that cruelty and credulity would rule the world; knew that liberty would perish from the earth; knew that popes and kings in his name would enslave the souls and bodies of men; knew that they would persecute and destroy the discoverers, thinkers and inventors; knew that his church would extinguish reason’s holy light and leave the world without a star. He saw his disciples extinguishing the eyes of men, flaying them alive, cutting out their tongues, searching for all the nerves of pain. He knew that in his name his followers would trade in human flesh; that cradles would be robbed and women’s breasts unbabed for gold. And yet he died with voiceless lips. Why did he fail to speak? Why did he not tell his disciples, and through them the world: “You shall not burn, imprison and torture in my name. You shall not persecute your fellow-men.” Why did he not plainly say: “I am the Son of God,” or, “I am God”? Why did he not explain the Trinity? Why did he not tell the mode of baptism that was pleasing to him? Why did he not write a creed? Why did he not break the chains of slaves? Why did he not say that the Old Testament was or was not the inspired word of God? Why did he not write the New Testament himself? Why did he leave his words to ignorance, hypocrisy and chance? Why did he not say something positive, definite and satisfactory about another world? Why did he not turn the tear-stained hope of heaven into the glad knowledge of another life? Why did he not tell us something of the rights of man, of the liberty of hand and brain? Why did he go dumbly to his death, leaving the world to misery and to doubt? I will tell you why. He was a man, and did not know.

Once there were three tribes. The Optimists, whose patron saints were Drake and Sagan, believed in a universe crawling with gentle intelligence—spiritual brethren vaster and more enlightened than we, a great galactic siblinghood into whose ranks we would someday ascend. Surely, said the Optimists, space travel implies enlightenment, for it requires the control of great destructive energies. Any race which can't rise above its own brutal instincts will wipe itself out long before it learns to bridge the interstellar gulf. Across from the Optimists sat the Pessimists, who genuflected before graven images of Saint Fermi and a host of lesser lightweights. The Pessimists envisioned a lonely universe full of dead rocks and prokaryotic slime. The odds are just too low, they insisted. Too many rogues, too much radiation, too much eccentricity in too many orbits. It is a surpassing miracle that even one Earth exists; to hope for many is to abandon reason and embrace religious mania. After all, the universe is fourteen billion years old: if the galaxy were alive with intelligence, wouldn't it be here by now? Equidistant to the other two tribes sat the Historians. They didn't have too many thoughts on the probable prevalence of intelligent, spacefaring extraterrestrials— but if there are any, they said, they're not just going to be smart. They're going to be mean. It might seem almost too obvious a conclusion. What is Human history, if not an ongoing succession of greater technologies grinding lesser ones beneath their boots? But the subject wasn't merely Human history, or the unfair advantage that tools gave to any given side; the oppressed snatch up advanced weaponry as readily as the oppressor, given half a chance. No, the real issue was how those tools got there in the first place. The real issue was what tools are for. To the Historians, tools existed for only one reason: to force the universe into unnatural shapes. They treated nature as an enemy, they were by definition a rebellion against the way things were. Technology is a stunted thing in benign environments, it never thrived in any culture gripped by belief in natural harmony. Why invent fusion reactors if your climate is comfortable, if your food is abundant? Why build fortresses if you have no enemies? Why force change upon a world which poses no threat? Human civilization had a lot of branches, not so long ago. Even into the twenty-first century, a few isolated tribes had barely developed stone tools. Some settled down with agriculture. Others weren't content until they had ended nature itself, still others until they'd built cities in space. We all rested eventually, though. Each new technology trampled lesser ones, climbed to some complacent asymptote, and stopped—until my own mother packed herself away like a larva in honeycomb, softened by machinery, robbed of incentive by her own contentment. But history never said that everyone had to stop where we did. It only suggested that those who had stopped no longer struggled for existence. There could be other, more hellish worlds where the best Human technology would crumble, where the environment was still the enemy, where the only survivors were those who fought back with sharper tools and stronger empires. The threats contained in those environments would not be simple ones. Harsh weather and natural disasters either kill you or they don't, and once conquered—or adapted to— they lose their relevance. No, the only environmental factors that continued to matter were those that fought back, that countered new strategies with newer ones, that forced their enemies to scale ever-greater heights just to stay alive. Ultimately, the only enemy that mattered was an intelligent one. And if the best toys do end up in the hands of those who've never forgotten that life itself is an act of war against intelligent opponents, what does that say about a race whose machines travel between the stars?

Padmé insists: “There’s always a choice.” Does Anakin hear the echo of her voice decades later, when he decides to save their son from the Emperor? I like to think so. “YOU GET MANY OPPORTUNITIES TO KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN” Here’s Leia, speaking of Han’s apparent desertion of the rebellion in A New Hope: “A man must follow his own path. No one can choose it for him.” Here’s Obi-Wan to Luke, again in A New Hope: “Then you must do what you think is right, of course.” Here are Lucas’s own words: “Life sends you down funny paths. And you get many opportunities to keep your eyes open.” He was talking about his own life, but he might as well have been talking about Star Wars and the characters who populate it.

You must try to divorce your actions from conscious control. Try not to focus on anything concrete, visually or mentally. You must let your mind drift, drift; only then can you use the force. You have to enter a state in which you act on what you sense, not on what you think beforehand. You must cease cogitation, relax, stop thinking … let yourself drift … free … free …

Under a Certain Little Star" My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity in case I’m mistaken. May happiness not be angry if I take it for my own. May the dead forgive me that their memory’s but a flicker. My apologies to time for the multiplicity of the world overlooked each second. My apologies to an old love for treating the new one as the first. Forgive me far-off wars for taking my flowers home. Forgive me open wounds for pricking my finger. My apologies for the minuet record, to those calling out from the abyss. My apologies to those in railway stations for sleeping comfortably at five in the morning. Pardon me hounded hope for laughing sometimes. Pardon me deserts for not rushing in with a spoonful of water. And you O hawk, the same bird for years in the same cage, forever still and staring at the same spot, absolve me even if you happened to be stuffed. My apologies to the tree felled for four table legs. My apologies to large questions for small answers. Truth, do not pay me too much attention. Solemnity, be magnanimous to me. Endure, O mystery of being that I might pull threads from your veil. Soul, don’t blame me that I’ve got you so seldom. My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere. My apologies to all for not knowing how to be every man and woman. I know that as long as I live nothing can excuse me, because I myself am my own obstacle. Do not hold it against me, O speech, that I borrow weighty words, and then labor to make them light.

I rue the day I came unto this place, This drab and barren rock call’d Tatooine. But wherefore have I reason to complain? Do sandstorms not invade both rich and poor?— We are not promis’d equity in life. Both rich and poor alike pertain to me: For certain, though in toil am I most rich, By want of keen adventure am I poor. Thus I declare that whether rich or poor, The lot I have receiv’d from Fate’s unfair!

I can’t see,” Luke muttered, turning around and forcing Kenobi to step back out of range of the dangerously wavering saber. “How can I fight?” “With the force,” old Ben explained. “You didn’t really ‘see’ the seeker when it went for your legs the last time, and yet you parried its beam. Try to let that sensation flow within you again.” “I can’t do it,” Luke moaned. “I’ll get hit again.” “Not if you let yourself trust you,” Kenobi insisted, none too convincingly for Luke. “This is the only way to be certain you’re relying wholly on the force.

On New Year's Eve, when the children had gone up the hill to be with their father, I went to a Mensa party in San Francisco, but returned home relatively early, wanting to face the first few hours of the new year away from the noise and lurching of people who had drunk too much. I stood outside on the deck, in darkness, looking up at the star-frosted sky, letting myself feel without censoring the ache and hope that belonged to that night, and I sent out prayer for connection with someone who would be --finally -- the person I'd needed to be with all my life, someone who would have gone through his own changes and wars of the spirit and emerged a true adult. A grown-up man. Who wouldn't mind my being a grandmother, for Pete's sake. A man somewhat like Shura Borodin -- or what Shura seemed to be. I cried a bit because the wanting was so very intense and the clear night sky so very indifferent, and everything I was in body and soul might yet grow old without a lover and friend who could be to me what I was capable of being to him. I toasted myself, hope, the new year and the magnificent cold stars with a bit of wine, then went to bed.

I can't help but wonder how the old Empire would have handled the crisis. I hope you will forgive my partisan attitude but it seems to me that the Emperor would have mobilized his entire armament at the first threat and dealt with the Yuuzhan Vong in an efficient and expeditious manner through the use of overwhelming force. Certainly better than Borsk Fey'lya's policy if I understood it correctly as a policy of negotiating with the invaders at the same time as he was fighting them sending signals of weakness to a ruthless enemy who used negotiation only as a cover for further conquests." "That's not what the Empire would have done Commander. What the Empire would have done was build a super-colossal Yuuzhan Vong-killing battle machine. They would have called it the Nova Colossus or the Galaxy Destructor or the Nostril of Palpatine or something equally grandiose. They would have spent billions of credits employed thousands of contractors and subcontractors and equipped it with the latest in death-dealing technology. And you know what would have happened It wouldn't have worked. They'd forget to bolt down a metal plate over an access hatch leading to the main reactors or some other mistake and a hotshot enemy pilot would have dropped a bomb down there and blow the whole thing up. Now that's what the Empire would have done." Dorja Han

It feels so strange, being here, at this place and in this circumstance. Years ago, we removed one child from Tatooine, thinking him to be the galaxy’s greatest hope. Now I have returned one – with the same goal in mind. I hope it goes better this time. Because the path to this moment has been filled with pain. For the whole galaxy, for my friends – and for me. I still can’t believe the Jedi Order is gone – and the Republic, corrupted and in the hands of Palpatine. And Anakin, corrupted as well. The holovids I saw of him slaughtering the Jedi younglings in the Temple still haunt my dreams... and shatter my heart into pieces, over and over again. But after the horror of children’s deaths, a child may bring hope, as well. It's as I said: the delivery is made. I’m standing on a ridge with my riding beast – a Tatooine eopie – looking back at the Lars homestead. Owen and Beru Lars are outside, holding the child. The last chapter is finished: a new one has begun.

For someone, somewhere, in need of your help, you just might be the only hope. How will you respond?

For every ebb there’s a flow; for every flow there’s an ebb. The full moon must wane just as the new moon must wax. Happiness turns to sorrow; sorrow is reborn as hope. There is nothing constant but change in the Tide, and I am Change.

For every ebb there’s a flow; for every flow there’s an ebb. The full moon must wane just as the new moon must wax. Happiness turns to sorrow; sorrow is reborn as hope.

Exodus read like Star Wars: Episode IV—A New Hope and the book of Joshua now felt more like Return of the Jedi, with the addition of extensive real estate transactions.

Since the end of the Galactic Civil War, for most of the last thirty years, it was thought that the history of the Galactic Empire was clear and easily understandable. That the New Republic had successfully taught the next generations about the horror inflicted upon the galaxy by Palpatine and his followers. It seemed to be an easy message to explain something that was now safely behind us. My colleagues and I congratulated ourselves on the ways we’d been able to take the realities of the Empire and convert them into lessons in schools and universities, which would then further ripple out across the galaxy. We were so sure that we had created the perfect way of preventing future conflicts and a return to Imperialism. We were fools. I was a fool. As much as we might have wished that the remnants of the Empire could have been left to rot beneath the sands of Jakku, it seems that we could not be free of it so easily. I recall the shock I felt when Resistance agents brought back from Batuu - among other things - word that there were traders in Black Spire Outpost selling busts of Emperor Palpatine and other trinkets of his fallen Empire. How could this be? What must have happened to make the image of the Emperor - a man responsible for the murder of billions - acceptable enough to sell and own, even long after his apparent death at Endor? How could we all have gone so astray? Recent events have shown us that Imperial ideology was not, as once hoped, a thing of the past and its return pushed the entire galaxy over the edge of disaster. The First Order brought death and tyranny with them out of the Unknown Regions. Hosnian Prime was destroyed just as Alderaan once was. Billions died across the galaxy as the New Republic disintegrated in the face of an enemy that sought to subjugate all worlds.

The droid brought him to the operating room. A black figure lay on the operating table. Black gloves and boots covered the new mechanical limbs; a mirror shiny black mask hid the scarred face. The table began to tilt, moving the figure to an upright position. There was the sound of breathing. Yes, Darth Sidious thought. He will terrify them. And even if he is not as powerful as I had once hoped, he will still be far more powerful than anyone else.

In 1863, as Havana continued to grow, the need for expansion prompted the removal of the city walls. The Ten Years’ War ended with a cease fire from Spain. However, it was followed by the Cuban War of Independence, which lasted from 1895 until 1898 and prompted intervention by the United States. The American occupation of Cuba lasted until 1902. After Cuban Independence came into being, another period of expansion in Havana followed, leading to the construction of beautiful apartment buildings for the new middle class and mansions for the wealthy. During the 1920’s, Cuba developed the largest middle class per total population in all of Latin America, necessitating additional accommodations and amenities in the capital city. As ships and airplanes provided reliable transportation, visitors saw Havana as a refuge from the colder cities in the North. To accommodate the tourists, luxury hotels, including the Hotel Nacional and the Habana Riviera, were built. In the 1950’s gambling and prostitution became widespread and the city became the new playground of the Americas, bringing in more income than Las Vegas. Now that Cuba senses an end to the embargo and hopes to cultivate a new relationship with the United States, construction in Havana has taken on a new sense of urgency. Expecting that Havana will once again become a tourist destination, the French construction group “Bouygues” is busy building Havana's newest luxury hotel. This past June Starwood’s mid-market Four Points Havana, became the first U.S. hotel, owned by Marriott, to open in Cuba. The historic Manzana de Gómez building which was once Cuba's first European-style shopping arcade has now been transformed into the Swiss based Manzana Kempinski, Gran Hotel, La Habana. It has now become Cuba's first new 5-Star Hotel! Spanish resort hotels dot the beaches east of Havana and China is expected to build 108,000 new hotel rooms for the largest tourist facility in the Caribbean. On the other end of the spectrum is the 14 room Hotel Terral whch has a prime spot on the Malecón.

Lawrence Kasdan has this to say about Star Wars: “Force Awakens, New Hope, Empire—these are movies about fulfilling what is inside you. That’s a story that everybody can relate to. Even when you get to be my age, you’re still trying to figure that out. It’s amazing but it’s true. What am I, what am I about, have I fulfilled my potential, and, if not, is there still time? That’s what the Star Wars saga is about.

No try! Do or do not, there is no try!

He stood on the sand watching the double sunset as first one and then the other of Tatooine's twin suns sank slowly behind the distant range of dunes. In the fading light the sands turned gold, russet, and flaming red-orange before advancing night put the bright colors to sleep for another day.

I have great love for you, tah-mah. If you leave me, my heart will be laid upon the ground. But it is time that you fulfill the last part of the prophecy.” Hunter’s mouth went dry. He fixed his attention on the stars. “Someone must preserve the ways of the People,” Warrior rasped, “someone who will sing our songs and teach our ways. Unless you do that, all that we are will be lost. You must go get your woman and take her far away into the west lands where this war does not reach.” Warrior’s voice shook with emotion. “To a new place, Hunter. You know the words of the song.” “Warrior, you make it sound so simple. You saw what happened near her home today. She will spit upon me when she sees me.” Hunter angled an arm over his eyes. “I left her and rode into battle against her people. How many have we killed since the attack on our village?” “She won’t turn from you.” “How can you know? You say I should fulfill the last part of the song? How? Where is the high place the Great Ones spoke of? Where is the canyon filled with blood? And how will I ever reach across so great a distance to take Loh-rhett-ah’s hand?” “You must have faith. The high place will be there, as will the great canyon.” Leaning forward, Warrior clasped his brother’s shoulder. “Courage, tah-mah. Have courage.” Hunter clenched his teeth. “I feel so alone. I can’t see into myself and find my face, Warrior. I lifted my ax to kill that man today, and I couldn’t do it. Our father lies dead. Your woman lies dead. Where is my hatred? When I search for it, it isn’t there. Just emptiness and sorrow that runs so deep it aches in my bones.” Warrior’s grip on Hunter’s shoulder tightened until the bite of his fingers was almost painful. “The hate has gone from you to a faraway place you cannot find, as it was spoken in the prophecy. That’s why it is time for you to walk your own way. You must fight the last great fight for the People, yes? And you must fight it alone. I have to stay here. For our mother, my children. You’re our hope, our only hope.

O join us, friends and mortals, on the scene— Another chapter of our cosmic tale. Luke Skywalker returns to Tatooine, To save his friend Han Solo from his jail Within the grasp of Jaba of the Hutt. But while Luke doth the timely rescue scheme, The vile Galactic Empire now hath cut New plans for a space station with a beam More awful than the first fear’d Death Star’s blast. This weapon ultimate shall, when complete, Mean doom for those within the rebel cast Who fight to earn the taste of freedom sweet. In time so long ago begins our play, In hope-fill’d galaxy far, far away.

The STAR WARS Novels Timeline OLD REPUBLIC 5000–33 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope Lost Tribe of the Sith* Precipice Skyborn Paragon Savior Purgatory Sentinel 3650 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope The Old Republic: Deceived Lost Tribe of the Sith* Pantheon Secrets Red Harvest The Old Republic: Fatal Alliance 1032 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope Knight Errant Darth Bane: Path of Destruction Darth Bane: Rule of Two Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil RISE OF THE EMPIRE 33–0 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope Darth Maul: Saboteur* Cloak of Deception Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter 32 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope STAR WARS: EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace Rogue Planet Outbound Flight The Approaching Storm 22 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope STAR WARS: EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 22–19 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope The Clone Wars The Clone Wars: Wild Space The Clone Wars: No Prisoners Clone Wars Gambit Stealth Siege Republic Commando Hard Contact Triple Zero True Colors Order 66 Shatterpoint The Cestus Deception The Hive* MedStar I: Battle Surgeons MedStar II: Jedi Healer Jedi Trial Yoda: Dark Rendezvous Labyrinth of Evil 19 YEARS BEFORE STAR WARS: A New Hope STAR WARS: EPISODE III: Revenge of the Sith Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader Imperial Commando 501st Coruscant Nights Jedi Twilight Street of Shadows Patterns of Force The

The title is “I am not the sexist pig you are looking for”. He is merely attempting to state that he is not a sexist pig right? Until one understands the cultural reference to Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. Then his insidious plan is revealed! Muahahaha! Just kidding. But it does resemble a striking similarity to a scene on Tatooine. The scene where Master Obi-wan “Ben” Kenobi uses the force and tells the Stormtroopers “these are the not the droids you are looking for” The odd thing in this scene is that they were the droids that the Empire was looking for. After the comments Mr. Harris made and the obvious lack of scientific credibility in his statements, the writers are betting he wished he had the force and mind trick.

You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious. ~ Obi Wan Kenobi, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

Help!” cried C-3PO from a tangle of sparking wires on the floor of the passage tube. “I think I’m melting!” Sighting R2-D2, he added, “This is all your fault.” R2-D2 beeped in disagreement.

Lucas also considered having only African-American actors for the key roles in A New Hope in an attempt both to link in with Kurosawa’s ‘disorientation’ approach to making films and, presumably, to create a further historical point about the righteousness of resistance to tyranny.

There is no try, only do, and do not.

3PO advised, “I suggest a new strategy, Artoo-Detoo. Let the Wookiee win.” R2-D2 answered with a surprised beep. Chewbacca chortled happily. When Ben felt somewhat recovered, he resumed watching Luke’s practice with the remote. Luke’s eyes followed the remote with intense concentration, but his movements were stiff, not relaxed. Ben said,

Han said, “I call

across from him at the other end. Tarkin looked up from the table’s data screen and said, “Yes.” “Our scout ships have reached Dantooine,” Officer Cass reported. “They found the remains of a Rebel base, but they estimate that it has been deserted for some time. They are now conducting an extensive search of the surrounding systems.” Having delivered his report, Cass turned and

The Empire Strikes Back (grade: A+) A New Hope (grade: A+) Return of the Jedi (grade: A) Rogue One (grade: A) Revenge of the Sith (grade: A-) The Force Awakens (grade: A-) The Last Jedi (grade: B+) Attack of the Clones (grade: B+) The Phantom Menace (grade: B) Solo (grade: C)

SET*SΦRT.Space.Elements.Time = Retrospect Offsets In Turn

The day after Luke witnessed the orbital space battle through his macrobinoculars, a group of Jawa merchants sold two droids to Owen Lars. One of the droids, an astromech unit named R2-D2, carried a secret message for someone named Obi-Wan Kenobi. And Luke Skywalker’s life was forever changed.

Do or do not, there is no try.

This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi… I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen – with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed and our future is uncertain. Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret… but be strong. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere, and in time I believe a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you always.

This latest shift didn’t really matter all that much: Republic, Empire, it was six to one, half a dozen to the other. It meant little to the average person struggling to make a life. Either form of government could make the mag-levs run on time, and both stepped on individual rights far more than they should. As far as Atour was concerned, the best government was that which governed least. Something a step or two above anarchy would be ideal. Now there was a power-hungry Emperor running things. Both history and personal experience had taught Atour that in as little as a few years, or as much as a few centuries, there would come evolution - or revolution - and this, too, would pass. The new rulers would start out full of promise and hope and good intentions, and gradually settle into mediocrity. A benevolent but inept king was as bad as a despot.

For every ebb there's a flow; for every flow there's an ebb. The full moon must wane just as the new moon must wax. Happiness turns to sorrow; sorrow is reborn as hope. There is nothing constant but change in the Tide, and I am Change.

Kyp has changed. He hasn't blown up any planets in a few years that's true. That wasn't precisely Kyp who did that. He was possessed by the spirit of a long-dead Sith Lord named Exar Kun. That's exactly the sort of thing I hope never to have to explain to a Senatorial committee. Luke Cal Omas