Star Wars Visions Quotes

Without trust, there can be no genuine peace. Neither in politics, nor in the quiet individuality of the heart and spirit.

HELPED are those who are content to be themselves; they will never lack mystery in their lives and the joys of self-discovery will be constant. HELPED are those who love the entire cosmos rather than their own tiny country, city, or farm, for to them will be shown the unbroken web of life and the meaning of infinity. HELPED are those who live in quietness, knowing neither brand name nor fad; they shall live every day as if in eternity, and each moment shall be as full as it is long. HELPED are those who love others unsplit off from their faults; to them will be given clarity of vision. HELPED are those who create anything at all, for they shall relive the thrill of their own conception, and realize an partnership in the creation of the Universe that keeps them responsible and cheerful. HELPED are those who love the Earth, their mother, and who willingly suffer that she may not die; in their grief over her pain they will weep rivers of blood, and in their joy in her lively response to love, they will converse with the trees. HELPED are those whose ever act is a prayer for harmony in the Universe, for they are the restorers of balance to our planet. To them will be given the insight that every good act done anywhere in the cosmos welcomes the life of an animal or a child. HELPED are those who risk themselves for others' sakes; to them will be given increasing opportunities for ever greater risks. Theirs will be a vision of the word in which no one's gift is despised or lost. HELPED are those who strive to give up their anger; their reward will be that in any confrontation their first thoughts will never be of violence or of war. HELPED are those whose every act is a prayer for peace; on them depends the future of the world. HELPED are those who forgive; their reward shall be forgiveness of every evil done to them. It will be in their power, therefore, to envision the new Earth. HELPED are those who are shown the existence of the Creator's magic in the Universe; they shall experience delight and astonishment without ceasing. HELPED are those who laugh with a pure heart; theirs will be the company of the jolly righteous. HELPED are those who love all the colors of all the human beings, as they love all the colors of the animals and plants; none of their children, nor any of their ancestors, nor any parts of themselves, shall be hidden from them. HELPED are those who love the lesbian, the gay, and the straight, as they love the sun, the moon, and the stars. None of their children, nor any of their ancestors, nor any parts of themselves, shall be hidden from them. HELPED are those who love the broken and the whole; none of their children, nor any of their ancestors, nor any parts of themselves, shall be hidden from them. HELPED are those who do not join mobs; theirs shall be the understanding that to attack in anger is to murder in confusion. HELPED are those who find the courage to do at least one small thing each day to help the existence of another--plant, animal, river, or human being. They shall be joined by a multitude of the timid. HELPED are those who lose their fear of death; theirs is the power to envision the future in a blade of grass. HELPED are those who love and actively support the diversity of life; they shall be secure in their differences. HELPED are those who KNOW.

I was in the winter of my life- and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell sleep with vision of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three year down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not very popular one, who once has dreams of becoming a beautiful poet- but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again- sparkling and broken. But I really didn’t mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living- they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lied you head. I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiviness that was as wide as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying- because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one- who belonged to everyone, who had nothing- who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obssesion for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about- and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me. Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people- and finally I did- on the open road. We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore- except to make our lives into a work of art. LIVE FAST. DIE YOUNG. BE WILD. AND HAVE FUN. I believe in the country America used to be. I belive in the person I want to become, I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever- *I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself- I Ride. I Just Ride.* Who are you? Are you in touch with all your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you’re free to experience them? I Have. I Am Fucking Crazy. But I Am Free.

Confession, apology, and forgiveness, Aunt Beru had been fond of reminding him, were the tools friends used to break walls down into bridges.

It sometimes happens that in relatively powerless and impoverished countries there arise men of enormous vision who are frustrated and offended by the limitations of their lives and seek to reach out for the stars on behalf of themselves and their nations.

I saw a banner hanging next to city hall in downtown Philadelphia that read, "Kill them all, and let God sort them out." A bumper sticker read, "God will judge evildoers; we just have to get them to him." I saw a T-shirt on a soldier that said, "US Air Force... we don't die; we just go to hell to regroup." Others were less dramatic- red, white, and blue billboards saying, "God bless our troops." "God Bless America" became a marketing strategy. One store hung an ad in their window that said, "God bless America--$1 burgers." Patriotism was everywhere, including in our altars and church buildings. In the aftermath of September 11th, most Christian bookstores had a section with books on the event, calendars, devotionals, buttons, all decorated in the colors of America, draped in stars and stripes, and sprinkled with golden eagles. This burst of nationalism reveals the deep longing we all have for community, a natural thirst for intimacy... September 11th shattered the self-sufficient, autonomous individual, and we saw a country of broken fragile people who longed for community- for people to cry with, be angry with, to suffer with. People did not want to be alone in their sorrow, rage, and fear. But what happened after September 11th broke my heart. Conservative Christians rallies around the drums of war. Liberal Christian took to the streets. The cross was smothered by the flag and trampled under the feet of angry protesters. The church community was lost, so the many hungry seekers found community in the civic religion of American patriotism. People were hurting and crying out for healing, for salvation in the best sense of the word, as in the salve with which you dress a wound. A people longing for a savior placed their faith in the fragile hands of human logic and military strength, which have always let us down. They have always fallen short of the glory of God. ...The tragedy of the church's reaction to September 11th is not that we rallied around the families in New York and D.C. but that our love simply reflected the borders and allegiances of the world. We mourned the deaths of each soldier, as we should, but we did not feel the same anger and pain for each Iraqi death, or for the folks abused in the Abu Ghraib prison incident. We got farther and farther from Jesus' vision, which extends beyond our rational love and the boundaries we have established. There is no doubt that we must mourn those lives on September 11th. We must mourn the lives of the soldiers. But with the same passion and outrage, we must mourn the lives of every Iraqi who is lost. They are just as precious, no more, no less. In our rebirth, every life lost in Iraq is just as tragic as a life lost in New York or D.C. And the lives of the thirty thousand children who die of starvation each day is like six September 11ths every single day, a silent tsunami that happens every week.

Maxine,” Grant said, but I barely heard him. I was lost in that vision, in those emotions—the pain, and hunger for pain, forming the root of so much agonized rage. “ ‘Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate,’” I muttered. “Yoda, from Star Wars?” “ ‘Hate leads to suffering.’” I met his gaze. “Yoda knows his shit, man.” Grant’s mouth crooked in a gentle smile.

Now there’s us, staking out our piece of cinematic turf (might be small but it’s ours). And the music has to fit the vision as specifically as it did for [Star Wars and The Matrix.] OUR music comes from THEIR music, this scrappled bunch. It is spare, intimate, mournful and indefatigable.

He risked a glance at the aft-vision display. The other fighter was coming up fast, with no more than a minute or two separating the two ships. Obviously, the pilot had far more experience with the craft than Luke had. That, or else such a fierce determination to recapture Luke that it completely overrode normal commonsense caution. Either way, it meant Mara Jade.

A Jedi with ignited lightsaber, in Mara’s experience, was a sight that normally caused sentient beings to pause for a moment or two of sober reflection.

A man with no coin had no reason to pace his trek in terms of outposts and inns. He could pay for no bed. Thus, he could wander to his heart’s content,

Don’t mistake his lack of eyesight for a lack of vision.

I have no vision of any future, maitrakh. Not yours; not even mine. I was just thinking about children. Trying to imagine what it’s like to try to raise them. Wondering how much of their character a family can mold, and how much is innate in the children themselves." She hesitated. "Wondering if the evil in a family’s history can be erased, or whether it always passes itself on to each new generation.

Aurora looked upon a city divided by human perception. A civil war was ongoing: between those for whom the real world had primacy and those who had chosen Truesight as their truth. To escape the existential horror of their impending finality, people had donned their orange-tinted Veravisum Virtual Visors and locked their fears behind a separate reality. A hyperreality found at odds with everyday life. The result was a war of visions: between truth and falsehood, between regular people and the VVV’ed. Each party claimed to see reality for what it truly was and more often than not, both parties were right.

Hang on a minute," Mara said, stepping away from the viewport and her tantalizingly brief vision of the future. As Luke had said, this was the present. The future would take care of itself. "I'll come with you.

When you study success, you become a dreamer. When you study failure, you become a victor. When you study organisations, you become a mentor. When you study management, you become a leader. When you study nature, you become a scholar. When you study people, you become a counselor. When you study life, you become a thinker. When you study God, you become a philosopher. When you study magic, you become a sorcerer. When you study stars, you become an astronomer. When you study oracles, you become a seer. When you study visions, you become a diviner. When you study combat, you become a warrior. When you study war, you become a commander. When you study policy, you become a governor. When you study politics, you become a ruler. When you study nothing, you become a loser. When you study little, you become a loafer. When you study much, you become a winner. When you study all, you become a master.

It’s entirely possible that the Jedi’s increasingly clouded vision was the result of their own moral degeneration. They’d let so many of their principles slip that the reason they couldn’t see the dark side was so close to them was the lack of sharp contrast with themselves, like trying to see a gray nerf in fog. They turned off the light themselves. —Bardan Jusik, former Jedi Knight Kyrimorut,

Mara … will you marry me?

Whatever it is you’re looking for, it might be right there in front of you, if you could only see it. The Force… you should learn to trust it.

good. “Has Leia talked to you about the wedding?” Luke asked, sipping from his own mug as he leaned against the viewport facing her. “Not yet,” Mara said, making a face. “I suppose she’s going to want some big blowout High Alderaanian ceremony.” Luke grinned. “Wants, probably. Expects, no.” “Good,” Mara said. “I’d rather have something quiet and private and dignified. Mostly dignified, anyway,” she amended. “With New Republic dignitaries on one side and Karrde’s smugglers on the other, we’ll probably need a weapons check at the door.” Luke chuckled.

Some would say that sacrifices are necessary in such times,” Mateo argued. “A rising tide lifts all boats.” “Not when some of them are already sunk at the bottom of the sea,” she shot back.

The bay trees in our country are all wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap- The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war. These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.

For a long minute he gazed at her, his eyes searching the features of that face he'd grown to love so deeply over the years, his memory bringing up images of the past as he did so. The young determination in her face as, in the middle of a blazing firefight, she'd grabbed Luke's blaster rifle away from him and shot them an escape route into the Death Star's detention-level garbage chute. The sound of her voice in the middle of deadly danger at Jabba's, helping him through the blindness and tremor and disorientation of hibernation sickness. The wiser, more mature determination visible through the pain in her eyes as, lying wounded outside the Endor bunker, she had nevertheless summoned the skill and control to coolly shoot two stormtroopers off Han's back. And he remembered, too, the wrenching realization he'd had at that same time: that no matter how much he tried, he would never be able to totally protect her from the dangers and risks of the universe. Because no matter how much he might love her--no matter how much he might give of himself to her--she could never be content with that alone. Her vision extended beyond him, just as it extended beyond herself, to all the beings of the galaxy. And to take that away from her, whether by force or even by persuasion, would be to diminish her soul. And to take away part of what he'd fallen in love with in the first place.

The Silmarillion is the history of the War of the Exiled Elves against the Enemy, which all takes place in the North-west of the world (Middle-earth). Several tales of victory and tragedy are caught up in it; but it ends with catastrophe, and the passing of the Ancient World, the world of the long First Age. The jewels are recovered (by the final intervention of the gods) only to be lost for ever to the Elves, one in the sea, one in the deeps of earth, and one as a star of heaven. This legendarium ends with a vision of the end of the world, its breaking and remaking, and the recovery of the Silmarilli and the ‘light before the Sun’ – after a final battle which owes, I suppose, more to the Norse vision of Ragnarok than to anything else, though it is not much like it. [From letter 131]

There is a lesson to be drawn from Houston’s career as a populist leader. He would twice be elected president of the Republic of Texas, which his decisive victory had secured. After Texas entered the Union, on December 29, 1845, Houston became one of the first two U.S. senators from the state of Texas. He clearly envisioned the disaster that the proposed Southern Confederacy would inflict on the nation and on Texas: “I see my beloved South go down in the unequal contest, in a sea of blood and smoking ruin.” In 1860, on the eve of the Civil War, he was elected governor as a Unionist, but the secessionists were more powerful. Houston’s faith in populism as a force for progress was shattered. “Are we ready to sell reality for a phantom?” Houston vainly asked, as propagandists and demagogues fanned the clamor for secession with deluded visions of victory. To those who demanded that he join the Confederacy, Houston responded, “I refuse to take this oath…I love Texas too well to bring civil strife and bloodshed upon her.” Houston was evicted as governor, and the bloodshed

Our earth is but a small star in the great universe. Yet, of it we can make, if we choose, a planet unvexed by war, untroubled by hunger or fear, undivided by senseless distinctions of race, color or theory. Grant us that courage and foreseeing to begin this task today that our children and our children’s children may be proud of the name of Man…. Grant us the wisdom and the vision to comprehend the greatness of man’s spirit, that suffers and endures so hugely for a goal beyond his own brief span. “Grant us patience with the deluded and pity for the betrayed. And grant us the skill and valor that shall cleanse the world of oppression and the old base doctrine that the strong must eat the weak because they are strong. “Yet most of all grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years—a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds. We are all of us children of earth—grant us that simple knowledge. If our brothers are oppressed, then we are oppressed. If they hunger, we hunger. If their freedom is taken away, our freedom is not secure. “Grant us a common faith that man shall know bread and peace—that he shall know justice and righteousness, freedom and security, an equal opportunity and an equal chance to do his best, not only in our own lands but throughout the world. And in that faith let us march toward the clean world our hands can make. AMEN.” The phone rang. It was the local radio station, a CBS affiliate. New York wanted me to go on the air in an hour. Dave rushed me down to the station in his car.

It is the story of God.” God’s real name is Charlie, he told us. He was born in York, Pennsylvania, in 1776, in the summer of the signing, when temperatures were high as rockets and humid as seas. Charlie was the son of a poor miller, a mean man with a gammy leg and a spray of powder burns over his right temple from the war. When Charlie was just becoming something more than a boy, he went out into the creaking, old-growth forest to collect firewood. He came upon a stream that fell away, suddenly, into the earth. Charlie wanted to see where the water went. He leaned down and peered in. A spark. An alien pulse of light. He stared, transfixed, as every star, every galaxy in the universe flicked across his vision. The rings of Jupiter. The broken, sunburned back of Mars. Sights no human had ever captured with their eyes. And, just as suddenly, the feeling of every cell of every living organism hovering just beneath his fingertips, like piano keys. He could touch each one, if he wanted. He could control them. There are some who insist Charlie was simply lucky. That anyone who happened to walk by that stream on that morning, curious enough to lean over the odd water gushing into the ground, would be made God. They are wrong. Charlie was God before he was even born. It was only a matter of him finding out. Charlie lives in every generation. When he dies, he is reborn nine months later, a baby God. At any moment, you might meet him. He has been a Confederate soldier. He has been a bank teller. He has sat behind an oak desk in wire-rimmed glasses and a day’s growth of beard graying his cheeks. He has cooked dinner for his mother. He has driven to the ocean. He has fallen in love.

The spiritual experience of Binah is the Vision of Sorrow. Within this Sephirah, one is to have a vision of the holistic picture of all that is, all that was, why it was, what it is now, why it is, and what it is to become. In essence, true and total understanding of all existence. The Great Mother sees all. She sees our joys but also our pains and our sins. And, in all that she sees, she is indeed in sorrow. We are a very stubborn species. Binah watches as all too often we neglect our children’s future, poison our air and seas, enslave each other, and go to war. We are at home in our own addictions, and unfortunately it frequently takes a major trauma to wake us up from our unhealthy habits or anosognosia. Regrettably, this is another aspect of the mystical experience not taken into consideration by some. It is not all bliss and rainbows. It is not just a possibility, but a necessity, to assimilate the Vision of the Sorrow that compels the Goddess into her eternal cry for her children. The Tree of Life will simply not allow you to proceed unless this is done. Therefore, managing the Vision of Sorrow is best achieved through Binah’s primary virtue: silence. It is necessary to still the noise and the raging waters to Understand all things in their truest vision. By stilling the clamor can the sparkling stars of the Heavens accurately reflect on the mirroring surface of the body of water below. As the archetypal Temple, she is the root of all temples in manifestation, the Inner Church, the sacred space of all sacred spaces. Because of this, Binah truly is the womb of life, the container from which all has been embodied. Approach the Dark Mother’s temple in silence, approach the temple in sorrow, and the vision shall be received.

I’m only doing this because I started it and now I have to finish it,” he adds. “The next trilogy will be all someone else’s vision.

Image intensifiers, which ultimately became “night vision” Fiber optics Supertenacity fibers Lasers Molecular alignment metallic alloys Integrated circuits and microminiaturization of logic boards HARP (High Altitude Research Project) Project Horizon (moon base) Portable atomic generators (ion propulsion drive) Irradiated food “Third brain” guidance systems (EBE headbands) Particle beams (“Star Wars” antimissile energy weapons) Electromagnetic propulsion systems Depleted uranium projectiles

I think Disney would have accepted this movie if Walt Disney were still alive. Walt Disney not only had vision, but he was also an extremely adventurous person. He wasn’t afraid.

Thus far Lucas had spent $473,000 of his own money on The Star Wars. He knew this dessert would take far more ingredients than could be bought for $8.3 million. That was a fairly low figure; the average studio comedy at the time, with no special effects, cost around $20 million. How on Earth could Lucas realize his vision on that budget?

She was a vision . . . and she was his. She smiled at him and William felt the pain of his war wounds pass away. There was an entire future in that smile—a world of hope and the promise of unspeakable joy.

He bared his teeth and thumbed the carbine over to full auto. And hesitated. He had this instant, extraordinarily vivid vision of trying to explain to the sadly patient face of Luke Skywalker-- the man who had spared Nick's life a couple hours earlier based on nothing more than a pun and a vague intuition that he might be innocent-- how I just blew away thirty-some innocent men and women so I could dig you out of there, because he had an overpowering intuition of his own: if Luke Skywalker thought he might save thirty innocent lives by sacrificing his own, he wouldn't hesitate. Ten innocent lives. One. "Or, hell, one not-so-innocent life," Nick muttered. "Like mine." He flipped the carbine's power setting to stun. "I hate Jedi. Hate 'em. Really, really, really. Hate.

She moved closer to him and took his hand. "But that's just profit and loss games again. The simple, bottom-line fact is that this is the right path for us. Like that Qom Jha proverb Builder With Vines quoted at us in the caverns, the one about many vines woven together being stronger than the same number used separately. We compliment each other perfectly, Luke, all the way down the line. In many ways, we're two halves of a single being.

I’ve always yearned to be a black man, to have a black man’s soul, a black man's laughter. You know why? Because I thought you were diflFerent from us. Yes, I thought you were something special, something difiFerent on this sad earth of ours. I wanted to escape with you from the white man’s hollow materialism, from his lack of faith, his humble and frustrated sexuality, from his lack of joy, of laughter, of magic, of faith in the richness of after-life. encouragement and signs of gratitude or recognition have been very few, if any, along my road. If humanity can be compared to a tribe, then you may say I’m completely de-tribalized. You love Negroes out of sheer misanthropy, because you think they aren’t really men. in the end all human faces look alike with nothing bright or hopeful around me, except those distant stars— and even there, let’s be frank: it’s only their distance that gives them that purity and beauty ideals don't die— obliged to live on shit sometimes, but don’t die! the company a great cause always keeps: men of good will and those who exploit them your skin, you know, is worth no more than the elephants’ hide. In Gennany, at Belsen, during the war, it seems we used to make lampshades out of human skin— for your information. And don’t forget, Monsieur Saint- Denis, that we Germans have always been forerunners in everything ‘Women,’ I concluded rather bitterly, ‘have at their command certain means of persuasion which the best- organized police forces do not possess.’ The number of animals who lived in cruel suffering, sometimes for years, with bullets in their bodies, wounds growing deeper and deeper, gangrenous and swarming with ticks and flies, could not be estimated to change species, to come over to the elephants and live in the wilds among honest animals Always cheerful, with the cheerfulness of a man who has gone deep down into things and come back reassured. No one knew the desert better than Scholscher, who had spent so many nights alone there on the starlit dunes, and no one understood better than he did that need for protection which sometimes grips men’s hearts and drives them to give a dog the affection they dream so desperately of receiving themselves. by ‘defending the splendors of nature . . .’ He meant liberty.” Islam calls that ’the roots of heaven.’ and to the Mexican Indians it is of life’— the thing that makes both of them fall on their knees and raise their eyes and beat their tormented breasts. A need for protection and company, from which obstinate people like Morel try to escape by means of petitions, fighting committees, by trying to take the protection of species in their own hands. Our needs- for justice, for freedom and dignity— are roots of heaven that are deeply imbedded in our hearts, but of heaven itself men know nothing but the gripping roots ...” . . . And that girl sitting there in front of him with her legs crossed, with her nylon stockings and cigarette and that silent gaze, in which could be read that stubborn need, not so different from what Morel had seen in the eyes of the stray dogs at the pound. but not even all that was comic and childish about him could deprive him of the dignity conferred upon him by his love for his Maker. that human mass whose physical strength was nothing compared to the faith and spirit that dwelt in him. Three quarters of the Oul6 traditions and magic rites had to do with war or hunting while it's easy to suppress a magic tradition it's difficult to fill up the strange voids which it leaves in what you call the primitive psychology and what I call the human soul The roots of heaven are forever planted in their hearts, yet of heaven itself they seem to know nothing but the gripping roots It must be very consoling to take refuge in cynicism and to try and drown your own remorse in a consoling vision of universal swinishness, and you can always

Part Two: When St. Kari Met Darth Vader, Star Wars Dark Lord of the Sith  “What are those?” Kari shouted grasping Luke’s arm as her eyes jolted nervously into the air. “I’ve never seen such pretty planets before.” Luke tracked her line of vision and grimmed as he spotted three Corellian Imperial Star Destroyers coming out of hyperspace into the same vortex that his own damaged ship was whirlpooled into. They appeared to be stabilizing the vortex opening by their anti-gravity wells maintaining their relative positional orbit. “Hey’st, what are those white things? They look like men. Surely they are not ghosters, are they?” pawed Kari at Luke to get him to see. “Imperial troopers,” shot Luke, grabbing her arm back. “There’s too many of them C’mon, we got to hide.” “What’s does that mean? And what are those red light-thingy’s coming toward us?” Instantly Kari and Luke were inundated by a barrage of suppressing E-11 blaster rifle fire. Luke flinched out of reaction while Kari stood upright seemingly oblivious to the inherent danger. He was struck to see the girl-entity pluck a laser bolt out of the air and examine it with an other worldly look, as if it were a rare flower in a garden. “I like this,” she smiled. “I’ll pin it to my cloak.” And doing so she did, it maintaining its fiery penetrating redness that did nothing more than to adorn the girl’s wardrobe for quite some time momentarily puzzling Luke. Usually they burnt out quickly. “Can I get some more of these?” she politely asked Luke. “Not right now,” drawled Luke peering over a boulder. “If they capture us we’ve had it.” “Had what?” asked Kari naïvely. “Them ghost-men you mean’st? Oh, don’t worry, Walker of the Skies, just leave it to me,” and with that Kari pulled her blade and sashayed toward the Imperial clones humming her favorite Top 10 battle hymns. “Wait!” Luke shouted trying to snatch her back but it was too late. Luke never saw anything such as this. Like Han, he had seen a lot of strange galactic stuff in his time. Kari had become a misty blur and was skipping across the battlefield as some sort of sword-brandishing luminescence, hovering for a short time over those she slain. “Hey, Walkersky, these spirits don’t have any souls,” she yelled looking up from her blood soaked garments. What do you want me to do with the rest, kill ’em?” “I, uh ,” was all he managed to get out of his mouth as he rubbed his jaw. Kari shrugged and went back to work, picking off the whole brigade by herself. “See’st? I told’st thou not to worry” Kari said panting, coming up to Luke and sitting besides him. “What now?” “We gotta get outta here before more Imperials arrive.” “Untruth oats?” (Nether Trans. “art thou nuts?”) “Run from battle?—is that that what means?” “It means Vader’s coming—.” go to part ii con't

It was probably the oddest compliment Padmé had ever received, including the time a small boy on a desert world had assumed she was an angel, but she was pleased by it nonetheless. She had been wondering about herself. About the path she would take. Jedi could see things that no one else did, and Padmé trusted in their vision, as much as any non-Jedi could.

I’ve never had to find a hard question in my life,” she countered tartly. “They’ve always found me first.

A faction had tried to amend the constitution so that Padmé could run again. This had been tried only once before, during a time of great upheaval in Naboo’s past, and Padmé could see no reason to fight for something she neither wanted nor believed was right. She had given four years to Naboo, and now it was time for someone else’s vision, someone else’s hands, to select the course. That was the soul of Naboo’s democratic body, that change and service in short stretches were better than stagnant rulership, and Padmé was happy to play all the parts her role included.

But when the character traits of innovation and creativity collide with established ideas, it doesn’t always work out well. A few years after Deep Blue, I was selected to a fourth star and headed to US Southern Command with a particular vision for the command that had evolved from a series of conversations I had had with then secretary of defense Don Rumsfeld and former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich. Both felt that the old paradigm for a combatant command—a massive, cumbersome organization organized strictly to conduct combat operations—was lacking in relevance in the twenty-first century. Both believed that for both Latin America and Africa, it was highly unlikely that we would be engaged in state-on-state combat operations. So the idea was to push the two combatant commands responsible for those regions to try to adapt with a vision that included combat readiness but with a very heavy dose of “soft power” capability—humanitarian operations, medical diplomacy, rule of law, personnel exchanges, counternarcotics, strategic communications, interagency cooperation, and so forth. Given this mandate, I plunged in with enthusiasm—perhaps too much enthusiasm. I underestimated the strong desire of many within the massive command to continue on its current, traditional war-fighting trajectory. When I completely reorganized the staff, getting rid of the Napoleonic traditional military staff system, it created real confusion and resentment. While most of the team went along, cooperation was grudging and halfhearted in many cases. While I continue to believe we had outlined the right mission for the command, I pushed too hard, creating antibodies, and the project crumbled after my departure—effectively negating three years of demanding work. The lesson I took away is that innovation matters deeply, but even if you have the right answer, you must be capable of bringing along the nonbelievers.

The fog of war was a real thing that interfered with one’s battle vision and the ability to see the whole picture clearly. So impaired, it is easy for minor judgment mistakes to pile up to become major errors.” Shane Van Aulen - Star Wolves 2023

what in the name of Ackbar’s aunt they were going to do now.

What in the name of Vader’s teeth happened?

not her cup of elba.

Well, let’s see. Such as not moving your Jedi academy off Yavin when you first found out a really nasty dark side power was infesting the place.

Tarkin’s teeth,

We sit as in a boundless Phantasmagoria and Dream-grotto; boundless, for the faintest star, the remotest century, lies not even nearer the verge thereof: sounds and many-coloured visions flit round our sense; but Him, the Unslumbering, whose work both Dream and Dreamer are, we see not; except in rare half-waking moments, suspect not. Creation, says one, lies before us, like a glorious Rainbow; but the Sun that made it lies behind us, hidden from us. Then, in that strange Dream, how we clutch at shadows as if they were substances; and sleep deepest while fancying ourselves most awake! Which of your Philosophical Systems is other than a dream-theorem; a net quotient, confidently given out, where divisor and dividend are both unknown? What are all your national Wars, with their Moscow Retreats, and sanguinary hate-filled Revolutions, but the Somnambulism of uneasy Sleepers? This Dreaming, this Somnambulism is what we on Earth call Life; wherein the most indeed undoubtingly wander, as if they knew right hand from left; yet they only are wise who know that they know nothing.

by the Emperor’s blood,

You still can’t see?” Kanan asked Zaluna. “There’s nothing good to see anyway,” she replied.

But he told me hatred was wrong, that it was one of those things that hurt the hater more than the people he hated. He told me there can be justice without hatred, and punishment without revenge. He said we were all responsible for what we do and what we don’t do, and no one should have to pay for someone else’s crimes.

I, too, have been tested by this world,” Naandini said firmly. “I am tough. Just as tough as you, whether you believe it or not. You seem to think that you are so different from us, but you’re wrong. Every one of us in this camp will do whatever it takes to win freedom, to survive.” Her round cheeks were flushed, her brows arched in defiance. “You don’t have to be kind to me. I have dealt with far worse than any insult you can fling at me or this army. But you do have to respect me. As a matter of fact, you have to respect all of us. We deserve that much.

I know you think you can out-survive anyone – and that is probably true. You’re tough, skilled, sly as a damn mermaid. You know what? If we put everyone in a ring and told them to survive, you would probably win. But if that were the goal, we would all kill each other trying, and where would that leave us? With a population of one lonely, angry young woman.” He glared at her. “Survival is for the weak. It’s for people who’ve given up.

She may think I am being cruel, calling her by her title. Maybe it is a bit harsh, but it is not because I don’t understand. It’s because I do.” His eyes had a new glint to them now, something fierce and almost angry, a look that Ely had only seen in one other person. “I know that names have power. That is why I cannot let her forget hers. She has something that no one else does. And she needs to fight for it.

The Old Hall loomed ahead, caught directly in the setting sunlight. For a brief moment, it was perfectly illuminated, as if lit by a thousand burning lanterns, glowing in some kind of mighty revelry. I am ancient, it murmured. I was powerful and grand. Now I am wise and beautiful.

I chose this,” she said simply. “Let them hate me for stealing their riches. Let them chase me down for breaking their laws. I will be their criminal any day, but damn the stars of those who hunt me for who I was born.

It had been a long time now since the last fireball. Or maybe it had only been a minute. He couldn’t track time anymore, only death.

Was it hard?” she asked, realizing after she spoke that he might not understand what she meant, that she could be asking him anything. But she was so scared that every word felt like a battle. And Odaan understood. Of course he understood. “Every day,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the trail ahead. “It’s hard every day.

Was she the one who had changed, or had he? Or had both of them stayed too much the same in a world that was shifting faster and faster around them? Maybe they were too old to be what they had been. The problem, Ely thought, was that he wasn’t quite sure what they were supposed to be now.

I didn’t think...” She wasn’t quite sure how to express everything that was surging in her chest, threatening to drown her. “That you were special? That you hold a power no other person here could ever possibly grasp?” Odaan grinned now, and it was like watching a fortress raise its gates, watching the barricades lift back into place. He was done talking about the pain. “You seem to think that you can still turn back, but it’s too late. You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.” He let out a real laugh and drawled, “The people can smell fear.

I like the snow when it falls behind me, not ahead of me.” “Do you ever appreciate anything for its beauty? Or only its usefulness?” She thought of the towering Belem, the quiet of the Nyinan Forest, the sparkling stars hanging their lights in the sky. She thought of the fires, the empty cities, the slaughtered horses. “When has beauty ever fixed anything?” “It doesn’t,” Ely replied, “but it makes the broken things worthwhile.

You told me once that you had nothing to learn from your parents because they raised you in times of peace.” He watched the snow pass beneath their feet, then met her eye again. “I disagree. I believe that we all have an opportunity we have not had for fifteen years.” “What’s that?” “To learn to hope. To be caring and kind. To be good again and to love one another because we can, instead of hating each other because it’s safe. Don’t you want to walk in the woods without fearing for your life?

It is dangerous to make promises in wartime,” Ari said, staring at Samorin with something like anger in her eyes. “Wartime is dangerous no matter what,” he returned. “We might as well promise to be everything we can.

She wanted to pray. She wanted someone to tell her it would be all right. She wanted someone to tell her it wasn’t all her fault. But she did not believe in the stars. She knew better than to rely on anyone else to save her. And it was all her fault.

The last thing she needs is one more person who believes her invincible. She needs someone who knows she is not.

Odaan sighed, a slow, breathy huff that sent shivers down Ari’s spine. She could feel it all, the pain and the memory and the deep, aching loss that would never, ever be filled. And she felt a twinge of something else too – jealousy that he had been just a bit older, had just a few more years to learn his parents in a way she would never learn hers. Would her memories be crisper now, if she had been eight, ten, twelve when they left her? Would she still see her father’s face and hear her mother’s voice? She couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

And the ones that were not plotting against them might very well be advocating for her, for some kind of future that Ari feared and despised with all her heart. Was it worse, she wondered, to be wanted dead or wanted Queen?

You dare offend us when you need our help?” It was Louana again, her gaze turned bitter. “You aren’t offended,” Margeaux replied. “You’re putting on a show in hopes of tricking me into submission.” She gave them a well-practiced smile, flashing her teeth wide, letting the delight touch every corner of her face except her eyes. Never her eyes. “And I don’t need your help.

George Clinton's group(s) Parliament-Funkadelic outlined the all-out war they were waging via a metaphorical villain, 'Sir Nose D'Void of Funk,' who had been 'pimplifying (the people's) instincts' until they were 'fat, horny, and strung out.' Parliament, building on Sun Ra's sci-fi vision, explained that funkateers were pitted in a cosmic battle against unfunky forces who use 'the placebo effect' to put people in the 'nose-zone' of 'zero funkativity'. Clinton explained in 'Mothership Connection' that Dr. Funkenstein's champion 'Star Child' would use his bop-gun to spread 'funkentelechy.' an antidote to consumerism and alienation.

There are other ways to “see” than with just eyes.