Storm Of Steel Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Storm Of Steel. Here they are! All 193 of them:

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3))
She moved like a storm someone had given steel to.
Alwyn Hamilton (Rebel of the Sands (Rebel of the Sands, #1))
It hurts so much, she thought. Our children, Ned, all our sweet babes. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa, Robb… Robb… please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting… The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved. Catelyn Stark raised her hands and watched the blood run down her long fingers, over her wrists, beneath the sleeves of her gown. Slow red worms crawled along her arms and under her clothes. It tickles. That made her laugh until she screamed. “Mad,” someone said, “she’s lost her wits,” and someone else said, “Make an end,” and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she’d done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don’t, don’t cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold.— Catelyn Stark
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3))
Why would the stars want to look down on such as me?
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Why ask for truth when you close your ears to it? - Ser Barristan Selmy to Daenerys
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Habent sua fata libelli et balli [Books and bullets have their own destinies]
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
The world is changing," said Nikolai, the steel edge emerging in his voice. "We change with it, or there will be nothing to remember us but dust.
Leigh Bardugo (Siege and Storm (The Shadow and Bone Trilogy, #2))
I'm not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I'm a wolf.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Like the magnolia tree, She bends with the wind, Trials and tribulation may weather her, Yet, after the storm her beauty blooms, See her standing there, like steel, With her roots forever buried, Deep in her Southern soil.
Nancy B. Brewer (Letters from Lizzie)
old stories are like old friends (...) you have to visit them from time to time.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
The gods heard my prayer, she thought. She felt so numb and dreamy. My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3))
Jon Snow, you know nothing.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
The gods made the earth for all men t' share. Only when the kings come with their crowns and steel swords, they claimed it was all theirs. "My trees," they said, "you can't eat them apples. My stream, you can't fish here. My wood, you're not t' hunt. My earth, my water, my castle, my daughter, keep your hands away or I'll chop 'em off, but maybe if you kneel t' me I'll let you have a sniff." You call us thieves, but at least a thief has t' be brave and clever and quick. A kneeler only has t' kneel.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3))
Some people hurt others just because they can.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Wish me luck.” “Luck is for those with nothing else. I wish you strength and courage.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Still, night falls for all of us in the end, and too soon for some.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Loss can be like chains holding you in place or a fire pushing you onward. We each choose every day what it will be to us.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Hoooodor," said Hodor, swaying. "Hooooooodor, hoooooodor, hoDOR, hoDOR, hoDOR." Sometimes he liked to do this, just saying his name different ways, over and over and over.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Behind her, she heard Lyre's exasperated mutter. "We incubi might claim to understand them," he grumbled to Ash, "but no male can actually comprehend how a woman's mind works." "It's safer not to even try.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
For Phyllis who made me put dragons in
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you
George R.R. Martin
The dwarf has risen from the dead, Tyrion thought. And look, he's uglier than ever, run tell your friends.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
You think love is as fragile as that? Like a stalk of wheat, easily broken in a storm? That’s not what love is. Real love is the strongest kind of steel. It’s blade that can be melted down, its form changed with every bang of the hammer, but to break it is a task no one is capable of. Not even Death.
Kristen Ciccarelli (The Caged Queen (Iskari, #2))
We had come from lecture halls, school desks and factory workbenches, and over the brief weeks of training, we had bonded together into one large and enthusiastic group. Grown up in an age of security, we shared a yearning for danger, for the experience of the extraordinary. We were enraptured by war.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Throughout the war, it was always my endeavour to view my opponent without animus, and to form an opinion of him as a man on the basis of the courage he showed. I would always try and seek him out in combat and kill him, and I expected nothing else from him. But never did I entertain mean thoughts of him. When prisoners fell into my hands, later on, I felt responsible for their safety, and would always do everything in my power for them. p. 58
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
She couldn’t lose him, but she couldn’t protect him and she couldn’t stop him. He had to do this.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Focus on the now and the next, not the distant future of maybe and if. Even those of the strongest faith can falter when the eyes focus too far in the distance.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
This was the home of the great god Pain, and for the first time I looked through a devilish chink into the depths of his realm. And fresh shells came down all the time.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
She should be more frightened herself, she knew. She was only ten, a skinny girl on a stolen horse with a dark forest ahead of her and men behind who would gladly cut off her feet. Yet somehow she felt calmer than ever had in Harrenhal. The rain had washed the guard's blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she whispered under her breath, the words that Syrio Forel had taught her, and Jaqen's words too, valar morghulis.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
What in god’s name happened to your nuts?” “They met a jet-powered water hose.” He grimaced. “They’re already healing.” A rare glint of amusement lit Lawrence’s eyes. “You have balls of steel.” “You have inappropriate humour.
Dianna Hardy (Releasing The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm, #1))
That may be so, but his faerie had suffered too much and he had had more than enough. If anybody so much as looked at her funny, he was going to come down hard on them with both size fourteen steel-toed boots. Then he would consider seriously the merits of evisceration.
Thea Harrison (Storm's Heart (Elder Races, #2))
Eventually, you realize that people are a better home than a place.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
I wish it was all a dream. Then I could wake up.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
What we want is not always what we get.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
The world grows a little darker every day.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
When once it is no longer possible to understand how a man gives his life for his country--and the time will come--then all is over with that faith also, and the idea of the Fatherland is dead; and then, perhaps, we shall be envied, as we envy the saints their inward and irresistible strength.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Sometimes Old Nan would tell the same story she'd told before, but we bever mindedn if it was a good story. Old stories are like old friends, she use to saym you have to visit them from time to time.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
What do you have in this car?" he asked. "What do you mean, like weapons?" "That would be a good start." "Well, I 've got a mini Swiss Army Knife on my key chain." "A two-inch stainless steel blade and a nail file. They might as well surrender to us now....
Richard Castle (Storm Front (Derrick Storm, #4))
At the sight of the Neckar slopes wreathed with flowering cherry trees, I had a strong sense of having come home. What a beautiful country it was, and eminently worth our blood and our lives. Never before had I felt its charm so clearly. I had good and serious thoughts, and for the first time I sensed that this war was more than just a great adventure. p. 33
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
He wanted to laugh. Only, the sound wouldn't come out. He couldn't summon even a wry humor, not anymore. Light! I can't keep this up. My eyes see as if in a fog, my hand is burned away, and the old wounds in my side rip open if I do anything more strenuous than breathe. I'm dry, like an overused well. I need to finish my work here and get to Shayol Ghul. Otherwise, there won't be anything left of me for the Dark One to kill. That wasn't a thought to cause laughter; it was one to cause despair. But Rand did not weep, for tears could not come from steel. For the moment, Lews Therin's cries seemed enough for both of them.
Robert Jordan (The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time, #12))
It was the sea that made me begin thinking secretly about love more than anything else; you know, a love worth dying for, or a love that consumes you. To a man locked up in a steel ship all the time, the sea is too much like a woman. Things like her lulls and storms, or her caprice, or the beauty of her breast reflecting the setting sun, are all obvious. More than that, you’re in a ship that mounts the sea and rides her and yet is constantly denied her. It’s the old saw about miles and miles of lovely water and you can’t quench your thirst. Nature surrounds a sailor with all these elements so like a woman and yet he is kept as far as a man can be from her warm, living body. That’s where the problem begins, right there—I’m sure of it.
Yukio Mishima (The Sailor Who Fell from Grace With the Sea)
Fenrys snorted, toying with a small curl of golden hair at his nape. “How you even manage to walk with that much steel on you, Whitethorn, has always been a mystery to me.” Rowan said smoothly, “How no one has ever cut out your tongue just to shut you up has always been a mystery to me as well.” An edged chuckle. “I’ve been told it’s my best feature. At least the women think so.
Sarah J. Maas (Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5))
These moments of nocturnal prowling leave an indelible impression. Eyes and ears are tensed to the maximum, the rustling approach of strange feet in the tall grass in an unutterably menacing thing. Your breath comes in shallow bursts; you have to force yourself to stifle any panting or wheezing. There is a little mechanical click as the safety-catch of your pistol is taken off; the sound cuts straight through your nerves. Your teeth are grinding on the fuse-pin of the hand-grenade. The encounter will be short and murderous. You tremble with two contradictory impulses: the heightened awareness of the huntsmen, and the terror of the quarry. You are a world to yourself, saturated with the appalling aura of the savage landscape. p. 71
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Might have punctured a lung, if he had a lung. Most trees don't, as a rule.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
A veces, los más grandes estúpidos son más astutos que los que se ríen de ellos.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
There are fights no sword can win, Catelyn wanted to tell him, but she feared the king was deaf to such words.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Trench fighting is the bloodiest, wildest, most brutal of all ... Of all the war's exciting moments none is so powerful as the meeting of two storm troop leaders between narrow trench walls. There's no mercy there, no going back, the blood speaks from a shrill cry of recognition that tears itself from one's breast like a nightmare.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Sobbing, Sam took another step. This is the last one, the very last, I can't go on, I can't. But his feet moved again. One and then the other. They took a step, and then another, and he thought, They're not my feet, they're someone else's, someone else is walking, it can't be me.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
The first sound was the bowstrings, the snap of five thousand hemp cords being tightened by stressed yew, and that sound was like the devil’s harpstrings being plucked. Then there was the arrow sound, the sigh of air over feathers, but multiplied, so that it was like the rushing of a wind. That sound diminished as two clouds of arrows, thick as any flock of starlings, climbed into the gray sky. Hook, reaching for another broadhead, marveled at the sight of five thousand arrows in two sky-shadowing groups. The two storms seemed to hover for a heart’s beat at the height of their trajectory, and then the missiles fell. It was Saint Crispin’s Day in Picardy. For an instant there was silence. Then the arrows struck. It was the sound of steel on steel. A clatter, like Satan’s hailstorm.
Bernard Cornwell (Agincourt)
Ivar grabbed hold of my shoulders, swung me into a strung-up fishing net, and then smashed me into a set of shelves. Clutter rained down on me, and I fought my way to the surface, clawing free of the net. Ivar's fingers curled around my shirt and lifted me until I was eye level with her. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," she sneered. "And when you come back, I'll enjoy killing you again. If the Enshi doesn't eat your soul, I'll gladly eat your heart." Instead of replying, I stabbed her in the gut with a Khopesh. Her eyes bulged and she dropped me. I pulled the flaming sword out and slashed, but she caught my wrist before my blade could catch her skin, and she hissed, pulling her lips back viciously. "Wrong move." Her flesh healed shut with only an ugly marbled scar left behind. She lashed her black power at me, striking me across the chest like a whip, and I staggered back. I shook off the blow and saw her lunge for me through the smoky remains of her attack. My own power detonated in a deafening explosion of white and collided with her. It blew her through the cabin, and she crashed through the wall and flew back out on the other side of the deck in a storm of fiberglass and steel.
Courtney Allison Moulton (Angelfire (Angelfire, #1))
In a curious failure of comprehension, I looked alertly about me for possible targets for all this artillery fire, not, apparently, realizing that it was actually ourselves that the enemy gunners were trying for all they were worth to hit.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Mandy loved the smell of a sunny day after a night of rain. The sun hit the orange puddles, the overgrown, soft, green grass on her lawn, and it beamed down through the orange steel mill smog, sending otherworldly, bizarre shadows across the concrete sidewalk.
Rebecca McNutt (Smog City)
Love was both a great strength and a great weakness. She would try to remember that.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
A wise man never makes an enemy of a king.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Jaime watched her eyes. Pretty eyes, he thought, and calm.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
He meant to live.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Eres mío, igual que yo soy tuya. Si tenemos que morir, moriremos. Todos los hombres mueren, Jon Nieve. Pero antes vamos a vivir.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
«Hay peleas que no se pueden ganar con la espada»
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Seventeen, and beautiful, and already a legend. Half the girls in the Seven Kingdom want to bed him, and all the boys want to be him.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
When I don't fancy a man's eyes, I put an arrow through one.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
She moved like a storm someone had given steel to... 'You must be the one who said the password,' she said. - Shazad
Alwyn Hamilton (Rebel of the Sands (Rebel of the Sands, #1))
He'd shut down his emotions so fast she was surprised she hadn't heard his mental doors slamming closed.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
I want to climb up the blank blue dome as a man would storm the inside of a circus tent, wildly, dangling, and with a steel knife claw a rent in the top, peep, and, if I must, fall.
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
These wolves are more than wolves, Robb. You must know that. I think perhaps the gods sent them to us. Your father's gods, the old gods of the north. Five wolf pups, Robb, five for five Stark children.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Clegane would grunt from time to time, and once Tyrion heard him mutter a curse, but otherwise he fought in a sullen silence. Not Oberyn Martell. "You raped her," he called, feinting. "You murdered her," he said, dodging a looping cut from Gregor's greatsword. "You killed her children," he shouted, slamming the spearpoint into the giant's throat, only to have it glance off the thick steel gorget with a screech.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
That made her laugh until she screamed. “Mad,” someone said, “she’s lost her wits,” and someone else said, “Make an end,” and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she’d done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don’t, don’t cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3))
Here in the north each night is a whole winter long. Yet the place is fair enough, doubt it not! Thou shalt see sights here such as thou hast not seen in the halls of the English king. We shall be together as sisters whilst thou bidest with me; we shall go down to the sea when the storm begins once more; thou shalt see the billows rushing upon the land like wild, white-maned horses—and then the whales far out in the offing! They dash one against another like steel-clad knights! Ha, what joy to be a witching-wife and ride on the whale's back—to speed before the skiff, and wake the storm, and lure men to the deeps with lovely songs of sorcery!
Henrik Ibsen (The Vikings of Helgeland)
Remember Barbara It rained all day on Brest that day And you walked smiling Flushed enraptured streaming-wet In the rain Remember Barbara It rained all day on Brest that day And I ran into you in Siam Street You were smiling And I smiled too Remember Barbara You whom I didn't know You who didn't know me Remember Remember that day still Don't forget A man was taking cover on a porch And he cried your name Barbara And you ran to him in the rain Streaming-wet enraptured flushed And you threw yourself in his arms Remember that Barbara And don't be mad if I speak familiarly I speak familiarly to everyone I love Even if I've seen them only once I speak familiarly to all who are in love Even if I don't know them Remember Barbara Don't forget That good and happy rain On your happy face On that happy town That rain upon the sea Upon the arsenal Upon the Ushant boat Oh Barbara What shitstupidity the war Now what's become of you Under this iron rain Of fire and steel and blood And he who held you in his arms Amorously Is he dead and gone or still so much alive Oh Barbara It's rained all day on Brest today As it was raining before But it isn't the same anymore And everything is wrecked It's a rain of mourning terrible and desolate Nor is it still a storm Of iron and steel and blood But simply clouds That die like dogs Dogs that disappear In the downpour drowning Brest And float away to rot A long way off A long long way from Brest Of which there's nothing left.
Jacques Prévert
Arethusa liked to call us Poseidon’s Children. Orphans of the storm. We’d endured the worst the world could throw at us, the worst consequences of our own stupidity, and came through ... ready to face the dawn. But there are always more storms, Chiku.
Alastair Reynolds (On the Steel Breeze (Poseidon's Children, #2))
The only one,” he murmured, his deep voice sliding down to her bones, “I want to belong to is you.” She turned her head and blindly found his lips with hers, sinking her fingers into his hair. He locked their mouths together. As her blood heated with need, she pressed into him. His hands slid down her back and then lower, and he pulled her hips against him. She gasped and kissed him harder.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
… a woman cuts, hacks, slashes, and strikes – a whirling storm of fire and steel. Born in shadow, her destiny eclipsed by the brightest of stars. What else can she be but a comet, burning bright enough to draw every eye as she streaks toward some unfathomable fate?
Nicholas Eames (Bloody Rose (The Band, #2))
As gale-winds swirl and shatter under the shrilling gusts on days when drifts of dust lie piled thick on the roads and winds whip up the dirt in a dense whirling cloud- so the battle broke, storming chaos, troops inflamed, slashing each other with bronze, carnage mounting, manslaughtering combat bristling with rangy spears, the honed lances brandished in hand and ripping flesh and the eyes dazzled now, blind with the glare of bronze, glittering helmets flashing, breastplates freshly burnished, shields fiery in sunlight, fighters plowing on in a mass. Only a veteran steeled at heart could watch that struggle and still thrill with joy and never feel the terror.
Homer (The Iliad)
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
W.B. Yeats
She chuckled and then said seriously, "Don't sweat it. I can only guess at what this must feel like, but you gotta just steel your resolve, you know? Batten down your hatches, sandbag your perimeters, plywood your windows and what not. Where are you going with this? I don't know anymore. Somehow, my pep talk became storm prep...
Bethany K. Lovell (Faetal Distraction (Blood Crown, #1))
A good threat is often more telling than a blow.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Er schien uns männliche Tat, ein fröhliches Schützengefecht auf blumigen, blutbetauten Wiesen.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
This is the end game. There is no going back to your peaceful obscurity. It is time for the draconians to reclaim our skies … or relinquish them forever.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Ancient power thickened the air, tingling in her lungs as she finally managed to draw a breath. Shinryu had answered her call.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Could a man walk while he was sleeping?
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
I told Robb I’m sure to give him twins. An Eddard and a Brandon.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
They have scarcely finished burying the dead from the last battle, and already they are practicing for the next one.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
He was a lashing storm clasped tightly in a steel box, and she held the key.
Skye Warren (The Beauty Series (Beauty, #1-4))
Luck is for those with nothing else. I wish you strength and courage.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
But what does it matter, for all men must die.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
Irgendwie drängt sich auch dem ganz einfachen Gemüt die Ahnung auf, daß sein Leben in einen ewigen Kreislauf geschaltet, und daß der Tod des einzelnen gar kein so bedeutungsvolles Ereignis ist.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
The mind is most powerful in the moment. Focus on the now and the next, not the distant future of maybe and if. Even those of the strongest faith can falter when the eyes focus too far in the distance.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Ash moved faster, spinning through the steps of his deadly dance as he pushed Samael to keep moving, moving, moving. She flowed in and around Ash like a fish darting through racing waters, her blade seeking where Samael would appear. Together, they drove Samael around the dome. They moved together, synchronized and flawless, all his experience and all her instincts melding into deadly perfection. Samael
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. If a man does not use his member it grows smaller and smaller, until one day he wants to piss and cannot find it.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
There are Navajo teachings about how a car works. This vehicle is very much like a horse, operating on the same principles. The automobile is considered more "intelligent," and we think of it in such terms. The automobile is mad eof iron and steel taken from the earth. This iron is the earth's spirit, which has been made into the body of the automobile. The trees, as vegetation, were also taken from the earth and made into rubber for the tires. The air, or spirit, is the same as that of a horse's breath of life, instilled in its body. The arms and legs of the auto makes it move. Then there are the dark storm clouds and heavenly bodies like lightning, which are found inside the auto to give it power. This is exactly the same power the horse has. Water, which comes from the earth, is put into the auto for its cooling system. Oil from the earth is similar to the fat from the earth a horse receives. Just as gasoline comes from the earth as fuel, plants are in a horse's body to make it operate. Therefore, horses and cars are the sam in every way.
John Holiday (A Navajo Legacy: The Life and Teachings of John Holiday)
High, low, overhand, he rained down steel upon her. Left, right, backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together, upswing, sideslash, overhand, always attacking, moving into her, step and slide, strike and step, step and strike, hacking, slashing, faster, faster, faster . . .until, breathless, he stepped back and let the point of the sword fall to the ground, giving her a moment of respite. “Not half bad,” he acknowledged. “For a wench.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3))
I can’t lose you. I can’t survive it.” “Yes, you can,” he murmured, his fingertips touching her cheek. “You can survive anything. Loss can be like chains holding you in place or a fire pushing you onward. We each choose every day what it will be to us.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
expected. Lord Tywin did not suffer disloyalty in his vassals. He had extinguished the proud Reynes of Castamere and the ancient Tarbecks of Tarbeck Hall root and branch when he was still half a boy. The singers had even made a rather gloomy song of it.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
Leaving out trifles such as ricochets and grazes, I was hit at least fourteen times, these being five bullets, two shell splinters, one shrapnel ball, four hand-grenade splinters and two bullet splinters, which, with entry and exit wounds, left me an even twenty scars.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Tyrion stared up at his father's hard green eyes with their flecks of cold bright gold. "Guilty," he said, "so guilty. Is that what you want to hear?" Lord Tywin said nothing. Mace Tyrell nodded. Prince Oberyn looked mildly disappointed. "You admit you poisoned the king?" "Nothing of the sort," said Tyrion. "Of Joffrey's death I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime." He took a step toward his father. "I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it. And no matter how many times my good father forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
I am still half a world from Westeros, Dany reminded herself, but every hour brings me closer. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, when she first caught sight of the land she was born to rule. It will be as fair a shore as I have ever seen, I know it. How could it be otherwise?
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Why should I live? he thought as tears blurred his vision. Gods be good, why? My sons are dead, Dale and Allard, Maric and Matthos, perhaps Devan as well. How can a father outlive so many stroung young sons? How would I go on? I am a hollow shell, the crab's died, there's nothing left inside. Don't they know that?
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
You step one foot out of line, and I’ll finish what we started that day in the forest, life debt or no. This time I don’t need steel to do it.” As she spoke, gold flames seemed to flicker in her eyes. And Manon realized with no small thrill, even with her pain, that the queen could indeed end her before she’d get close enough to kill.
Sarah J. Maas (Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5))
No one would believe that in this howling waste there could still be men; but steel helmets now appear on all sides out of the trench, and fifty yards from us a machine-gun is already in position and barking. The wire entanglements are torn to pieces. Yet they offer some obstacle. We see the storm-troops coming. Our artillery opens fire. Machine-guns rattle, rifles crack.
Erich Maria Remarque (All Quiet on the Western Front)
I am Itzapoca. Long ago the Mayans worshiped me as a god. Today I am forgotten, a stone head half-buried in the jungle. Yet I have endured for ages, far longer than any puny modern structure built from steel and concrete. Long before the era of hydraulic cranes, my followers lifted me to the top of this lush green slope where I sit looking down on the shining blue waters of the bay.
Carol Storm (Unexpected Dreams)
Melisandre’s red lips curled into a smile. “I have seen you in my fires, Jon Snow.” “Is that a threat, my lady? Do you mean to burn me too?” “You mistake my meaning.” She gave him a searching look. “I fear that I make you uneasy, Lord Snow.” Jon did not deny it. “The Wall is no place for a woman.” “You are wrong. I have dreamed of your Wall, Jon Snow. Great was the lore that raised it, and great the spells locked beneath its ice. We walk beneath one of the hinges of the world.” Melisandre gazed up at it, her breath a warm moist cloud in the air. “This is my place as it is yours, and soon enough you may have grave need of me. Do not refuse my friendship, Jon. I have seen you in the storm, hard-pressed, with enemies on every side. You have so many enemies. Shall I tell you their names?” “I know their names.” “Do not be so certain.” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat gleamed red. “It is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold.” “It is always cold on the Wall.” “You think so?” “I know so, my lady.” “Then you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered.
George R.R. Martin (A Dance with Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire, #5))
With Pollution, emotion is irrelevant, it is not their nature,” Mearth sighed, making a face as if she were talking to an ignorant small child. “I didn’t create them, humans created the Pollution. Cheryl Nobel, Alecto Steele, Albert Sanders, Olivia Campbell, all my pretty little Representations, there aren’t many of them left these days but they’re still very dangerous! They’re here to tell society all about its mistakes! You don’t understand the world of Representations.
Rebecca McNutt (Smog City)
O helpless few in my country, O remnant enslaved! Artists broken against her, A-stray, lost in the villages, Mistrusted, spoken-against, Lovers of beauty, starved Thwarted with systems, Helpless against the control; You who can not wear yourselves out By persisting to successes, You who can only speak, Who can not steel yourselves into reiteration; You of the finer sense, Broken against false knowledge, You who can know at first hand, Hated, shut in, mistrusted: Take thought; I have weathered the storm, I have beaten out my exile.
Ezra Pound
If this is true, how is it no one knows?” “The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the king’s secrets. Would you have me break my oath?” Jaime laughed. “Do you think the noble Lord of Winterfell wanted to hear my feeble explanations? Such an honorable man. He only had to look at me to judge me guilty.” Jaime lurched to his feet, the water running cold down his chest. “By what right does the wolf judge the lion? By what right?” A violent shiver took him, and he smashed his stump against the rim of the tub as he tried to climb out.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
Now these [battles] too are over, and already we see once more in the dim light of the future the tumult of the fresh ones. We--by this I mean those youth of this land who are capable of enthusiasm for an ideal--will not shrink from them. We stand in the memory of the dead who are holy to us, and we believe ourselves entrusted with the true and spiritual welfare of our people. We stand for what will be and for what has been. Though force without and barbarity within conglomerate in sombre clouds, yet so long as the blade of a sword will strike a spark in the night may it be said: Germany lives and Germany shall never go under!
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Byzantium The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong; A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities, The fury and the mire of human veins. Before me floats an image, man or shade, Shade more than man, more image than a shade; For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth May unwind the winding path; A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and life-in-death. Miracle, bird or golden handiwork, More miracle than bird or handiwork, Planted on the starlit golden bough, Can like the cocks of Hades crow, Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud In glory of changeless metal Common bird or petal And all complexities of mire or blood. At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve. Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood, Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood, The golden smithies of the Emperor! Marbles of the dancing floor Break bitter furies of complexity, Those images that yet Fresh images beget, That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.
W.B. Yeats (The Poems of W. B. Yeats Selected, edited, and introduced by William York Tindall)
These are the figures of steel whose eagle eyes dart between whirling propellers to pierce the cloud; who dare the hellish crossing through fields of roaring craters, gripped in the chaos of tank engines ... men relentlessly saturated with the spirit of battle, men whose urgent wanting discharges itself in a single concentrated and determined release of energy. As I watch them noiselessly slicing alleyways into barbed wire, digging steps to storm outward, synchronizing luminous watches, finding the North by the stars, the recognition flashes: this is the new man. The pioneers of storm, the elect of central Europe. A whole new race, intelligent, strong, men of will ... supple predators straining with energy. They will be architects building on the ruined foundations of the world.
Ernst Jünger (Der Kampf als inneres Erlebnis)
The proper attitude toward human activity and climate is expressed in the 1957 novel Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Consider the following passage, where industrialist-philosopher Francisco d’Anconia remarks to steel magnate Hank Rearden how dangerous the climate is, absent massive industrial development. The conversation takes place indoors at an elegant party during a severe storm (in the era before all severe storms were blamed on fossil fuels). There was only a faint tinge of red left on the edge of the earth, just enough to outline the scraps of clouds ripped by the tortured battle of the storm in the sky. Dim shapes kept sweeping through space and vanishing, shapes which were branches, but looked as if they were the fury of the wind made visible. “It’s a terrible night for any animal caught unprotected on that plain,” said Francisco d’Anconia. “This is when one should appreciate the meaning of being a man.” Rearden did not answer for a moment; then he said, as if in answer to himself, a tone of wonder in his voice, “Funny . . .” “What?” “You told me what I was thinking just a while ago . . .” “You were?” “. . . only I didn’t have the words for it.” “Shall I tell you the rest of the words?” “Go ahead.” “You stood here and watched the storm with the greatest pride one can ever feel—because you are able to have summer flowers and half-naked women in your house on a night like this, in demonstration of your victory over that storm. And if it weren’t for you, most of those who are here would be left helpless at the mercy of that wind in the middle of some such plain.
Alex Epstein (The Moral Case for Fossil Fuels)
In the space of a single year, a crumbling rural village had sprouted an army town, like a great parasitical growth. The former peacetime aspect of the place was barely discernible. The village pond was where the dragoons watered their horses, infantry exercised in the orchards, soldiers lay in the meadows sunning themselves. All the peacetime institutions collapsed, only what was needed for war remained. Hedges and fences were broken or simply torn down for easier access, and everywhere there were large signs giving directions to military traffic. While roofs caved in, and furniture was gradually used up as firewood, telephone lines and electricity cables were installed. Cellars were extended outwards and downwards to make bomb shelters for the residents; the removed earth was dumped in the gardens. The village no longer knew any demarcations or distinctions between thine and mine. pp. 36-37
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
IT is not impossible that among the English readers of this book there may be one who in 1915 and 1916 was in one of those trenches that were woven like a web among the ruins of Monchy-au-Bois. In that case he had opposite him at that time the 73rd Hanoverian Fusiliers, who wear as their distinctive badge a brassard with ' Gibraltar ' inscribed on it in gold, in memory of the defence of that fortress under General Elliot; for this, besides Waterloo, has its place in the regiment's history. At the time I refer to I was a nineteen-year-old lieutenant in command of a platoon, and my part of the line was easily recognizable from the English side by a row of tall shell-stripped trees that rose from the ruins of Monchy. My left flank was bounded by the sunken road leading to Berles-au-Bois, which was in the hands of the English ; my right was marked by a sap running out from our lines, one that helped us many a time to make our presence felt by means of bombs and rifle-grenades. I daresay this reader remembers, too, the white tom-cat, lamed in one foot by a stray bullet, who had his headquarters in No-man's-land. He used often to pay me a visit at night in my dugout. This creature, the sole living being that was on visiting terms with both sides, always made on me an impression of extreme mystery. This charm of mystery which lay over all that belonged to the other side, to that danger zone full of unseen figures, is one of the strongest impressions that the war has left with me. At that time, before the battle of the Somme, which opened a new chapter in the history of the war, the struggle had not taken on that grim and mathematical aspect which cast over its landscapes a deeper and deeper gloom. There was more rest for the soldier than in the later years when he was thrown into one murderous battle after another ; and so it is that many of those days come back to my memory now with a light on them that is almost peaceful.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
CAPT. J. W. SIMMONS, master of the steamship Pensacola, had just as little regard for weather as the Louisiana’s Captain Halsey. He was a veteran of eight hundred trips across the Gulf and commanded a staunch and sturdy ship, a 1,069-ton steel-hulled screw-driven steam freighter built twelve years earlier in West Hartlepool, England, and now owned by the Louisville and Nashville Railroad Company. Friday morning the ship was docked at the north end of 34th Street, in the company of scores of other ships, including the big Mallory liner Alamo, at 2,237 tons, and the usual large complement of British ships, which on Friday included the Comino, Hilarius, Kendal Castle, Mexican, Norna, Red Cross, Taunton, and the stately Roma in from Boston with its Captain Storms. As the Pensacola’s twenty-one-man crew readied the ship for its voyage to the city of Pensacola on Florida’s Gulf Coast, two men came aboard as Captain Simmons’s personal guests: a harbor pilot named R. T. Carroll and Galveston’s Pilot Commissioner J. M. O. Menard, from one of the city’s oldest families. At
Erik Larson (Isaac's Storm: A Man, a Time, and the Deadliest Hurricane in History)
A rattle of dishes warned of a servant’s entry into the hall, but Christopher was incensed, and half turning with a growl, he gestured Paine back. “Get out of here, man!” “Christopher!” Erienne gasped and took two halting steps to follow the befuddled servant, but Christopher came around to face her with a glare. “Stay where you are, madam! I am not finished with you.” “You have no right to give orders here,” she protested, her own ire growing. “This is my husband’s house!” “I’ll give orders when and where I damn well please, and for once, you will stand and listen until I’m through!” More than a trifle outraged herself, Erienne hurled back her answer. “You may command the men on your ship to your will, Mister Seton, but you have no such authority here! Good day to you!” Catching up her skirts, she whirled and stalked toward the tower until she heard the sound of rapid footsteps coming behind her, then a sudden panic seized her that he would make such a scene that she would not be able to face the servants… or her husband. She raced into the entry, stepping over the puddle, and took to the stairs, forcing every bit of strength she could into her limbs. She had barely gained the fourth step when she heard sliding feet, a loud thump, and then a painful grunt followed by an angry curse. When she whirled, Christopher was just coming to rest in a heap against the wall after sliding across the floor, partway on his back. For a moment she stared aghast at the dignified man sprawled in a most undignified manner, but when he raised his head to look at her with barely contained rage, she was struck by the humor of it all. Bubbling laughter broke forth, winning from him a dark scowl of exasperation. “Are you hurt, Christopher?” she asked sweetly. “Aye! My pride has been mightily bruised!” “Oh, that will mend, sir,” she chuckled, spreading her skirts to perch primly on the step above him. Her eyes danced with a lively light that was simply dazzling to behold. “But you should take care. If such a modest spot of water can bring you down so abruptly, I would not advise sailing beyond these shores.” “ ’Tis not a spot of water that’s brought me down, but a waspish wench who sets her barbs against me at every turn.” “You dare accuse me when you come in here huffing and snorting like a raging bull?” She gave a throaty, skeptical laugh. “Really, Christopher, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You frightened Paine and nearly made me swallow my heart.” “That’s an impossibility, madam, for that thing is surely made of cold, hard steel.” “You’re pouting,” she chided flippantly, “because I have not fallen swooning at your feet.” “I’m angry because you continually deny the fact that you should be my wife!” he stated emphatically. Footsteps on the stairs behind Erienne made them glance up. Aggie came nonchalantly down the steps, seeming unaware of Christopher’s storm-dark frown. Excusing herself, she stepped past her mistress. Finally, on reaching level footing, she contemplated the man, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “Aren’t ye a wee bit old ter be takin’ yer leisure on the floor, sir?” He raised a brow at Erienne as that one smothered a giggle, and with a snort, got to his feet and brushed off his breeches and coatsleeve. -Christopher, Erienne, and Aggie
Kathleen E. Woodiwiss (A Rose in Winter)
Is it as bad out there as they say it is?” he asked. “From my six-inch window, it looks like we got hit with one hell of a storm.” “It took me nearly an hour to shovel the sidewalk this morning,” Jordan said. Kyle brushed his neck-length dark blond hair off his face. “See? That’s one of the positives of being in prison. No shoveling.” Her brother had long ago set the rules regarding their visits. Jokes about being in prison were expected and encouraged, sympathy was not. Which was good for both of them, considering her family had never done particularly well with the mushy and sentimental stuff. “You live in a penthouse condo and haven’t shoveled snow for years,” she pointed out. “A deliberate choice I made because of the trauma of my youth,” Kyle said. “Remember how Dad used to make me shovel the whole block every time it snowed? I was eight when he came up with that plan—barely taller than the shovel.” “And I got to stay inside making hot chocolate with Mom.” Jordan waved off the retort she saw coming. “Hey, it was good for you—it built character.” She paused for a moment, taking in their steel-barred surroundings. “Maybe Dad should’ve made you shovel the next block over, too.” “That’s cute.” “I thought so.
Julie James (A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney, #2))
Watch," he whispered hoarsely. "Watch me make love to you." No power in the heavens could have made her look away as he withdrew- all the way so that she saw the passionate sheen of her body's juices glazing his rod. Her eyes widened. Coarse dark hair mingled with soft, chestnut curls, a sight that was incredibly erotic. Even more erotic was when he plunged again, gliding deeper this time, harder. She couldn't tear her gaze away. She was both amazed and stunned at the way male joined female, feeling the walls of her passage yield- soft tender flesh clinging tight and wanton to hard male steel.Everything inside her went wild. Every part of her was melting, every fiber of her being. With a helpless little moan she caught the sides of his head. She wanted to tell him how wonderful he made her feel. But the power of words had once again deserted her. The pleasure was climbing, spiraling high and fast, taking her by storm. Unable to hold back, her hands slipped to his shoulders. She clutched at him; sensation gathered there, in the very center of her body, the place he possessed so fully. Had she surrendered? Or had he? she wondered vaguely. Eyes closed, she flung her head back. Release was close. She could feel it coming, shivering throughout her body. His head dropped low. He kissed the arch of her throat. "Fionna," he said, his tone almost raw. "Fionna!" Her nails bit into his shoulders. The walls of her channel contracted around him, again and again and again, sending spasms of release hurtling through them both.
Samantha James (The Seduction Of An Unknown Lady (McBride Family #2))
When it begins it is like a light in a tunnel, a rush of steel and steam across a torn up life. It is a low rumble, an earthquake in the back of the mind. My spine is a track with cold black steel racing on it, a trail of steam and dust following behind, ghost like. It feels like my whole life is holding its breath. By the time she leaves the room I am surprised that she can’t see the train. It has jumped the track of my spine and landed in my mothers’ living room. A cold dark thing, black steel and redwood paneling. It is the old type, from the western movies I loved as a kid. He throws open the doors to the outside world, to the dark ocean. I feel a breeze tugging at me, a slender finger of wind that catches at my shirt. Pulling. Grabbing. I can feel the panic build in me, the need to scream or cry rising in my throat. And then I am out the door, running, tumbling down the steps falling out into the darkened world, falling out into the lifeless ocean. Out into the blackness. Out among the stars and shadows. And underneath my skin, in the back of my head and down the back of my spine I can feel the desperation and I can feel the noise. I can feel the deep and ancient ache of loudness that litters across my bones. It’s like an old lover, comfortable and well known, but unwelcome and inappropriate with her stories of our frolicking. And then she’s gone and the Conductor is closing the door. The darkness swells around us, enveloping us in a cocoon, pressing flat against the train like a storm. I wonder, what is this place? Those had been heady days, full and intense. It’s funny. I remember the problems, the confusions and the fears of life we all dealt with. But, that all seems to fade. It all seems to be replaced by images of the days when it was all just okay. We all had plans back then, patterns in which we expected the world to fit, how it was to be deciphered. Eventually you just can’t carry yourself any longer, can’t keep your eyelids open, and can’t focus on anything but the flickering light of the stars. Hours pass, at first slowly like a river and then all in a rush, a climax and I am home in the dorm, waking up to the ringing of the telephone. When she is gone the apartment is silent, empty, almost like a person sleeping, waiting to wake up. When she is gone, and I am alone, I curl up on the bed, wait for the house to eject me from its dying corpse. Crazy thoughts cross through my head, like slants of light in an attic. The Boston 395 rocks a bit, a creaking noise spilling in from the undercarriage. I have decided that whatever this place is, all these noises, sensations - all the train-ness of this place - is a fabrication. It lulls you into a sense of security, allows you to feel as if it’s a familiar place. But whatever it is, it’s not a train, or at least not just a train. The air, heightened, tense against the glass. I can hear the squeak of shoes on linoleum, I can hear the soft rattle of a dying man’s breathing. Men in white uniforms, sharp pressed lines, run past, rolling gurneys down florescent hallways.
Jason Derr (The Boston 395)
The entire idea of it was arrogant and defiant and grandiose. Anna loved it. As she walked across a wide empty plain of steel that should have been covered in topsoil and crops, she thought that this audaciousness was exactly what humanity had lost somewhere in the last couple of centuries. When ancient maritime explorers had climbed into their creaking wooden ships and tried to find ways to cross the great oceans of Earth, had their voyage been any less dangerous than the one the Mormons had been planning to attempt? The end point any less mysterious? But in both cases, they’d been driven to find out what was on the other side of the long trip. Driven by a need to see shores no one else had ever seen before. Show a human a closed door, and no matter how many open doors she finds, she’ll be haunted by what might be behind it. A few people liked to paint this drive as a weakness. A failing of the species. Humanity as the virus. The creature that never stops filling up its available living space. Hector seemed to be moving over to that view, based on their last conversation. But Anna rejected that idea. If humanity were capable of being satisfied, then they’d all still be living in trees and eating bugs out of one another’s fur. Anna had walked on a moon of Jupiter. She’d looked up through a dome-covered sky at the great red spot, close enough to see the swirls and eddies of a storm larger than her home world. She’d tasted water thawed from ice as old as the solar system itself. And it was that human dissatisfaction, that human audacity, that had put her there. Looking at the tiny world spinning around her, she knew one day it would give them the stars as well.
James S.A. Corey (Abaddon's Gate (The Expanse, #3))
The Mississippi is surrounded by a vast network of concealed plumbing that underlies the whole of the American Midwest. As for the great river at the heart of this maze, it is now for all intents and purposes a man-made artifact. Every inch of its course from its headwaters to its delta is regulated by synthetic means—by locks and dams and artificial lakes, revetments and spillways and control structures, chevrons and wing dams and bendway weirs. The resulting edifice can barely be called a river at all, in any traditional sense. The Mississippi has been dredged, and walled in, and reshaped, and fixed; it has been turned into a gigantic navigation canal, or the world’s largest industrial sewer. It hasn’t run wild as a river does in nature for more than a hundred years. Its waters are notoriously foul. In the nineteenth century, the Mississippi was well known for its murkiness and filth, but today it swirls with all the effluvia of the modern age. There’s the storm runoff, thick with the glistening sheen of automotive waste. The drainage from the enormous mechanized farms of the heartland, and from millions of suburban lawns, is rich with pesticides and fertilizers like atrazine, alachlor, cyanazine, and metolachlor. A ceaseless drizzle comes from the chemical plants along the riverbanks that manufacture neoprene, polychloroprene, and an assortment of other refrigerants and performance elastomers. And then there are the waste products of steel mills, of sulfuric acid regeneration facilities, and of the refineries that produce gasoline, fuel oil, asphalt, propane, propylene, isobutane, kerosene, and coke. The Mississippi is one of the busiest industrial corridors in the world.
Lee Sandlin (Wicked River: The Mississippi When It Last Ran Wild)
How Could You Not - for Jane Kenyon It is a day after many days of storms. Having been washed and washed, the air glitters; small heaped cumuli blow across the sky; a shower visible against the firs douses the crocuses. We knew it would happen one day this week. Now, when I learn you have died, I go to the open door and look across at New Hampshire and see that there, too, the sun is bright and clouds are making their shadowy ways along the horizon; and I think: How could it not have been today? In another room, Keri Te Kanawa is singing the Laudate Dominum of Mozart, very faintly, as if in the past, to those who once sat in the steel seat of the old mowing machine, cheerful descendent of the scythe of the grim reaper, and drew the cutter bars little reciprocating triangles through the grass to make the stalks lie down in sunshine. Could you have walked in the dark early this morning and found yourself grown completely tired of the successes and failures of medicine, of your year of pain and despair remitted briefly now and then by hope that had that leaden taste? Did you glimpse in first light the world as you loved it and see that, now, it was not wrong to die and that, on dying, you would leave your beloved in a day like paradise? Near sunrise did you loosen your hold a little? How could you not already have felt blessed for good, having these last days spoken your whole heart to him, who spoke his whole heart to you, so that in the silence he would not feel a single word was missing? How could you not have slipped into a spell, in full daylight, as he lay next to you, with his arms around you, as they have been, it must have seemed, all your life? How could your cheek not press a moment to his cheek, which presses itself to yours from now on? How could you not rise and go, with all that light at the window, those arms around you, and the sound, coming or going, hard to say, of a single-engine plane in the distance that no one else hears?
Galway Kinnell
That I haven’t told you the parable of the man, the boy, and the mule.” Cettie nodded eagerly. He stared down at the book, thumbing through its pages. “I heard this one when I first went away to study the Mysteries. It was shared with all of us, but I don’t think all of us heard it the same way. That’s the thing about stories. They can touch on truths that some people just are not ready to hear. The tale goes like this. Long before the first flying castles and sky ships and cauldrons of molten steel—before the Fells—life was simpler. A man and his son needed to sell their mule to buy food to last the winter. So they started walking to get to the market, which was very far. They met a fellow traveler along the way who criticized them for not riding the mule. So the man, realizing that his beast of burden wasn’t being used for its purpose, put his son on it to ride. But when they arrived at the first village on their path, some men in the square scoffed and said how inconsiderate the son was for making his father walk. They stopped and watered the beast, and so the father ordered the boy to walk while he rode. Again, they reached the next village, and what did they hear? Some washerwomen complained that the father must be evil to force his son to walk while he rode. Ashamed by their words, the father decided to change yet again. Do you know what he did?” Cettie shook her head no, eager for him to continue. Fitzroy wagged his finger at her. “So they both rode the mule into the next town. By this time, the mule was getting very tired, and when they reached the next village, they were ridiculed for being lazy and working the poor beast half to death! The market was in the very next town, and they feared they’d not be able to sell the poor creature, now it was so spent. And so the father and son cut down a sapling, lashed the mule to the pole, and carried it to the next town. You can imagine what the townsfolk thought as they saw the father and son laboring and exhausted as they approached the town. Who were these country bumpkins who carried a mule on their own shoulders? As they crossed the bridge into town, suffering the jeers and taunts of passersby, one of the ropes broke loose, and the mule kicked free. The boy dropped his end of the pole, and the beast fell into the river and drowned.” “No!” Cettie said, mouth wide open. Fitzroy nodded sagely. “A man with a crooked staff had been following them into town. As
Jeff Wheeler (Storm Glass (Harbinger #1))
A shared pain is halved, a shared joy is doubled.
Matthew Harffy (Storm of Steel (The Bernicia Chronicles, #6))
Are you okay with this?" ”Of course," he replied. ”I was beginning to think he would never leave." (…) ”It's her fault. Ever since she dragged us into her Sahar mess, we've been stuck together taking care of her." ”Hey!" she protested. ”I didn't dragged him into the Sahar mess. He was trying to steal it, remember?" ”Well, you got us accused of the theft, so I think it's your fault. Right,Ash?" ”Definitely." ”No way, that's not fair." ”All's fair in love and war," Lyre purred, winking at her. He let out a long, wistful sigh. ”And despite all my best efforts, I never quite managed to get you out of your clothes.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Ash," she whispered, ”you know I love you desperately, right?" He drew her face up and kissed her, his mouth hot and demanding. Heat dove through her middle and she tossed the Sahar aside so she could slide both hands into his hair. ”You know you are my heart and soul," he murmured against her mouth.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Well, she wasn't dead. She hurt way too much to be dead.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
A bloody scene with no witnesses was about to happen. It was a relief to me, finally, to have the foe in front of me and within reach. I set the mouth of the pistol at the man’s temple – he was too frightened to move – while my other fist grabbed hold of his tunic, feeling medals and badges of rank. An officer; he must have held some command post in these trenches. With a plaintive sound, he reached into his pocket, not to pull out a weapon, but a photograph which he held up to me. I saw him on it, surrounded by numerous family, all standing on a terrace. It was a plea from another world. Later, I thought it was blind chance that I let him go and plunged onward. That one man of all often appeared in my dreams. I hope that meant he got to see his homeland again.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
In a 2016 book widely publicized in the US, Stern claimed that 58 per cent of all jobs would be automated eventually, driven by the ethos of shareholder value. He told the American media group Bloomberg, ‘It’s not like the fall of the auto and steel industries. That hit just a sector of the country. This will be widespread. People will realize that we don’t have a storm anymore; we have a tsunami.’16 Nevertheless, there are reasons to be sceptical about the prospect of a jobless or even workless future. It is the latest version of the ‘lump of labour fallacy’, the idea that there is only a certain amount of labour and work to be done, so that if more of it can be automated or done by intelligent robots, human workers will be rendered redundant. In any case, very few jobs can be automated in their entirety. The suggestion in a much-cited study17 that nearly half of all US jobs are vulnerable to automation has been challenged by, among others, the OECD, which puts the figure of jobs ‘at risk’ at 9 per cent for industrialized countries.18
Guy Standing (Basic Income: And How We Can Make It Happen)
In battle, discipline beats numbers nine times of every ten.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
You can trick out a milk cow in crupper, crinet, and chamfron, and bard her all in silk, but that dosen't mean that you can ride her into battle.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
All he needed to do was nothing. a few moments more, and he would be with his sons now, resting in the cool green mud on the bottom of the bay, with fish nibbling at his face.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
So saying, she managed to straighten- which left her facing the house, looking directly at the blank bow windows of the downstairs parlor. With the storm darkening the skies, the windows were reflective. They reflected the image of a man standing directly behind her. With a gasp, Patience whirled. Her gaze collided with the man's- his eyes were hard, crystalline gray, pale in the weak light. They were focused, intently, on her, their expression one she couldn't fathom. He stood no more than three feet away, large, elegant and oddly forbidding. In the instant her brain registered those facts, Patience felt her heels sink, and sink- into the soft soil of the flower bed. The edge crumbled beneath her feet. Her eyes flew wide- her lips formed a helpless "Oh." Arms flailing, she started to topple back- The man reacted so swiftly his movement was a blur- he gripped her upper arms and hauled her forward. She landed against him, breast to chest, hips to hard thighs. The breath was knocked out of her, leaving her gasping, mentally as well as physically. Hard hands held her upright, long fingers iron shackles about her arms. His chest was a wall of rock against her breasts; the rest of his body, the long thighs that held them braced, felt as resilient as tensile steel. She was helpless. Utterly, completely, and absolutely helpless. Patience looked up and met the stranger's hooded gaze. As she watched, his grey eyes darkened. The expression they contained- intensely concentrated- sent a most peculiar thrill through her. She blinked; her gaze fell- to the man's lips. Long, thin yet beautifully proportioned, they'd been sculpted with a view to fascination. They certainly fascinated her; she couldn't drag her gaze away. The mesmerizing contours shifted, almost imperceptibly softening; her own lips tingled. She swallowed, and dragged in a desperately needed breath. Her breasts rose, shifting against the stranger's coat, pressing more definitely against his chest. Sensation streaked through her, from unexpectedly tight nipples all the way to her toes. She caught another breath and tensed- but couldn't stop the quiver that raced through her. The stranger's lips thinned; the austere planes of his face hardened. His fingers tightened about her arms. To Patience's stunned amazement, he lifted her- easily- and carefully set her down two feet away.
Stephanie Laurens (A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2))
If I faint, pull me out. No Lannister has ever drowned in his bath and I don't mean to be the first.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
What we want is not always what we get
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
However strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in wind may bring the gift of victory, Or a lady's favor knotted round an arm.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
Gold in my purse is better than gold in my future
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
Lysandra indeed went on the defensive and showed her hand. “I know my history is … unappealing.” “I’m going to stop you right there,” Aedion said, daring a step closer. “And I’m going to tell you that there is nothing unappealing about you. Nothing. I’ve been with just as many people. Women, men … I’ve seen and tried it all.” Her brows had risen. Aedion shrugged. “I find pleasure in both, depending on my mood and the person.” One of his former lovers still remained one of his closest friends—and most skilled commanders in his Bane. “Attraction is attraction.” He steeled his nerve. “And I know enough about it to understand what you and I …” Something shuttered in her eyes, and the words slipped from him. Too soon. Too soon for this sort of talk. “We can figure it out. Make no demands of each other beyond honesty.” That was really the only thing he cared to request. It was nothing more than he’d ask of a friend. A small smile played about her lips. “Yes,” she breathed. “Let’s start there.
Sarah J. Maas (Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5))
a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death.
George R.R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire, 5-Book Boxed Set: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire 1-5))
M'lord," Janos Slynt reminded him. "You'll address me-" "I'll go, my lord. But you are making a mistake, my lord. You are sending the wrong man, my lord. Just the sight of me is going to anger Mance...
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Piper crouched behind the boulder, her heart beating fast against her ribs.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Zwi glided through dark
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
How could you not know that those were super murder-fish...?
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
If I faint, pull me out. No Lannister has ever drowned in his bath and I don’t mean to be the first.” “Why should I care how you die?” “You swore a solemn vow.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
Who you were,” Lyre corrected, wiping his hand across the trickling blood on his face, smearing it over one cheek. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re still female.” Natania’s eyes narrowed, then she threw her head back and loosed a chiming peal of laughter. “You think you can defeat me with aphrodesia?” Lyre’s eyes darkened to black. “I already have.” Natania took a quick step back, her hand clenching around the Sahar as power leaped into her. Lyre’s hand snapped down the front of his shirt where he kept his chain of spelled gems. He yanked it out, blood-coated fingers already clenched around a gem. Gold light flashed. The world went black.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
She pushed him back onto the leafy ground, sprawling on his chest without breaking their kiss. His hands were in her hair, holding her mouth against his. Breathing wasn’t necessary. All she needed was him. If only she could freeze time so they never had to be apart again. Piper’s hands tightened on the ropes attached to the spines on Tenryu’s shoulders. She was crouched tight to his back, tension making her whole body ache as she tried to ignore the dizzying vertigo of the drop behind her.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
An immense, silver-scaled head burst out of the water, followed by a curving neck. The massive water dragon rose out of the sea, sliding through the churning waves toward the beach.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
He loved the rain and the raw energy of crashing storms. I'm going to die in the rain. Too much has happened to me in the rain. I'm going to die in the rain.
Mark Berent (Steel Tiger (Wings of War, #2))
And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass, But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
There’s something wrong with him,” Hedya said, her voice flat and icy. “Something dangerous.
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
Storm Catechism" The gods are rinsing their just-boiled pasta in a colander, which is why it is humid and fitfully raining down here in the steel sink of mortal life. Sometimes you can smell the truffle oil and hear the ambrosia being knocked back, sometimes you catch a drift of laughter in that thunder crack: Zeus knocking over his glass, spilling lightning into a tree. The tree shears away from itself and falls on a car, killing a high school girl. Or maybe it just crashes down on a few trash cans, and the next day gets cut up and hauled away by the city. Either way, hilarity. The gods are infinitely perfect as is their divine mac and cheese. Where does macaroni come from? Where does matter? Why does the cat act autistic when you call her, then bat a moth around for an hour, watching intently as it drags its wings over the area rug? The gods were here first, and they're bigger. They always were, and always will be living it up in their father's mansion. You only crawled from the drain a few millennia ago, after inventing legs for yourself so you could stand, inventing fists in order to raise them and curse the heavens. Do the gods see us? Will the waters be rising soon? The waters will be rising soon. Find someone or something to cling to.
Kim Addonizio
He broke off because of an ugly little sucking sound that ended in a tiny plop. In the hazy glow from the nobles’ quarter they saw a horridly supernatural sight: the Mouser’s bloody dagger poised above Gis’s punctured eye socket, supported only by a coiling white tentacle of the fog which had masked their attackers and which had now grown still more dense, as if it had sucked supreme nutriment—as indeed it had—from its dead servitors in their dying. Eldritch dreads woke in the Mouser and Fafhrd: dreads of the lightning that slays from the storm-cloud, of the giant sea-serpent that strikes from the sea, of the shadows that coalesce in the forest to suffocate the mighty man lost, of the black smoke-snake that comes questing from the wizard’s fire to strangle. All around them was a faint clattering of steel against cobble: other fog-tentacles were lifting the four dropped swords and Gis’s knife, while yet others were groping at that dead cutthroat’s belt for his undrawn weapons. It was as if some great ghost squid from the depths of the Inner Sea were arming itself for combat.
Fritz Leiber (Swords in the Mist)
You call it darkness. But it was that quality in you that made you open the world for us. It made you seek out the healing techniques that you have passed on to me, to others. It allowed you to perform the miracles that you have performed for our people. It has done the same for Julian," Aidan replied softly. The silver eyes paled to steel. Cold. Bleak. Empty. "It led both of us to things that should never have been learned. In the acquisition of knowledge comes power, Aidan. But without rules, without emotions, without a concept of right or wrong, it is far too easy to abuse that power." "All Carpathians are aware of that, Gregori," Aidan argued. "You, more than most, know the concept of right and wrong. And so does Julian. Why have you endured, resisted wrong, when others turned? You fought for justice, for our people. You had a code, and you have always lived up to it, as you are doing now. You say you have no feeling, but what of the compassion you felt for your lifemate when she was so frightened? You cannot turn. Every moment is an eternity for you, I know, but you have an end in sight." Gregori's cold eyes seemed to impale Aidan, but the younger Carpathian did not flinch. He held Gregori's gaze until Alexandria could have sworn she saw a flicker of fire, a flame, springing from one to the other. Gregori's hard mouth softened slightly. "You have learned well, Aidan. You are a healer of both body and mind." Aidan inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. The wind howled, the waves crashed, and Gregori launched himself into the dark, roiling clouds. A black shape spread across the sky, an ominous shadow staining the heavens, and then it moved north and faded away as if it had never been, taking the storm with it.
Christine Feehan (Dark Gold (Dark, #3))
The Thunderground is a secret place waiting inside every one of us... It's the needle in the eye of the storm that's life, the testing point that'll make or break you in the God-Emperor's eyes. You'll only walk it once, but that walk will be forever. There's no turning back and no second chances so you'd better walk with fire in you heart and steel in your spine.
Peter Fehervari (Fire Caste (The Dark Coil))
Thinking of Osha made Bran wonder where she was. He pictured her safe in White Harbor with Rickon and Shaggydog, eating eels and fish and hot crab pie with fat Lord Manderly.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
Hodor,” said Hodor. “Hodor,” Bran agreed.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
There was Harma Dogshead, a squat keg of a woman with cheeks like slabs of white meat, who hated dogs and killed one every fortnight to make a fresh head for her banner;
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
You would wail for hours, and nothing would quiet you but a woman’s teat.” “Still true, as it happens.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Part 1 Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3 part 1))
His eyes were blued steel, lined in coal and cut through with silver. They were like clouds and storms and all the things she’d never understood about poetry and romance novels.
Melissa Wright (King of Ash and Bone (Shattered Realms #1))
No.” A look of dawning comprehension. “Ah, that. The regret, is that what you’re talking about? This sense of loss? Yes, he always talked about that, too. It’s a mortal thing, as far as I can tell. The aspect storm is a warp in the fabric of every possible outcome the universe will allow. It gathers in the alternatives like a bride gathering in her gown. For a mortal, those alternatives are mostly paths they’ll never take, things they’ll never do. At some level, the organism seems to know that.
Richard K. Morgan (The Steel Remains (A Land Fit for Heroes, #1))
Against all probability the war machine was actually flying. Bristling with every kind of weapon imaginable, it filled the sky like an ominous storm cloud; a vast slab of hastily riveted steel, topped with a hundred or so yards of London clay and a square mile of its most historic sites.
Indigo Lane (Goblin Night Fever)
Megga couldn’t sing, but she was mad to be kissed. She and Alla played a kissing game sometimes, she confessed, but it wasn’t the same as kissing a man, much less a king. Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He’d come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
The Dornishman’s wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman’s blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.
George R.R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire, 5-Book Boxed Set: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire 1-5))
I am talking to him, and he's touching me, he's holding my arm and touching me.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Dead, all dead but me, and I am dead to the world.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
They had woken him as they had her, pounding on his door in the black of night to yank him rudely from his dreams. Were they good dreams, brother? Do you dream of sunlight and laughter and a maiden's kisses? I pray you do. Her own dreams were dark and laced with terrors.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Last night in his cups he had broken down and wept, full of regrets for things undone and words unsaid.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
Can you guess what I'm wearing?" "Nothing?" "Oh, you're so smart," she pouted snatching her hands away. "How did you know?" "You're very beautiful in nothing." "Am I?" she said. "Am I truly?" "Oh yes." "Then shouldn't you be fucking me instead of talking?
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
He stands alone in a wasteland of black sand, a realm of charcoal graveyards.  The black mountain stands in the distance, impossibly tall, a rip in the sky.  The forest lies at its feet, subjugated by the peak’s brutal size.  The stink of crumbled empires and the breath of ghosts drift on the ice wind breeze. There is nothing beyond the glade and the mountain.  They are adrift, an island in a sea of nothing.  Black sands run to infinity.  He feels the icy cold of the open desert, and he gazes up to a bloody red sky filled with swirling steel clouds.  Dead air whips along the ground, and it draws sand up into a black storm that takes to the sky like a predatory flock.
Steven Montano (Blood Skies (Blood Skies, #1))
The approaching storm turns the surface of the sea to steel and silver. Only danger reflects clearly from such a mirror.
Jayne Ann Krentz (Deep Waters)
a wise man could earn more from silence than from song.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Fire and Ice #3, Part 1 of 2))
Again, that fist struck from inside. And then bones snapped, punching outward, ripping through muscle and skin as if his chest cavity were the petals of a blooming flower. There was nothing inside. No blood, no organs. Only a mighty, ageless darkness—and two flickering golden embers at its core. Not embers. Eyes. Simmering with ancient malice. They narrowed in acknowledgment and pleasure. It took every ounce of her fire to steel her spine, to tilt her head at a jaunty angle and drawl, “At least you know how to make a good entrance, Erawan.
Sarah J. Maas (Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5))
There is no Weatherfax map on the Stella Lykes—only the barometer, the barographs, the teletypes from NOAA. The radar can see a storm, but that is like seeing a fist just before it hits you. When a storm is out there, somewhere, beyond the visible sky, the ship will let him know. “When you get close to a big storm, you can feel it. For some reason, the ship takes on almost a little uncertainty. She’s almost like a live thing—like they say animals can sense bad weather coming. Sometimes I almost believe a ship can. I know that doesn’t make sense, because she’s steel and wood and metal, but she picks up a little uncertainty, probably something that is being transmitted through the water. It’s hard to define. It’s just a tiny little different motion, a little hesitancy, a little tremble from time to time.” Off
John McPhee (Looking for a Ship)
September Day sloshed another half cup of coffee into the giant #1-Bitch mug, and glared out the frosty breakfast nook windows. North Texas didn’t get snow. That’s why she’d moved back home—well, one of several reasons. She shivered, relishing the warmth of the beverage, and toasted the storm with a curse. “Damn false advertising.” Her cat Macy meowed agreement. The blizzard drove icy wind through cracks in the antique windows and made the just-in-case candles on the dark countertop sputter. She pulled the fuzzy bathrobe closer around her neck. Normally the kitchen’s stained glass spilled peacock-bright color into the kitchen. Not today, though. The reinforced security grills on the windows and dark clouds outside transformed the room’s slate floor, bright countertops and brushed-steel appliances into a grim cell. Overhead lights flickered on, off and back on again. They’d done that for the past hour. Crap. More stuff for the contractors to fix. One candle guttered in the draft, and September mentally added window caulk to her list. She prayed the electricity wouldn’t go out, since the backup generator in the garage would take finagling to find, let alone to start. She
Amy Shojai (Lost And Found (September Day Series, #1))
Eighty-five years after the storms of steel of the German-French fronts, sixty-five years after the peak of the Stalinist mass exterminations, fifty-five years after the liberation of Auschwitz, and just as long after the bombardments of Dresden, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, the swinging back of the Zeitgeist to the preference for middling circumstances is to be understood as a tribute to normalization. In this regard, it has an unconditionally affirmative civilizing value. Furthermore, democracy per se presupposes the cultivation of middling circumstances. As is well known, spirit spits what is lukewarm out of its mouth; in contrast, pragmatism holds that the temperature of life is lukewarm. Thus the impulse toward the middle, the cardinal symptom of the fin de siècle, does not have only political motives. It symbolizes the weariness of apocalypse felt by a society that has had to hear too much of revolutions and paradigm shifts. But above all it expresses the general pull toward the conversion of the drama of history into the insurance industry. Insurance policies anchor antiextremism in the routines of the post-radical society. The insurance industry is humanism minus book culture. It brings into shape the insight that human beings as a rule do not wish to be revolutionized, but rather to be safeguarded. Whoever understands this will bank on the fact that in the future contra-innovative revolts from out of the spirit of the insurance claim are most probable of all.
Peter Sloterdijk (Not Saved: Essays After Heidegger)
He was already about to catch a cold in this storm; the water seeped through the many gashes of his shirt, and no matter how he tried to avoid it, the rain managed to drench him. As he walked across this field, his movement stunted due to his injury, he heard a hissing sound behind him. When he turned around, he saw the familiar dead stare of the Creeper. Immediately, he unsheathed his sword, a crude steel blade that he had forged in a hurry. He began slashing at it with ferocity, screaming as he did. The Creeper fell down, disappearing in a puff of smoke. Creepers were commonplace, but this one caused his patience to fall apart. What was wrong with him? The
Mark Mulle (The Cult: Part 1: (An Unofficial Minecraft Book for Kids Age 9-12))
I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and life-in-death. [...] At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
W.B. Yeats
As they came together in a rush of steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. “Eddard!” she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death. “Lord Eddard,” Lyanna called again. “I promise,” he whispered. “Lya, I promise
George R.R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire, 5-Book Boxed Set: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire 1-5))
Seeing is of course very much a matter of verbalization. Unless I call my attention to what passes before my eyes, I simply won’t see it. It is, as Ruskin says, “not merely unnoticed, but in the full clear sense of the word, unseen.” If Tinker Mountain erupted, I’d be likely to notice. But if I want to notice the lesser cataclysms of valley life, I have to maintain in my head a running description of the present…when I see this way I analyze and pry. I hurl over logs and roll away stones; I study the bank a square foot at a time, probing and tilting my head. Some days when the mist covers the mountains, when the muskrats won’t show and the microscope’s mirror shatters, I want to climb up the blank blue dome as a man would storm the inside of a circus tent, wildly, dangling, and with a steel knife, claw a rent in the top, peep, and if I must, fall. But there is another kind of seeing that involves a letting go. When I see this way I sway transfixed and emptied. The difference between the two ways of seeing is the difference between walking with and without a camera. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment’s light prints on my own silver gut. It was sunny one evening last summer at Tinker Creek; the sun was low in the sky, upstream. I was sitting on the sycamore log bridge with the sunset at my back, watching the shiners the size of minnows who were feeding over the muddy bottom…again and again, one fish, then another, turned for a split second and flash! the sun shot out from its silver side. I couldn’t watch for it. It was always just happening somewhere else…so I blurred my eyes and gazed towards the brim of my hat and saw a new world. I saw the pale white circles roll up, roll up like the world’s turning, mute and perfect, and I saw the linear flashes, gleaming silver, like stars being born at random down a rolling scroll of time. Something broke and something opened. I filled up like a new wineskin. I breathed an air like light; I saw a light like water. I was the lip of a fountain the creek filled forever; I was ether, the leaf in the zephyr; I was flesh-flake, feather, bone. When I see this way, I see truly.
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
Ranks of men on foot, men with shields, men with weapons, a shield wall that was meant to awe us, and it did. A shield wall is a terrible thing. It is a wall of wood, iron, and steel with one purpose alone, to kill. And this shield wall was massive, a wall of painted round shields stretching wide across the ridge’s flat top, and above it were the banners of the jarls, chieftains, and kings who had come to kill us.
Bernard Cornwell (Warriors of the Storm (The Saxon Stories, #9))
What evil?” He laughed. “What gods?” “The gods who made us all.” “All?” he mocked. “Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda’s daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with.” “True knights protect the weak.” He snorted. “There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.
George R.R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire, 5-Book Boxed Set: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire 1-5))
He pulls me into the steel of his chest. In between kissing me, he whispers, “You don’t have to be jealous of them, you know. None of them hold a candle to you.
Magda Alexander (Storm Redemption (Storm Damages, #3))
They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world …  “And the man breaks.
George R.R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire, 5-Book Boxed Set: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire 1-5))
It was easy to forget that sometimes, when they were laughing together, or kissing. But then one of them would say something, or do something, and he would suddenly be reminded of the wall between their worlds.
George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, #3: Part 1 of 2))
The warlord of Taroth and his great dragon would really like you to take your soldiers and leave. How about you start packing up now?” “The
Annette Marie (Unleash the Storm (Steel & Stone, #5))
For dangers past—an old soldier’s laugh. For those to come—a full glass, though death and the devil grin there, as long as the wine was good.
Ernst Jünger (The Storm of Steel: Original 1929 Translation)
Vardy’s rise was truly remarkable. He’d been released by Sheffield Wednesday as a teenager and completely quit football for seven months, before storming up the footballing pyramid in a manner rarely witnessed, starting at eighth-tier Stocksbridge Park Steels, where his wage was £30 a week. Following a conviction for assault, he played for six months with an electronic tag around his ankle and was forced to observe a home curfew from 6 pm every evening, which meant being substituted midway through the second half at away matches and driving home quickly. Then came a move to seventh-tier Halifax Town for £15,000, while he worked full-time at a factory making carbon-fibre splints. Twenty-nine goals in 41 games earned him a transfer to Fleetwood Town, in the fifth tier of English football. He spent just a season there, because 34 goals in 42 matches meant Leicester were prepared to spend £1m to secure his services – a record for a non-league player.
Michael Cox (The Mixer: The Story of Premier League Tactics, from Route One to False Nines)
Ariosto’s: ‘A great heart feels no dread of approaching death, whenever it may come, so long as it be honourable.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
Christine's heart is thumping wildly. She lets herself be led (her aunt means her nothing but good) into a tiled and mirrored room full of warmth and sweetly scented with mild floral soap and sprayed perfumes; an electrical apparatus roars like a mountain storm in the adjoining room. The hairdresser, a brisk, snub-nosed Frenchwoman, is given all sorts of instructions, little of which Christine understands or cares to. A new desire has come over her to give herself up, to submit and let herself be surprised. She allows herself to be seated in the comfortable barber's chair and her aunt disappears. She leans back gently, and, eyes closed in a luxurious stupor, senses a mechanical clattering, cold steel on her neck, and the easy incomprehensible chatter of the cheerful hairdresser; she breathes in clouds of fragrance and lets aromatic balms and clever fingers run over her hair and neck. Just don't open your eyes, she thinks. If you do, it might go away. Don't question anything, just savor this Sundayish feeling of sitting back for once, of being waited on instead of waiting on other people. Just let our hands fall into your lap, let good things happen to you, let it come, savor it, this rare swoon of lying back and being ministered to, this strange voluptuous feeling you haven't experienced in years, in decades. Eyes closed, feeling the fragrant warmth enveloping her, she remembers the last time: she's a child, in bed, she had a fever for days, but now it's over and her mother brings some sweet white almond milk, her father and her brother are sitting by her bed, everyone's taking care of her, everyone's doing things for her, they're all gentle and nice. In the next room the canary is singing mischievously, the bed is soft and warm, there's no need to go to school, everything's being done for her, there are toys on the bed, though she's too pleasantly lulled to play with them; no, it's better to close her eyes and really feel, deep down, the idleness, the being waited on. It's been decades since she thought of this lovely languor from her childhood, but suddenly it's back: her skin, her temples bathed in warmth are doing the remembering. A few times the brisk salonist asks some question like, 'Would you like it shorter?' But she answers only, 'Whatever you think,' and deliberately avoids the mirror held up to her. Best not to disturb the wonderful irresponsibility of letting things happen to you, this detachment from doing or wanting anything. Though it would be tempting to give someone an order just once, for the first time in your life, to make some imperious demand, to call for such and such. Now fragrance from a shiny bottle streams over her hair, a razor blade tickles her gently and delicately, her head feels suddenly strangely light and the skin of her neck cool and bare. She wants to look in the mirror, but keeping her eyes closed in prolonging the numb dreamy feeling so pleasantly. Meanwhile a second young woman has slipped beside her like a sylph to do her nails while the other is waving her hair. She submits to it all without resistance, almost without surprise, and makes no protest when, after an introductory 'Vous etes un peu pale, Mademoiselle,' the busy salonist, employing all manner of pencils and crayons, reddens her lips, reinforces the arches of her eyebrows, and touches up the color of her cheeks. She's aware of it all and, in her pleasant detached stupor, unaware of it too: drugged by the humid, fragrance-laden air, she hardly knows if all this happening to her or to some other, brand-new self. It's all dreamily disjointed, not quite real, and she's a little afraid of suddenly falling out of the dream.
Stefan Zweig (The Post-Office Girl)
The living miracle lying across the room on a rug of black hair, this pale, porcelain miracle, as delicate as spun glass, as tough as steel, was a potential Goddess. And to be used for what? To partake in coldblooded, passionless experiences, without magick or reverence or love. It sickened him.
Storm Constantine (Hermetech)
She regarded herself as a true professional; 50 percent carbon-steel image, honed to glittering perfection, 45 per cent killer class business woman, 5 per cent dangerous psychotic.
Storm Constantine (Hermetech)
In war you learn your lessons, and they stay learned, but the tuition fees are high.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
There’s nothing like being in your own bed at home, and your old woman nuzzling you all over.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
The man with the wound in the belly, a very young lad, lay in amongst us, stretched out like a cat in the warm rays of the setting sun. He slipped into death with an almost childlike smile on his face. It was a sight that didn’t oppress me, but left me with a fraternal feeling for the dying man.
Ernst Jünger (Storm of Steel)
For this reason I consider that troops composed of boys of twenty, under experienced leadership, are the most formidable.
Ernst Jünger (The Storm of Steel: Original 1929 Translation)