Sworn Duty Quotes

When a woman submits to a man, it's the most precious gift she can give. Herself. Unreservedly. The man has to respect and honor that gift above all else. Even if he respects nothing else in the world, he must respect the woman in his care. It's his sworn duty to protect, honor and cherish his submissive. To take care of her and provide a safe haven. Someone who would put his own needs above his woman's is no man.

You don’t understand.She was mean to me. Very mean. And she’s dangerous. A very dangerous girl. I’m your guardian, Ayden. I have to protect you!It’s my sworn duty. My sworn duty!” “Protect me?” “Yes!” Pearl hovered frantically in front of “her boy,” and slathered her voice with disgust. “She threatened to…” Oh, she wouldn’t. “Kiss you!” She would. My cheeks fired. I stared at the floor. Ayden laughed. “Kiss me?” “Yeeeeesss,” Pearl wailed in agony. “She promised a big juicy kiss! On a real date. No pretending. With hand holding and—and cuddling!” And I thought it couldn’t get any worse.

The Hierarchic Qualm: The sword kills. But the arm moves the sword. Is the arm to blame for murder? No. The mind moves the arm. Is the mind to blame? No. The mind has sworn an oath to duty, and that duty moves the mind, as written by the Throne. So it is that a servant of the Throne is blameless.

In situations like this - when you meet somebody who isn't an ordinary human - people like me have two choices. One: to exhibit plain and obvious hostility towards that person; or two: to feel a strong affinity for that person. I always choose the latter option. I never hesitate to thank them just for existing; it's almost like it's my sworn duty.

We were taught that, even if we wore a uniform, that our first sworn duty was to our conscience, no matter what the consequences.

For years he had complained that political leaders were disregarding their sworn duty to safeguard the Mormons' constitutionally guaranteed freedom to worship without being subjected to harassment, and worse, at the hands of the religious majority. Yet in both word and deed, Joseph repeatedly demonstrated that he himself had little respect for the religious views of non-Mormons, and was unlikely to respect the constitutional rights of other faiths if he somehow won the presidency and were running the show.

I may not be a role model, angel, nor a saint. But my obligation and my sworn duty is to never silently ignore evil, Rather, it is to get as close as I can to it, then destroy it.

Ten times a day I am compelled to reflect on my past life ... and I can never justify to myself the spending of four years on dramatic criticism. I have sworn an oath to endure no more of it. Never again will I cross the threshold of a theatre. The subject is exhausted; and so am I. I am off duty forever, and am going to sleep.

The American dream works when our common humanity matters more than our interesting differences and when together they create endless possibilities. That’s an America worth fighting—even dying—for. And, more important, it’s an America worth living and working for. I did not betray our country and my sworn duty to protect and defend it when I went missing to battle what we came to call Dark

...there are older people, teachers for example, of whom it is insufficient merely to say that they are unforgettable. People who have helped you in some significant way, I mean. You have to admit that these people are worthy to be remembered. Since they have sworn no oath of duty or affection for you, they have no obligation to you. You are just a stranger to them, and even when, by the very nature of things, you have forgotten them, it does not mean that you are lacking in affection or sense of obligation. However, there are some people in this world that you can just never forget.

The senator...was a smart man who had made his way in life with a single-mindedness oblivious to any of those stumbling blocks known as conscience, sworn oaths, justice, duty...

You ask me to forgive you? I’m thanking you. You finally loved me in that moment, and that love set me free, released me from my sworn duty.

...I do not think that it is right for a man to appeal to the jury or to get himself acquitted by doing so; he ought to inform them of the facts and convince them by argument. The jury does not sit to dispense justice as a favour, but to decide where justice lies; and the oath which they have sworn is not to show favour at their own discretion, but to return a just and lawful verdict... Therefore you must not expect me, gentlemen, to behave towards you in a way which I consider neither reputable nor moral nor consistent with my religious duty.

Her slender arms instantly circled his neck so that she could press her body against his hard frame. "I am a superstar,lifemate,yet you wish to leave me along at every opportunity. There are men everywhere who would be happy to take your place by my side." He bent his head, his teeth scraping a provocative rythm over her pulse. Desari went liquid, boneless, her stomach clenching in anticipation. "No, they would not be happy to take my place at your side,cara mia, because I would promptly end their lives in a most unhappy way." "You are such a caveman, Julian. You look tall and elegant and princely, yet you have not matured beyond the cave." Desari allowed her tongue a brief inspection of the taste of his skin. She closed her eyes to savor the moment. "I have no intention of rising above caveman mentality," he growled in her ear, his breath teasing tendrils of hair and sending little flames dancing through her bloodstream. "There are so many benefits for the caveman." "You like playing the part of the dominant male,no doubt," she whispered, her voice so husky with need that his body tightened in urgent, painful response. Her mouth moved over his throat, her hands seeking skin beneath his shirt. "I have a need of you, lifemate, and you are deliberately ignoring your sworn duties to me." "Little minx.

Afterall, it’s my sworn duty to protect every single one of her victims; all past, present and future. I take full responsibility for my family’s atonement on her behalf. Especially, as the mother who bore the monster. This is my final act of penance for the unholy sins committed by my daughter. A child born out of my own flesh and blood.

[He] seemed to possess, beneath it all, an immutable sense of self-assurance, but in addition to that, the look of a man ensnared by what he perceived to be his own Duty. A Duty that effervesced inside of him impatiently, dry at the mouth, shaking feverishly, and holding its breath in anticipation for—not his action, but in fact—the fruits of his actions, however distant these may have been. The goal was to satiate its thirst in as few moves as possible, instilling each action with an almost implied necessity for having a motive by which it must exist, which is to say that no action was to be wasted for anything, but only for that which was rooted in some definable and clear-cut purpose...Every action had to be a step in some direction and there could be no dillydallying, for Duty bubbling in the bloodstream for too long brought with it a kind of sickness...from which it was difficult to recover. Neither could there be any reconsideration, for the values to which one has sworn were unassailable and beyond the powers of one individual to reassess. And so, Duty, once instilled, must be allowed to carry on unabated, diverting sustenance away from other aspects of one’s character—driving them to a weakened state, brow-beaten by circumstances beyond their immediate control and relegated to their own downtrodden acquiescence to the bravado of the Parasitic Superego, and, as such, cognizant of their growing superfluity.

The sword kills,” Baru recited, trying to remember the Handbook of Manumission, its arguments for revolutionary zeal. “But the arm moves the sword. Is the arm to blame for murder? No. The mind moves the arm. Is the mind to blame? No. The mind has sworn an oath to duty, and that duty moves the mind, as written by the Throne. So it is that a servant of the Throne is blameless.

It is a rare man or woman who is ever really changed by ascension to high office, or tempered by the solemnity of the oaths they have sworn or by the national duties they have shouldered. And Spiro Agnew was certainly not among that rare breed.

To whom it may concern, The bearer of this letter, Mr Franklin Liddle, is hereby employed by the Secret Service of her Royal Majesty Queen Victoria, and is on a special assignment for the British government. By Royal Decree, let it be known that should Mr Liddle break any laws while completing work of a most delicate nature, he is absolved of any wrongdoing. Officers of the law should not restrict Mr Liddle from completing such work even if it seems contrary to your sworn duty. Interfering with Mr Liddle’s aforementioned work may result in your own incarceration and possible execution. Signed, Mycroft Holmes   The

The first law of the land shall be the King’s Peace,” King Aegon decreed, “and any lord who goes to war without my leave shall be considered a rebel and an enemy of the Iron Throne.” King Aegon also issued decrees regularizing customs, duties, and taxes throughout the realm, whereas previously every port and every petty lord had been free to exact however much they could from tenants, smallfolk, and merchants. He also proclaimed that the holy men and women of the Faith, and all their lands and possessions, were to be exempt from taxation, and affirmed the right of the Faith’s own courts to try and sentence any septon, Sworn Brother, or holy sister accused of malfeasance.

I think that it is high time for the United States Senate and its members to do some real soul searching and to weigh our consciences as to the manner in which we are performing our duty to the people of America and the manner in which we are using or abusing our individual powers and privileges. I think that it is high time that we remembered that we have sworn to uphold and defend the Constitution.

People in bands often have this well-intentioned but misguided notion that, somehow, the payin' customers have some sort of responsibility to... y'know... pay and be customers - that the general populace has some kinda cultural duty to provide an audience for musicians, so their latest bit of creative brilliance may be dutifully appreciated and validated. The truth is nothing of the sort. No one has a duty, real or implied, to pay attention to ANYTHING. A band isn't entitled to an audience just because they put in the effort required for being a band; a band isn't really entitled to anything ((other than free beer. Fair is fair!)). This ass-backwardness of the highest order. The only entitlement in the whole band-crowd dynamic is on the part of the crowd, who, by paying their cover ((or, at bare minimum, showing up)), are ENTITLED to being ENTERTAINED. Conversely, the only cultural duty in a crowd-band situation is incumbent on the BAND, not the crowd - it is the band's sworn duty to ENTERTAIN THE CROWD. That's how it works. The BAND are the ones with responsibilities and duties; the crowd can do whatever the fuck they want.

Justices in the United States believe that their duty is to uphold the Constitution, but if they do not understand that the authority of the Constitution itself rests upon the inalienable natural rights of all human beings, then they not only undermine the Constitution, which they are sworn to uphold but also turn themselves into wielders of arbitrary power. Regrettably, this misuse of power occurred in both the Dred Scott decision and in the Roe v. Wade decision (and its subsequent interpretation in cases such as Planned Parenthood of Southeastern Pennsylvania v. Robert P. Casey).

In the year after Chris died, a friend organized a trip for the kids and me to use the time-share at Disney World in Florida. I felt exceptionally lonely the night we arrived in our rental car, exhausted from our flight. Getting our suitcases out, I mentioned something along the lines of “I wish we had Dad here.” “Me, too,” said both of the kids. “But he’s still with us,” I told them, forcing myself to sound as optimistic as possible. “He’s always here.” It’s one thing to say that and another to feel it, and as we walked toward the building I didn’t feel that way at all. We went upstairs--our apartment was on the second floor--and went to the door. A tiny frog was sitting on the door handle. A frog, really? Talk about strange. Anyone who knows the history of the SEALs will realize they trace their history to World War II combat divers: “frogmen” specially trained to infiltrate and scout enemy beaches before invasions (among other duties). They’re very proud of that heritage, and they still occasionally refer to themselves as frogmen or frogs. SEALs often feature frogs in various tattoos and other art related to the brotherhood. As a matter of fact, Chris had a frog skeleton tattoo as a tribute to fallen SEALs. (The term frogman is thought to derive from the gear the combat divers wore, as well as their ability to work both on land and at sea.) But for some reason, I didn’t make the connection. I was just consumed by the weirdness--who finds a frog, even a tiny one, on a door handle? The kids gathered round. Call me squeamish, but I didn’t want to touch it. “Get it off, Bubba!” I said. “No way.” We hunted around and found a little tree branch on the grounds. I held it up to the doorknob, hoping it would hop on. It was reluctant at first, but finally it toddled over to the outside of the door jam. I left it to do whatever frogs do in the middle of the night. Inside the apartment, we got settled. I took out my cell phone and called my mom to say we’d arrived safely. “There was one strange thing,” I told her. “There was a frog on the door handle when we arrived.” “A…frog?” “Yes, it’s like a jungle down here, so hot and humid.” “A frog?” “Yeah.” “And you don’t think there’s anything interesting about that?” “Oh my God,” I said, suddenly realizing the connection. I know, I know: just a bizarre coincidence. Probably. I did sleep really well that night. The next morning I woke up before the kids and went into the living room. I could have sworn Chris was sitting on the couch waiting for me when I came out. I can’t keep seeing you everywhere. Maybe I’m crazy. I’m sorry. It’s too painful. I went and made myself a cup of coffee. I didn’t see him anymore that week.

Speech to the Reichstag Berlin, December 11 Deputies! Men of the German Reichstag! Ever since the rejection of my last peace proposal in July 1940, we have been aware that this war has to be fought to the bitter end. That the Anglo-American, Jewish-capitalist world formed a front with Bolshevism does not come as a surprise to us National Socialists. At home, we found them in the same union, and we succeeded in our struggle at home by defeating our enemies after a sixteen-year-long struggle for power. When I decided twenty-three years ago to enter politics in order to reverse the decline of the nation, I was a nameless, unknown soldier. Many of you know how difficult the first years of this struggle were. The way from a small movement of seven men to the taking over of responsible government on January 30, 1933, was so miraculous that Providence itself must have made it possible through its blessings. Today, I head the strongest army in the world, the mightiest air force, and a proud navy. Behind me, I am conscious of the sworn community of the party, which made me great and which became great through me. The enemies that I confront have been known to be our enemies for over twenty years. Alas, the road that lies ahead of me cannot be compared to the one lying behind me. The German Volk realizes the decisiveness of the hour for its existence. Under the most difficult circumstances, millions of soldiers are obediently and loyally doing their duty. The American President and his plutocratic clique have called us a people of have nots. That is right! And these have-nots want to live. In any event, they will not allow the owners to rob them of the little that they have to live on. My party comrades, you know my relentless resolve to conclude a struggle victoriously once it has begun. You know my intention not to shy away from anything in such a fight and to break all the resistance that has to be broken. In my speech on September 1, 1939, I assured you that, in this struggle, neither the force of arms nor time will defeat Germany. I want to assure my enemies that neither will the force of arms nor time defeat us, but neither inner doubts make us falter in the fulfillment of our duty. When we consider the sacrifices of our soldiers, how they risk their lives, then the sacrifices of the homeland become completely insignificant and unimportant. When we think of the numbers of those who, generations before us, fell for the existence and greatness of the German Volk, then we become all the more aware of the greatness of the duty imposed on us. Whoever seeks to forsake this duty has no right to expect treatment as a Volksgenosse in our midst. Therefore, no one can expect to live who thinks that he can depreciate the front’s sacrifices at home. Irrespective of the form of disguise for this attempt to disrupt this German front, to undermine this Volk’s willingness to resist, to weaken the authority of this regime, to sabotage the efforts of the homeland, the offender will fall! There will be only one difference: the soldier honorably makes this sacrifice at the front, while the other, who wishes to depreciate this honorable sacrifice, dies in shame. Our enemies should not deceive themselves. In the two thousand years of the history known to us, our German Volk has never been more unified and united than it is today. The Lord of the Worlds has done so many great things for us in the last years that we bow in gratitude before Providence, which has permitted us to be members of such a great Volk. We thank Him that, in view of past and future generations of the German Volk, we were also allowed to enter our names honorably in the undying book of German history.

ANYTHING LIKE THAT 11/26/32 A YOUNG LADY, born in Russia, confided to us that she was about to become an American citizen, and would we be her witness, for she needed someone to testify to her good character and good intentions. Greatly touched, we dressed in a semiformal manner and accompanied her to a sort of barn over on the North River. Here we were tossed about from one United States naturalization clerk to another United States naturalization clerk, and eventually wound up before a bench, an American flag, and a grim, chilly examiner. After a few routine questions, the man suddenly speeded up his voice and inquired: “Do you believe in Communism, anarchism, polygamy—or anything like that?” And before we could pry into the phrase “anything like that”—which we felt it our duty to do—our young friend had blithely answered no, and it was all over. She is now an American citizen, a very pretty one, sworn never to believe in Anything Like That.

First, the police officer has a sworn duty to seek out, confront, and arrest very bad people for doing very bad things, and to press forward in the face of armed resistance. This is the opposite of what the citizen should be doing, namely avoidance, deterrence, de-escalation and evasion. Using the firearm is a last ditch, desperate measure, as a last resort for the armed citizen.

They are of course aware of a higher calling, because they are sworn to defend this country and to fight its battles. And when the drum sounds, they're going to come out fighting. And when it does sound, the hearts of a thousand loved ones miss a beat, and the guys know this as well as anyone. But for them, duty and commitment are stronger than anyone's aching heart. And those highly trained warriors automatically pick up their rifles and ammunition and go forward to obey the wishes of their commander in chief. Pg. 55

Why would you say that?' 'Are you seriously asking me that?' Yes I am. It doesn't make sense.' 'You don't make sense.' I hit his shoulder- or chest. Some extremely hard part of him. Hawke grunted. 'Ouch.' I so did not hit him hard enough for that. 'You're fine.' 'I'm bruised.' 'You're ridiculous,' I retorted. 'And it's you who makes no sense.' 'I'm the one sitting here being honest. You're the one hitting me. How do I not make sense?' 'Because this whole thing makes no sense.' Frustration rose swiftly through me, and I started to stand, but the hand on my hip stopped me. Or I let it stop me. I wasn't sure. And that was even more irritating. 'You could be spending time with anyone, Hawke- any number of people you wouldn't have to hide in a willow tree to be with.' 'And yet, I'm here with you. And before you even begin to think it's because of my duty to you, it's not. I could've just walked you back to your room and stayed out in the hall.' 'That's my point. It makes no sense. You can have a slew of willing participants in... whatever this is. It would be easy,' I said. Pretty Britta came to mind. I was sure he'd had her. 'You can't have me. I'm... I'm un-have-able.' 'I'm confident that's not even a word.' 'That's not the point. I'm not allowed to do this. Any of this. I shouldn't have done what I did at the Red Pearl,' I continued. 'It doesn't matter if I want.' 'And you do want.' His whisper danced over my cheek. 'What you want is me.' My breath caught. 'That doesn't matter.' 'What you want should always matter.' A short, harsh laugh left me. 'It doesn't, and that's another thing that isn't the point. You could-' 'I heard you the first time, Princess. You're right. I could find someone who would be easier.' His fingers traced the line of my mask from my right ear and along my cheek. I had no idea how he could see. 'Ladies or Lords in Wait, who aren't burdened by rules or limitations, who aren't Maidens I'm sworn to protect. There are a lot of ways I could occupy my time that don't include explaining in great detail why I'm choosing to be where I am, with whom I choose.' The corners of my lips started to turn down. 'The thing is,' he went on, 'none of them intrigue me. You do.' You intrigue me. 'It's really that simple for you?' I asked, wanting to believe him, and also not. His forehead rested against mine, startling me. 'Nothing is ever simple. And when it is, it's rarely ever worth it.

Maybe if he got to know her better, he could find a way to share the truth about Coop’s killer without betraying his people. Sure, that was real likely. He could imagine her hanging on to every word as he explained that neither he nor Coop’s killer was really human, and both had powers straight out of a graphic novel or superhero comic book. He could prove his claim by shooting off a few energy bolts and making his eyes glow. Once that totally freaked her out, he could explain it was his sworn duty as a Talion to execute bad guys instead of letting the civil authorities do their job.

The painting hangs beside the first window in the Hall of Gazes, charmed against fading or dust. The queen bathed in a flood of sunlight is Gantharla First-Queen, and the sword is Symylazarr, the sword all have sworn their oaths of allegiance and fealty upon since Varanth, its first bearer, fell against the goblins of Hlundadim. The young knight at her feet is Oric Redspear, who will die in his duty, defending the queen’s son at Marsember. Archons linger in the corners of the painting, and the red-haired queen is stern as Kelemvor. The sword lies heavily on the kneeling knight, so thickly painted one could trace its edges with blind touch. All is solemn. These promises are unbreakable.

Thou art scheming, my friend.” “Of course I am,” James said. “That’s my sworn duty.

The greatest power over a man is his desire to please a particular woman. This is crucial to understand. So much in this life hangs on it. It is this inherent desire which gives that woman power to make or destroy him. Most men will never confess that they are influenced…easily influenced…by the women they prefer. Wives, lovers, mothers, daughters, or sisters. Many have no idea that they are. This knowledge is the source of the hetaera’s power. It is powerful, child. So subtle and powerful. It can and does influence men to murder. It causes men to forsake their sworn oaths and duties. Even mastons. These feelings can shatter mountains into broken pebbles. They can break down the strongest man. Remember this teaching. It will benefit you in the future as you ponder it.

Above him, Thunderwing’s sky patrols circled, keeping an eye out for predators and raiding parties from other herds. The birds had ceased their singing, and the crickets began theirs. The herd was peaceful right now, a unit that worked together for the safety of everyone—except for him, the black foal. Only Silvercloud had sworn to protect him, partly because she was the lead mare and it was her duty, but mostly because she had promised his dam, and Lightfeather had believed that Star was good. Right now Silvercloud was standing alone under a tree.

What?” Ann asked. “I didn’t say anything.” “I know. You’re just standing there staring. What are you thinking?” “I was wondering if you loved me.” She smiled at the mirror, the magical world between the two swans. Amrath imagined it was a beautiful place, a pretty country where troubles never found entry. “I bore you two wonderful children.” She kissed the crown of Arista’s head. “That was your duty as queen, but do—” “Really?” She paused with the brush still holding on to a few strands of Arista’s hair to look at him. “A duty? Is that how you found it?” “Not for my part—of course not.” She returned to the mirror and the brushing. “Then why would you think I saw it that way? Did I appear to be suffering? Do I now? It’s such a hardship being your wife. Perhaps you should summon the guard to whip me, lest I stop brushing my daughter’s hair.” Arista laughed and covered her face with her hands. Amrath scowled at her. “I could have sworn we had a dozen servants whose job it is to see to Arista’s grooming.” “There, you see? What more proof do you need? I do this because I want to.” “That just proves you love your children.” “Actually it just proves you love me,” Arista whispered. Ann gave her a gentle slap on the head that caused her to giggle again. “Quiet, you.

And where are you going, Admiral? . . . Don’t you ever sleep?” She sensed him kneeling down beside her, felt his breath on her cheek as he lovingly absorbed every detail of her face and smoothed the wispy hair that had come loose from the braid. “Sleep? Not when my lovely Queen is under my protection. I am an officer, Majesty, and I have my sworn duty.” An officer. Guarding the lives of those he loved. “I love you, Maeve,” he said softly, and kissed her.

When your book review is centered on your sworn duty as spelling police and grammar cop, what makes you anything more than a proofreader?

Men hide things for three reasons: shame, duty, and fear. Things men fear are far from where they sleep, but still close enough to be seen. A sworn man keeps his secrets close to his person at all times. But a dishonest man hides things from even himself. Look for them where no one can see, and learn everything.

Pelewen still wanders the night Under the canopy of long-dead days, A knight sword-sworn to duty and might, A knight faith-sealed with truth and right.   Nerena still wanders the misty eve, Under the canopy of long-dead days, A witch evil-sworn to lies believe, A witch dark-sealed to darkness wreathe.   What brought you, knight, to wander that wood? What brought the thieves who cut you down? Where, dark witch, did you find the good, To succor he who for goodness stood?   With secrets whispered in secluded shade, She healed you, knight, your life returned, With kisses, witch, the first he gave, Your soul was healed and holy made.   Love, you too we see this night Under the canopy of long-dead days; A blessing sworn to the good and right, A love that sealed a witch and knight.   What partings made upon the morn, Under wind and sun and forest song: One body whole and one soul born, Four eyes wet and two hearts torn.   What drove you, Knight, to the distant glade? What drove you to confess, dear maid? Why, Knight, did heart turn horse ‘round again? And why, Pureman, could you not forgive her stain?   One maid burned at morning’s light. One horse rides through ash at night. One soul to tell the Knight the tale. One Knight upon his sword impaled.   Death, you too we see this eve, Under the canopy of long-dead days; A death dark-sworn to love bereave, A death dark-sealed to sadness wreathe.   “Well, that was depressing,” Chertanne derided

The least free people in a free society are people like us who have a sworn duty to defend the constitution.

Julian was introduced to the commandante of the Juarez Police. He immediately liked the way Julian looked and was pleased to hear he knew about the handling of guns from his time in the army. He was sworn in right away, given a uniform and a gun, and told to report for duty the next morning.

The violence in which we have been living for so long acts naturally and incessantly to turn human beings into faceless, one-dimensional creatures lacking volition. Wars, armies, regimes, and fanatic religions try to blur the nuances that create personal, private uniqueness, the nonrecurrent wonder of each and every person, and attempt to turn people into a mass, into a horde, so that they may be better “suited” to their purposes and to the entire situation. Literature—and not necessarily any particular book, but the attentiveness engendered by direct, profound, “complex literature—reminds us of our duty to demand for ourselves—from the “situation”—the right to individuality and uniqueness. It helps us to reclaim some of the things that this “situation” tries relentlessly to expropriate: the subtle, discerning application to the person trapped in the conflict, whether friend or foe; the complex nuances of relationships between people and between different communities; the precision of words and descriptions; the flexibility of thought; the ability and the courage to occasionally change the point of view in which we are frozen (sometimes fossilized); the deep and essential understanding that we can—we must—read every human situation from several different points of view. Then we may be able to reach the place in which the totally contradictory stories of different people, different nations, even sworn enemies, may coexist and play out together. This is the place where we are finally able to grasp that in true negotiations, our wishes will be forced to encounter the Other’s, forced to recognize their justness, their legitimacy. This is the moment when we feel the sharp growing pains that always attend the arrival of sobriety, and in this case the realization that there is a limit to our ability to mold reality so that it perfectly suits only our own needs. This is the moment when we feel what I called earlier “the principle of Otherness,” whose deep-seated meaning, if you wish, is the rightful existence, the stories, pains, and hopes, of the Other. If we can only reach this Archimedean point, we can begin to dismantle the barriers and detonators that prevent us from solving the conflict.

If we look at Medicine Inc.’s history and how it operates today, five basic assumptions stand out that make it distinctly American: The government should not produce or provide healthcare. It’s okay to use public funds to purchase private healthcare for certain people, but only companies or private practitioners should provide healthcare. Those who receive healthcare have earned it, whether through work or through wealth. Fairness means ensuring that the deserving people receive better healthcare. There is no significant conflict between the income a doctor generates and their duty to the public. Doctors can practice simultaneously as businesspeople and as professionals sworn to a code of ethics without major repercussions. Science is impersonal and best aligns with commercial needs, not public ones. Science’s primary beneficiaries should be people who can afford to pay for it. The primary goal of healthcare is to generate income for providers. Other goals, like preventing sickness and empowering people, can happen, but only if the first goal is met. These tenets are so much a part of American healthcare that we don’t even realize our political debates reinforce them.

In an extreme crisis, men and women hoped for some level of kindness (or at least adherence to sworn duty) from the police officers they turned to for protection. All too often, what they received instead was ambivalence, vitriol, or violence.

No one told me about the sworn duty that some men had to hang a man who was Dark after dark. --Or that the reason the man would hang in the night was that he’d dared to be Dark in the Light." (K. Martindale, from Suburban Lies, published in Pen-In-Hand (2021)

You came to us outlaws,' he began, 'poachers, rapers, debtors, killers, and thieves. You came to us children. You came to us alone, in chains, with neither friends nor honor. You came to us rich, and you came to us poor. Some of you bear the names of proud houses. Others have only bastards’ names, or no names at all. It makes no matter. All that is past now. On the Wall, we are all one house. 'At evenfall, as the sun sets and we face the gathering night, you shall take your vows. From that moment, you will be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch. Your crimes will be washed away, your debts forgiven. So too you must wash away your former loyalties, put aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and old loves alike. Here you begin anew. 'A man of the Night’s Watch lives his life for the realm. Not for a king, nor a lord, nor the honor of this house or that house, neither for gold nor glory nor a woman’s love, but for the realm, and all the people in it. A man of the Night’s Watch takes no wife and fathers no sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. And you are the only sons we shall ever know.

We were taught since birth to bear the burden of our grandfathers’ shame. We were taught that, even if we wore a uniform, that our first sworn duty was to our conscience, no matter what the consequences

Moreover, Holder authorized a search warrant targeting the emails of reporter James Rosen, then of Fox News, in a leak investigation. To get the warrant, the Justice Department represented to a federal court that Rosen could be guilty of a felony violation of the Espionage Act for the unauthorized handling of classified information. Yes, the same Espionage Act that the Obama Justice Department chose not to invoke against Hillary Clinton—who was not a journalist with constitutional free-press rights but a public official with a sworn duty to safeguard classified information.

Every one of us who has sworn the oath must act to prevent the unraveling of our democracy. This is not about policy. This is not about partisanship. This is about our duty as Americans. Remaining silent and ignoring the lie emboldens the liar.

I understand the loss of a comrade is something to mourn, but our responsibilities do not end because one has lost the fight. We as defenders of this nation have an obligation to those who've sworn allegiance to us. And I intend to uphold my oath to the people of this land, no matter the cost.

Listen. The Sinspire is nearly sixty yards high, one thick Elderglass cylinder. You know those, you tried to jump off one about two months ago. Goes down another hundred feet or so into a glass hill. It’s got one door at street level, and exactly one door into the vault beneath the tower. One. No secrets, no side entrances. The ground is pristine Elderglass; no tunneling through it, not in a thousand years.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “Requin’s got at least four dozen attendants on each floor at any given time, plus dozens of table minders, card dealers, and waiters. There’s a lounge on the third floor where he keeps more out of sight. So figure, at minimum, fifty or sixty loyal workers on duty with another twenty to thirty he can call out. Lots of nasty brutes, too. He likes to recruit from ex-soldiers, mercenaries, city thieves, and such. He gives cushy positions to his Right People for jobs well done, and he pays them like he was their doting mother. Plus, there are stories of dealers getting a year’s wages in tips from lucky blue bloods in just a night or two. Bribery won’t be likely to work on anyone.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “He’s got three layers of vault doors, all of them ironshod witchwood, three or four inches thick. Last set of doors is supposedly backed with blackened steel, so even if you had a week to chop through the other two, you’d never get past the third. All of them have clockwork mechanisms, the best and most expensive Verrari stuff, private designs from masters of the Artificers’ Guild. The standing orders are, not one set of doors opens unless he’s there himself to see it; he watches every deposit and every withdrawal. Opens the door a couple times per day at most. Behind the first set of doors are four to eight guards, in rooms with cots, food, and water. They can hold out there for a week under siege.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “The inner sets of doors don’t open except for a key he keeps around his neck. The outer doors won’t open except for a key he always gives to his majordomo. So you’d need both to get anywhere.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “And the traps…they’re demented, or at least the rumors are. Pressure plates, counterweights, crossbows in the walls and ceilings. Contact poisons, sprays of acid, chambers full of venomous serpents or spiders…One fellow even said that there’s a chamber before the last door that fills up with a cloud of powdered strangler’s orchid petals, and while you’re choking to death on that, a bit of twistmatch falls out and lights the whole mess on fire, so then you burn to a crisp. Insult to injury.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “Worst of all, the inner vault is guarded by a live dragon attended by fifty naked women armed with poison spears, each of them sworn to die in Requin’s service. All redheads.” “You’re making that up, Jean.” “I wanted to see if you were listening. But what I’m saying is, I don’t care if he’s got a million solari in there, packed in bags for easy hauling. I’m inclined to the idea that this vault might not be breakable, not unless you’ve got three hundred soldiers, six or seven wagons, and a team of master clockwork artificers you’re not telling me about.” “Right.” “Do you have three hundred soldiers, six or seven wagons, and a team of master clockwork artificers you’re not telling me about?” “No, I’ve got you, me, the contents of our coin purses, this carriage, and a deck of cards.