Thor Best Quotes

You know, Magnus…sometimes it’s best not to look as far as you’re able to look, or to listen to everything you’re able to hear.

Because: Love Never Dies, What is Within is More Important than What is Without, The Best is Not Always the Most Obvious and Once You've Loved Truly, Thor, then You Know the Way

So can I ask…?” I waved my hands vaguely. I didn’t have the words. “How it does work?” She smirked. “As long as you don’t ask me to represent every gender-fluid person for you, okay? I’m not an ambassador. I’m not a teacher or a poster child. I’m just”—she mimicked my hand-waving—“me. Trying to be me as best I can.

We are alike in many ways, you and I. There is darkness in us. Darkness, pain, death. They radiate from us. If ever you love a woman, Rand, leave her and let her find another. It will be the best gift you can give her.

In their huge bedroom that night, Tyr said to Thor, "I hope you know what you are doing." "Of course I do," said Thor. But he didn't. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best.

one thing I’d learned from being a son of Frey—I couldn’t always fight my friends’ battles. The best I could do was be there to heal their injuries.

Because: Love Never Dies, What is Within is More Important than What is Without, The Best is Not Always the Most Obvious and Once You've Loved Truly, Thor, then You Know the Way.

We have made the world dance as we sang for three thousand years. That is difficult habit to break, as I have learned while dancing to your song. You must dance free, and even the best intentioned of my sisters may well try to guide your steps as I once did.

But perhaps all pretty things have thorns. The best things, at least, most certainly do.

A lot of folks in the Norse cosmos had warned me that names had power. You weren't supposed to utter them unless you had to. Me, I preferred to wear names out like hand-me-down clothes. That seemed the best way to drain the power out of them.

You know, the best fanfic I ever read was an erotic story about Thor and Tony Stark living together on a Christmas tree sex farm.

Love never dies, what is within is more important than what is without, the best is not always the most obvious, and once you've loved truly, Thor, then you know the way.

A hundred expressions chased each other across Loki’s face: cunning and shiftiness, truculence and confusion. Thor shook Loki hard. Loki looked down and did his best to appear ashamed. “It was funny. I was drunk.

Oh, one more thing,' Thor calls out. 'If I know my prophecy, and I do, you beautiful ladies had best start looking for a boat!

Marijuana should be legalized. All drugs should be legalized. I'm tired of all the best party people being caged.

I hope you know what you are doing.” “Of course I do,” said Thor. But he didn’t. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best. In

The best I could manage was an off-center lump.” “A self-portrait, then?

Sometimes it’s best not to look as far as you’re able to look, or to listen to everything you’re able to hear.

In their huge bedroom that night, Tyr said to Thor, “I hope you know what you are doing.” “Of course I do,” said Thor. But he didn’t. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best.

Robert Ashford possessed one of the key character flaws necessary to a traitor. He thought he was smarter than everyone else. This allowed the overeducated career bureaucrat to sell out his own country, because he believed he knew what was best for his nation and its people.

Hyperion: We're going to die here today. Thor: Aye...But let it be on our terms. One more time. Our very...Huurggg!...best. (Thor is unable to lift the mjolnir from an alternate universe - Thorr's hammer of unworthiness) Thor: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! So be it. If this is the end let me not meet is as The Unworthy...but as my father's son. The occasion demands I offer you a drink, Hyperion, but unfortunately, I have none. Hyperion: That's because we drank it all, brother. Thor: Yes. We did.. Nothing left to do now but the other thing. Hyperion: I just want to say... for some time I believed I survived the death of two worlds -- now I know it just took a while to catch up with me. It's a dark thing, what my life became... you have made it better, Odinson. Will you wait for me in Valhalla? Thor: Brother... this day, I will race you there. *Against the bleak nothing of dead space, two gods fell to many. The sun shone one last time. There was lightning, and thunder... and then silence.*

You didn't tell me Jude's best friend was Thor.

The best warrior is dedicated and passionate yet clearheaded. It is not about revenge or victory. It is about honor.

The best kind of nation was one where the government feared the people. When the government feared the people there was liberty. When the people feared the government, there was tyranny.

In their huge bedroom that night, Tyr said to Thor, "I hope you know what you are doing." "Of course I do," said Thor. But he didn't. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best.

As best we can tell, the gods of Asgard came from Germany, spread into Scandinavia, and then out into the parts of the world dominated by the Vikings—into Orkney and Scotland, Ireland and the north of England—where the invaders left places named for Thor or Odin.

Hymir prided himself on his skills at fishing. "I am an excellent fisherman," he said. "We can catch tomorrow night's dinner." "I too am a fine fisherman," said Thor. He had never fished before, but how hard could it be? We'll meet tomorrow at dawn, out on the dock," said Hymir. In their huge bedroom that night, Tyr said to Thor, "I hope you know what you are doing." "Of course I do," said Thor. But he didn't. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best.

I remember laughing at that moment, and I remember my son frowning at me in puzzlement. What I remember best of all, though, was the sudden certainty that the gods were with me, that they would fight for me, that my sword would be their sword. ‘We’re going to win,’ I told my son. I felt as if Odin or Thor had touched me. I had never felt more alive and never felt more certain. I knew there would be no more mistakes and that this was no dream. I had come to Bebbanburg and Bebbanburg would be mine.

When specialization becomes so narrow that an archaeologist digging in tropic Ecuador is deemed incompetent on archaeology in tropic Mexico, then the reverse must be also the case, and it seems apparent that specialists are not the best people to draw broad conclusions. Unfortunately, too few universities are so far prepared to educate students to become specialists in horizontal research, i.e., train them to acquire an academic ability to piece together the fragments that vertical research brings forth from its deep trenches.

Kennewick Man is a skeleton discovered in Washington State in 1996, carbon-dated to older than 9,000 years. Anthropologists were intrigued by anatomical suggestions that he might be unrelated to typical Native Americans, and therefore might represent a separate early migration across what is now the Bering Strait, or even from Iceland. They were preparing to do all-important DNA tests when the legal authorities seized the skeleton, intending to hand it over to representatives of local Indian tribes, who proposed to bury it and forbid all further study. Naturally there was widespread opposition from the scientific and archaeological community. Even if Kennewick Man is an American Indian of some kind, it is highly unlikely that his affinities lie with whichever particular tribe happens to live in the same area 9,000 years later. Native Americans have impressive legal muscle, and ‘The Ancient One’ might have been handed over to the tribes, but for a bizarre twist. The Asatru Folk Assembly, a group of worshippers of the Norse gods Thor and Odin, filed an independent legal claim that Kennewick Man was actually a Viking. This Nordic sect, whose views you may follow in the Summer 1997 issue of The Runestone, were actually allowed to hold a religious service over the bones. This upset the Yakama Indian community, whose spokesman feared that the Viking ceremony could be ‘keeping Kennewick Man’s spirit from finding his body’. The dispute between Indians and Norsemen could well be settled by DNA comparison, and the Norsemen are quite keen to be put to this test. Scientific study of the remains would certainly cast fascinating light on the question of when humans first arrived in America. But Indian leaders resent the very idea of studying this question, because they believe their ancestors have been in America since the creation. As Armand Minthorn, religious leader of the Umatilla tribe, put it: ‘From our oral histories, we know that our people have been part of this land since the beginning of time. We do not believe our people migrated here from another continent, as the scientists do.’ Perhaps the best policy for the archaeologists would be to declare themselves a religion, with DNA fingerprints their sacramental totem. Facetious but, such is the climate in the United States at the end of the twentieth century, it is possibly the only recourse that would work.

Her parties were some of the best in China. Celebrities, drugs, beautiful women—they had everything. And it was those parties that had propelled her into the circles of China's rich and powerful.

I suppose he never gets blisters, then,” Scot murmured, then looked up and said, “And in truth, one of the reasons that I’d rather retain my code and my religion is that my gods are flawed and hypocritical. They get blisters—metaphorically. Thor wrangles with rage and Loki with jealousy. The only perfect god, Baldr, was killed for his perfection, which of course proves that pure perfection is an imperfection, or . . .” Scot hesitated, “something like that.” Even he felt that he could have summed that up better. “There’s pagan wisdom for you,” Gawain scoffed in derision. “Perfection is imperfect and imperfection is preferable. It’s circular logic.” Scot rolled his eyes, rubbing his ankle. “Paganism (as you condescendingly call my faith) is circular. Your Christianity tries to make everything into a straight line… in order for your world to make sense, everything must have a start and an end. In any case, your king is cut from the same cloth as your Christ—both are like Baldr, too good to last for long—either you are blind or he is a liar. Real people and gods struggle to be their best and fail.

The Russian military was a pretty corrupt organization. What’s more, Russians were spectacular grudge-holders. Harvath liked to tell a joke about an angel appearing to three men—a Frenchman, an Italian, and a Russian. The angel tells them that tomorrow the world is going to end and asks what they each want to do with their last night on earth. The Frenchman says he will get a case of the best champagne and spend his last night with his mistress. The Italian says he will visit his mistress and then go home to eat a last meal with his wife and children. The Russian replies that he will go burn down his neighbor’s barn.

Every citizen had a role to play. It required commitment, truth-telling, and a belief not only in what America was, but what it could be—a belief that its best days were always in front of it. It also involved danger. For as long as America stood apart as a beacon of liberty, a place where the dignity and rights of the individual were prized above all else, it would attract the scorn and enmity of tyrannical governments and malevolent actors the world over. To combat those threats, the United States needed

Q: Why won’t iron-man play any games with you? A: Because you’re a Thor Loser.

The fundamentalism that drove them was a cancer. It infected almost everyone it touched. And yet the people best positioned to remove the cancer lacked the courage and the desire to do so. No matter how many atrocities were committed in the name of their religion and their God, the Muslim world was wholly incapable of combating the problem.

Not allowing people to undertake difficult tasks was not only selfish, but also robbed them of the opportunity to better themselves. Trusting people to perform to the best of their ability, and then letting them do so, was likewise part of leadership.

It was one thing to not ask the members of your team to do anything you yourself wouldn’t do. That was called leadership. It was something else entirely to never ask them to do the hard things because you were too busy doing them yourself. Not allowing people to undertake difficult tasks was not only selfish, but also robbed them of the opportunity to better themselves. Trusting people to perform to the best of their ability, and then letting them do so, was likewise part of leadership.

It took two breaths for her vision to clear, and but one for her to realize the world was upside down, and someone—a man, judging by the thick calves before her—was standing very close to her. She was dripping wet and freezing cold. A shiver coursed through her, but the uncomfortableness was nothing compared with the pain in her head. Her blood seemed to be filling her entire face at a rapid pace. It whooshed in her ears. She tried to lift her head to see who stood in front of her, but it was useless. Her neck muscles refused to obey. The whooshing became a roar, and darkness began to eat at the corners of her vision. She struggled to form a call for help, but it was nearly impossible. Her tongue was in revolt, and sand seemed to line her throat. She swallowed and strangled out one word. “Help.” A grunt resounded above her, followed by a brown wooden bucket being set beside her head, and then a man appearing as he crouched. Well, not any man, but Thor MacLeod, her husband. He looked as unhappy to see her as she felt to see him. A grimace turned his lips down, his dark eyebrows almost touched in a V, and his eyes, well, his eyes had been transformed to a swirling, violent sea. Crimson smeared across his right cheek in an ominous path. “Hello, wife.” The last word rolled with distaste off his tongue. That was fine with her. She didn’t care to be wed to him either. “It seems wherever ye are trouble finds ye.” “And yet knowing this ye are so dimwitted as to seek me out,” she snapped as a wave of dizziness overcame her. She had to squeeze her eyes shut against it, while inhaling a breath as well as she could, given she was hanging upside down. And why was that? “Why am I upside down,” she demanded, cringing at the weakness of her tone. “One in yer position should nae have such a haughty tone,” the man shot back. She hated that he had a point. “What, pray tell, sort of tone would it please ye for me to take, my lord? If ye’ll tell me, I’ll do my best to adopt it,” she said, trying to sound genuinely like she cared, but she could hear herself, and she knew she’d failed miserably.

…my Cirri is a good cat," the cook was saying sharply, "and I won't hear a word otherwise, do you hear? Complaining about him doing his job too well, that's what you're doing, if you ask me." "I have had complaints," Master Fitch managed to get in. "Complaints, mistress. Half the guests-" "I won't hear of it. I just won't hear of it. If they want to complain about my cat, let them do the cooking. My poor old cat, who's just doing his job, and me, we'll go somewhere where we're appreciated, see if we don't." She untied her apron and started to lift it over her head. "No!" Master Fitch yelped, and leaped to stop her. They danced in a circle with the cook trying to take her apron off and the innkeeper trying to put it back on her. "No, Sara," he panted. "There's no need for this. No need, I say! What would I do without you? Cirri's a fine cat. An excellent cat. He's the best cat in Baerlon. If anyone else complains, I'll tell them to be thankful the cat is doing his job. Yes, thankful. You mustn't go. Sara? Sara!" The cook stopped their circling and managed to snatch her apron free of him. "All right, then. All right.

Latin phrase. “Corruption of the best is the worst of all.” “Agreed,” responded Vijay.

The long and short of it was, though Ingrid’s patience for romance was thin on the best of days, she knew her capacity for it was not limited by gender. She’d thought it didn’t matter. She was with Linden. There was no reason to ever acknowledge or indulge that part of herself. But now, as the realization of Gwendolyn Meyers’s identity washed over her, she knew how very neglected she’d left it. No matter who she was with or what gender they were, it was still part of her.

the end chaos would burst forth to overwhelm the order that the gods had made and preserved. In Midgard the end would begin with three winters of war and general lawlessness; men would fight without mercy, murder one another and betray their own kin through adultery and with violence. After this would come three years of winter, with the sun’s warmth weakened and terrible winds sweeping the earth so that its people died of hunger. Then the wolves that ran behind the moon and sun would overtake them, and darkness would fall on the land. ​In Asgard Loki would break from his bonds and so would his son, the wolf Fenrir.  In the depths of the sea Loki’s other monster-son, the Midgard Serpent, would rise in anger. The giants out of Jotunheim and the fire-demons out of Muspelheim would come to Loki’s call and attack the gods. The battle would be desperate. Thor would kill and be killed by the Midgard Serpent, and Heimdall the sentry of Asgard would kill and be killed by Loki. Odin would fight against the wolf Fenrir and die, but his son Vidar would destroy the wolf. At the end, when the best part of both armies lay dead, Surt the fire-bearer would come from the burning world of Muspelheim and set Asgard, Midgard and the World Tree itself ablaze. The sea would rise, churned up by the death-throes of the Midgard Serpent, and the ruined land would be drowned. ​But this destruction, while great and terrible, was not quite final. Out of the empty seas land would rise again and green plants would grow there; indeed, fine crops of grain would grow without any man tending them. Balder would return from the dead, Honir would return with the gift of prophecy added to his other strengths, and Thor’s sons would arise carrying their father’s great hammer. Soli would not return from death to drive the chariot of the sun but her daughter, even stronger and lovelier than she, would rise and give light to the worlds again. And a man and a woman, long concealed in a safe place hidden from the ruin, would emerge to drink of the dew and eat of the plants of the field and start the human race again. Some said also that the dead humans in Helheim would be raised to life again, but some said otherwise.

Rabies is one of the oldest infectious diseases is known to mankind. Accounts of it date all the way back to Asia in 2000 B.C but the best detailed medical accounts date from around 300 B.C. – Alan Whitcomb

Our paper is very fibrous, and it doesn’t take much for things to get embedded in those fibers. The best example would be cocaine. According to statistics, trace amounts of cocaine are believed to infect four out of every five bills in circulation. – Scot Harvath

He then ended his address by quoting Edmund Burke: “When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.” It was one of Porter’s best speeches

Hollywood was a lot like a Charles dickens novel. It could be the best of places; it could be the worst of places. Machiavelli, Dante, Shakespeare… all would have felt at home here. Tinseltown was a bustling contradiction. It was a modern day Zanzabar; a slavemarket were souls were bartered, sold, and stolen seemingly on the hour, every hour. It was also a place of incredible genius and beauty, where dreams still came true.

Thor braced himself as best he could, as yet another blow rained down on him. He tried to resist with all his might, but with his wrists bound behind him in Akdon shackles, there was little he could do. His energy had been sapped by this magical metal, and he found himself unable to fight back as a large group of Empire soldiers punched him in the face, the chest, the back, and finally knocked him face-first onto the ground.

There was no American Dream without those willing to protect it. Every citizen had a role to play. It required commitment, truth-telling, and a belief not only in what America was, but what it could be—a belief that its best days were always in front of it.