Unofficial Quotes

Science fiction writers, I am sorry to say, really do not know anything. We can't talk about science, because our knowledge of it is limited and unofficial, and usually our fiction is dreadful.

You’ve one mark on your record,” Tamas said. “You once punched a na-baron in the face. Broke his jaw. Tell me about that.” Olem grimaced. “Officially, sir, I was pushing him out of the way of a runaway carriage. Saved his life. Half my company saw it.” “With your fist?” “Aye.” “And unofficially?” “The man was a git. He shot my dog because it startled his horse.” “And if I ever have cause to shoot your dog?” “I’ll punch you in the face.” “Fair enough. You have the job.

Didn’t your mother tell you boys tease the girls they like?” “That only applies to children.” “All men are babies.” “Point taken.” Chloe and Stella- The Unofficial Zack Warren Fan Club

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall take flack from both sides."- Unofficial UN Motto

They know that people need witches; they need the unofficial people who understand the difference between right and wrong, and when right is wrong and when wrong is right. The world needs the people who work around the edges. They need the people who can deal with the little bumps and inconveniences. And little problems. After all, we are almost all human. Almost all of the time.

Officially there are no fates worse than death. Unofficially, there is a profusion of such fates. For some people, just living with the thought that they will die is a fate worse than death itself.

Unofficially, we understood. There was a ceiling. Always had been, always would be. Even for him. Even for our hero, there were limits to the dream of assimilation, to how far any of you could make your way into the world of Black and White.

After generation upon generation, fathers upon forefathers, mothers upon foremothers, centuries and millennia of being one colour officially and three colours unofficially, a colourful sky, just like that, could not be allowed to be.

Improvise, Adapt and Overcome" - USMC, unofficial

creeper

Sun glasses are the unofficial celebrities’ uniform.

I follow my own methods, and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of being unofficial.

To me, the grounds for hope are simply that we don’t know what will happen next, and that the unlikely and the unimaginable transpire quite regularly. And that the unofficial history of the world shows that dedicated individuals and popular movements can shape history and have, though how and when we might win and how long it takes is not predictable.

It all jibed, and the books would close on Jasper as death by misadventure. Unofficially, Eve labeled it death by stupidity, but there wasn't a place on the sheet for that particular observation. - Lt. Eve Dallas on a drunk fall off the roof

The truth was, neither the Central Intelligence Agency nor any of the other official and unofficial U.S. intelligence organizations have ever been some kind of all-seeing, all-knowing, global illuminati. For starters, we never hand that kind of funding.

Officially, we didn’t have a band leader. Unofficially, we all knew it was Tony [Iommi].

The bottom line is this: Peace will come to Israel and the Middle East only when the Israeli government is willing to comply with international law, with the Roadmap for Peace, with official American policy, with the wishes of a majority of its own citizens--and honor its own previous commitments--by accepting its legal borders. All Arab neighbors must pledge to honor Israel's right to live in peace under these conditions. The United States is squandering international prestige and goodwill and intensifying global anti-American terrorism by unofficially condoning or abetting the Israeli confiscation and colonization of Palestinian territories.

Granuaile looked terminally depressed when she emerged from the bathroom with raven hair and, as a result rather Goth by accident. She didn't want to get her picture taken. "Aughh!" she said miserably, looking in the vanity mirror in the truck of the cab and fingering a wavy curl near her temple. "This sucks more than anything has ever sucked before. You know what we look like? A couple of emo douche bags." "Well, look at the bright side, Granuaile. Emo Douche Bags would be a great band name." [That's brilliant! It's already the unofficial name of more bands than I can count.]

If we can use an H-bomb--and as you said it's no checker game; it's real, it's war and nobody is fooling around--isn't it sort of ridiculous to go crawling around in the weeds, throwing knives and maybe getting yourself killed . . . and even losing the war . . . when you've got a real weapon you can use to win? What's the point in a whole lot of men risking their lives with obsolete weapons when one professor type can do so much more just by pushing a button?' Zim didn't answer at once, which wasn't like him at all. Then he said softly, 'Are you happy in the Infantry, Hendrick? You can resign, you know.' Hendrick muttered something; Zim said, 'Speak up!' I'm not itching to resign, sir. I'm going to sweat out my term.' I see. Well, the question you asked is one that a sergeant isn't really qualified to answer . . . and one that you shouldn't ask me. You're supposed to know the answer before you join up. Or you should. Did your school have a course in History and Moral Philosophy?' What? Sure--yes, sir.' Then you've heard the answer. But I'll give you my own--unofficial--views on it. If you wanted to teach a baby a lesson, would you cuts its head off?' Why . . . no, sir!' Of course not. You'd paddle it. There can be circumstances when it's just as foolish to hit an enemy with an H-Bomb as it would be to spank a baby with an ax. War is not violence and killing, pure and simple; war is controlled violence, for a purpose. The purpose of war is to support your government's decisions by force. The purpose is never to kill the enemy just to be killing him . . . but to make him do what you want him to do. Not killing . . . but controlled and purposeful violence. But it's not your business or mine to decide the purpose of the control. It's never a soldier's business to decide when or where or how--or why--he fights; that belongs to the statesmen and the generals. The statesmen decide why and how much; the generals take it from there and tell us where and when and how. We supply the violence; other people--"older and wiser heads," as they say--supply the control. Which is as it should be. That's the best answer I can give you. If it doesn't satisfy you, I'll get you a chit to go talk to the regimental commander. If he can't convince you--then go home and be a civilian! Because in that case you will certainly never make a soldier.

CO19, the Met’s firearms unit, whose unofficial motto is, “Guns don’t kill people, we kill people with guns.

When Lafayette met him in 1775, the first volume of Raynal’s 1770 History of the Two Indies had already been banned, which is to say it was a popular success, the Catholic Church’s Index of Forbidden Books being the unofficial bestseller list of the day.

In the 1960s the planning department of the London County Council, whose unofficial motto was Finishing What the Luftwaffe Started, decided that what London really needed was a series of orbital motorways driven through its heart.

My memoir, the unofficial version: Snipers must make themselves calm in order to succeed, and that is why women are good at sharpshooting. Because there is not a woman alive who has not learned how to eat rage in order to appear calm.

. . . what I know is unofficial, what [the inspector] knows is official. I have the right to private judgment, but he has none.

Eh, Nikanor Ivanovich!' the unknown man exclaimed soulfully. 'What are official and unofficial persons? It all depends on your point of view on the subject. It's all fluctuating and relative, Nikanor Ivanovich. Today I'm a unofficial person, and tomorrow, lo and behold, I'm an official one! And it happens the other way round -oh, how it does!" - Chapter 9

Most castles in the air are never built. But Walt Disney's was.

I believe in the power of imagination. I believe in the unexplained possibilities of the spirit. And I believe that the heart, like any other muscle, grows stiff if it is not exercised regularly. I believe.

But to be understood is not a human right. Even to understand oneself is not a human right.

Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it were created at all and didn't just start, as it were, unofficially, it came to being between ten and twenty thousand million years ago. By the same token the earth itself is generally supposed to be about four and a half thousand million years old. These dates are incorrect. Medieval Jewish scholars put the date of the Creation at 3760BC. Greek Orthodox theologians put Creation as far back as 5508BC. These suggestions are also incorrect. Archbishop James Usher (1580-1656) published Annales Veteris et Novi Testamenti in 1654, which suggested that the Heaven and the Earth were created in 4004BC. One of his aides took the calculation further, and was able to announce triumphantly that the Earth was created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004BC, at exactly 9.00 a.m., because God liked to get work done early in the morning while he was feeling fresh. This too was incorrect. By almost a quarter of an hour. The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke the paleontologists haven't seen yet.

When the war (WWI) finally ended it was necessary for both sides to maintain, indeed even to inflate, the myth of sacrifice so that the whole affair would not be seen for what it was: a meaningless waste of millions of lives. Logically, if the flower of youth had been cut down in Flanders, the survivors were not the flower: the dead were superior to the traumatized living. In this way, the virtual destruction of a generation further increased the distance between the old and the young, between the official and the unofficial.

Egyptians undergo an odd personality change behind the wheel of a car. In every other setting, aggression and impatience are frowned upon. The unofficial Egyptian anthem "Bokra, Insha'allah, Malesh" (Tomorrow, God Willing, Never Mind) isn't just an excuse for laziness. In a society requiring millennial patience, it is also a social code dictating that no one make too much of a fuss about things. But put an Egyptian in the driver's seat and he shows all the calm and consideration of a hooded swordsman delivering Islamic justice.

Being strong was hard work, and I was ready to let someone else be strong for a little bit. Not forever, but for a little while.

You are Doogie Howser, M.D., and you will remain officially so for four years, and unofficially so, to some extent, for the rest of your natural life.

I applied what the unofficial Humvee manual called 2-40 air-conditioning, which meant you opened two windows and drove at forty miles an hour.

I think he and the Princess are engaged in an unofficial game of Who Can Show They're More Important by Arriving Last, not that either of them would admit it.

«Like a fossil tree From which we gather no flowers Sad has been my life Fated no fruit to produce.» Death poem composed by Minamoto Yorimasa immediately before his act of seppuku in the Byodo-in temple of Uji.

Bex gave me a wink, and for a second I thought about Zach. I know this probably makes me the worst unofficial girlfriend ever, but it was kind of nice not having him there. It felt good to be just us girls again. It was nice to have the chance to miss him

Lord Vetinari, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, poked at the ink in his inkwell. There was ice in it. "Don't you even have a proper fire?" said Hughnon Ridcully, High Priest of Blind Io and unofficial spokesman for the city's religious establishment. "I mean, I'm not one for stuffy rooms, but it's freezing in here!" "Brisk, certainly," said Lord Vetinari. "It's odd, but the ice isn't as dark as the rest of the ink. What causes that, do you think?" "Science, probably," said Hughnon vaguely.

That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation. The cooperation part was an unofficial brains-for-brawn trade we'd worked out in which I helped him not fail English and he helped me not get killed by the roided-out sociopaths who prowled the halls of our high school.

She was sent flying back, and she pooped

You may go. The spell will hit you shortly.” I ignored what the witch said and I went on my way.

During this period of his life, Burroughs was seeking a physical utopia, a place where he could live and act as he wanted with interference from neither official state authority nor unofficial moral authority. In fact, he wanted to live in a place where he was out of place and where consequently he would be free.

Do you have mosquitoes in Maine?” Owen asked. “Oh, yes. The mosquito is the unofficial state bird of Maine, I think.” He grinned. “Daddy used to say that about Georgia.” “Well, South Carolina’s is the palmetto bug, just in case you were wondering.

If you look into your own mind, which are you, Don Quixote or Sancho Panza?” he had asked in the great essay on dirty postcards. “Almost certainly you are both. There is one part of you that wishes to be a hero or a saint, but another part of you is a little fat man who sees very clearly the advantages of staying alive with a whole skin. He is your unofficial self, the voice of the belly protesting against the soul.

gathered for a two-day off-site in a rustic cabin, 50 miles north of San Francisco, that often functions as our unofficial retreat center. The place, called the Poet’s Loft, is all redwood and glass—perched on stilts over Tomales Bay, a perfect place to think.

When I saw the guy with a potion I knew there was trouble brewing.

We leave

Mine’s bigger!” The Phantom bragged

TheBadGamer’s unfinished wall that looked like an upside down T. Everyone cringed.

REEEEE!!

We must question the story logic of having an all-knowing, all-powerful God, who creates faulty humans and then blames them for his own mistakes."--Gene Rodenberry

We brought nothing into this world and it is certain we can carry nothing out.

Got it,” said Carl, and he disappeared down the corridor in his iron suit.

Mickey represented an honest product, a pure spirit and a cheerful heart, a sort of staggeringly simple pleasure in the exercise of the imagination.

Not on my watch,” said Captain Arceus. “Fire at will!” Then Will yelled, “What?! Why?! What did I do?!

Sometimes when you think you need space to sort out how you feel, you really don't. You're just scared, so you ran. Running is never the answer. Make yourself stay and work through it.

There was once a Minecraft Grass Block named Minecraft Grass Block. Minecraft Grass Block liked doing the things most Minecraft Grass Block children did. Minecraft Grass Block wanted to learn how to be a better Minecraft Grass Block, but how would Minecraft Grass Block become a better Minecraft Grass Block than the other Minecraft Grass Blocks who hoped to become better Minecraft Grass Blocks, or at least better Minecraft Grass Blocks than Minecraft Grass Block was at being a Minecraft Grass Block and hopefully even the best Minecraft Grass Blocks a Minecraft Grass Block could possibly become? Just turn the page, and follow the adventures of Minecraft Grass Block in this Minecraft Grass Block Diary of a 12-year-old Minecraft Grass Block named Minecraft Grass Block, a Minecraft Grass Block boy who hopes to become a true Minecraft Grass Block or at least a better Minecraft Grass Block than the other Minecraft Grass Blocks.

Twenty-five years later, official segregation is finally gone. Unofficial segregation is being challenged on all fronts. But racism, poverty, and police brutality are still the intertwined realities of black life in the United States.

Gameknight drew a line in the ground, then looked up at the gold-clad monsters. Thinking of his favorite movie, he yelled with all his might. “YOU . . . SHALL NOT . . . PASS!

WHAT ARE THE COLORS OF SUPERMAN’S CAPE?

What happened to Conko? Um… Herobrine gave him one-million emeralds and let him go free. He definitely didn’t get eaten by Enderbrine. Definitely not.

I’m always happy to help out people who were going to throw me into a pit full of lava.

Soon, we became more than friends.

Uh, no. I got two left feet.

ranger.

had to go poo like every 20 minutes.

Barbarius swung his massive fist into Barbarius’s face.

FOOL, YOU WILL DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!” yelled Spidroth. “NOW FIGHT!

One forgot, one forgot. What hold had one on the past? The present moment was a little travelling in darkness.

I turned around and saw her. “I mean, Alex’s food choices have been so delicious and healthy… I love it…” I said dully. “Whatever, Steve,” she said.

It’s my job to say cool catchphrases and bash bad guys.

What is your least favorite Minecraft mob??” Hmmm…probably the creepers.

Er, no-no, something cool happened on the way back here.” “Really? What?” “I… I, uh… I walked into a tree.

Some people were crying because they could not find their loved ones.

I think he’s mad at me…” “Aw, it’s okay. He’s still hot, just let him cool down a little.” “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s possible to cool down in this giant oven.

The encounter did not leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat that satisfactory sense of superiority the members of the police force get from the unofficial but intimate side of their intercourse with the criminal classes, by which the vanity of power is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over our fellow creatures is flattered as worthily as it deserves.

Vince didn’t seem impressed, more like bored. He uncrossed then re-crossed his legs so tightly, he either had to take a piss, or he’d been cursed with balls the size of grapes and a dick like a gherkin. It just wasn’t normal for a guy to do that.

I warned you,” Herobrine growled, in a terrifying tone. “It was funny at first, but you took it too far. I’m not Dora The Explorer. Do you see a talking backpack? Swiper no swiping doesn’t work in this world.

I’m gonna head back to the battlefield. Take good care of him, please.” “I will.” With that said, I ran back to my squad. “What’s going on?” I asked Rodriquez as I arrived. “Jake and Isaac are going at it,” the knight replied. In the distance, all I saw were orange blurs jumping and zigzagging everywhere around the elder dragon. “They’re doing it. It’s working.

Particularly Penny likes to do window shopping, which is basically flying to the glass windows of stores she likes and then pecking furiously at the window. “Why do you want a dress,” I complained as I pulled Penny off a window.

Among the many symbols used to frighten and manipulate the populace of the democratic states, few have been more important than "terror" and "terrorism." These terms have generally been confined to the use of violence by individuals and marginal groups. Official violence, which is far more extensive in both scale and destructiveness, is placed in a different category altogether. This usage has nothing to do with justice, causal sequence, or numbers abused. Whatever the actual sequence of cause and effect, official violence is described as responsive or provoked ("retaliation," "protective reaction," etc.), not as the active and initiating source of abuse. Similarly, the massive long-term violence inherent in the oppressive social structures that U.S. power has supported or imposed is typically disregarded. The numbers tormented and killed by official violence-wholesale as opposed to retail terror-during recent decades have exceeded those of unofficial terrorists by a factor running into the thousands. But this is not "terror," [...] "security forces" only retaliate and engage in "police action." These terminological devices serve important functions. They help to justify the far more extensive violence of (friendly) state authorities by interpreting them as "reactive" and they implicitly sanction the suppression of information on the methods and scale of official violence by removing it from the category of "terrorism." [...] Thus the language is well-designed for apologetics for wholesale terror.

I vividly remember going to Google Docs, opening a document at the same time other students were working on it, and seeing their differently colored cursors moving around the screen, typing new words and making edits in real time. It was an epiphany.

arrested my best friend, Johansson Armstrong, and the Piglins believe he is a traitor who created the Mind and Explosive Potions for the Triad Bastion - the very same potions that were mercilessly used by the Triad to enslave my fellow Piglins, including my own father.

99 villager noobs in da town!! 99 villager noobs!! Smash one down!! Into da ground!! 98 villager noobs in da town!! 98 villager noobs in da town!! 98 villager noobs . . .

Step 2 Mark off a square for the wall, I made mine 67 by 67 blocks.

But what do you want me to do, Sir?” “My dear young friend, the golden rule is very simple. There are only two errors which would be fatal to one placed in the peculiar situation which certain parts of your previous conduct have unfortunately created for you. On the one hand, anything like a lack of initiative or enterprise would be disastrous. On the other, the slightest approach to unauthorized action—anything which suggested that you were assuming a liberty of decision which, in all the circumstances, is not really yours—might have consequences from which even I could not protect you. But as long as you keep quite clear of these two extremes, there is no reason (speaking unofficially) why you should not be perfectly safe.

Bye, Robo-Horse!" Alex shouted. "Good luck!" "Wait, you called your horse 'Robo-Horse'?" said Carl. "But it wasn't a robot." "I named him after Robo-Steve," said Alex sadly. Dave put an arm around Alex. "That was very nice, Alex," Dave told her. "I'm sure Robo-Steve would have liked that." "All right, that's enough of that," said Spidroth, giving Alex a suspicious look, "let's get this over with.

The first time someone asked about Riko's and Kevin's tattoos, Riko hadn't beat around the bush. He was the best striker in the game, he said, and he wanted everyone to know it. The story changed a little when Jean made his first public appearance with a "3" on his face. Riko was supposedly handpicking the future US National Team. He called it the "perfect Court", and even though it was unofficial and unbelievably arrogant, his talent and upbringing gave some credibility to the idea. "Oh," Neil said. "You mean this." He peeled the bandage off his face and let the reporters get a good look at his tattoo.

The lover readily imagines that he and his mistress are one. He feels he has love enough for both and that his loving will can swathe the two of them together like twin nuts in a shell. But what one loves is, after all, another human being, a person with other interests, other pains, in whose world one is oneself an object among others.

He's so big, he can swallow a creeper whole (and he's so strong, he'll survive the explosion—the worst damage being a bad case of gas. The history book literally describes Mungo's huge farts after he ate a creeper. No, my friends, don't ever stand downwind of Mungo after he's devoured a charged creeper. It won't be a pleasant experience.)

Watching Nigel Farage rudely insult fellow members of the European Parliament today - the first occasion they were all assembled in Brussels since the tragic 'Brexit' referendum result - made me feel utterly ashamed to be British. Let it be known that Nigel Farage is the very epitomy of a narrow-minded 'Little Englander' who does not represent the vast majority of outward-looking people from Great Britain. His shameful and unofficial campaign to convince the British electorate to leave the European Union was peppered with lies and deceit. His populist and xenophobic rhetoric has also subsequently contributed to ugly scenes of racial abuse and hate crime directed at Eastern European nationals and ethnic minorities living and working in the UK, in the wake of the referendum result. Fellow Europeans, world citizens, let this be a wake-up call. Deny your own domestic peddlers of populism and nationalism the opportunity to follow the example of this unelected, disrespected maverick, intent on making a name for himself, for he has unwittingly unleashed a wrecking ball on Britain's future economic prosperity, cultural diversity and social harmony.

Daddy and I left the End this morning. He is meeting with some of the leaders in Capitol City and he said I could come with him. But, the meetings were boring, so I thought I’d come see you guys.” “You mean, make fun of me, don’t you?” Jimmy said bitterly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and pouting. Princes Tina giggled. “It’s just so easy to do that.

THE UNOFFICIAL AND UNWRITTEN (but you better follow them or you’re going to get beaten twice as hard) SPOKANE INDIAN RULES OF FISTICUFFS: 1. IF SOMEBODY INSULTS YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 2. IF YOU THINK SOMEBODY IS GOING TO INSULT YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 3. IF YOU THINK SOMEBODY IS THINKING ABOUT INSULTING YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 4. IF SOMEBODY INSULTS ANY OF YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, OR IF YOU THINK THEY’RE GOING TO INSULT YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, OR IF YOU THINK THEY’RE THINKING ABOUT INSULTING YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 5. YOU SHOULD NEVER FIGHT A GIRL, UNLESS SHE INSULTS YOU, YOUR FAMILY, OR YOUR FRIENDS, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HER. 6. IF SOMEBODY BEATS UP YOUR FATHER OR YOUR MOTHER, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THE SON AND/OR DAUGHTER OF THE PERSON WHO BEAT UP YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER. 7. IF YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER BEATS UP SOMEBODY, THEN THAT PERSON’S SON AND/OR DAUGHTER WILL FIGHT YOU. 8. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY INDIANS WHO WORK FOR THE BUREA OF INDIAN AFFAIRS. 9. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY WHITE PEOPLE WHO LIVE ANYWHERE ON THE RESERVATION. 10. IF YOU GET IN A FIGHT WITH SOMEBODY WHO IS SURE TO BEAT YOU UP, THEN YOU MUST THROW THE FIRST PUNCH, BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY PUNCH YOU’LL EVER GET TO THROW. 11. IN ANY FIGHT, THE LOSER IS THE FIRST ONE WHO CRIES.

Those of us with powers are sought out by the Checquy through a variety of means, and the group was long ago granted the authority to claim any citizens it wanted. Parents are coerced or duped into releasing their children, sometimes with massive payoffs. Adults are lured in with promises of power, wealth, and the opportunity to serve their nation. The initiation is a mixture of ancient oaths and modern contracts under both the official and unofficial secrecy acts of the government. By the time an individual has become a full member, he is bound by a million different ties. Do you realize now what your leaving would have meant?

Throughout our journey, I’ve eaten loads of great potatoes. Some were slightly overcooked, and some were slightly too soft, but all of them were good in their own special way. It’s not always easy to cook a baked potato completely right, but when you do, it’s a thing of beauty. So, I’m thankful for every baked potato that I’ve eaten. Yes, I may have run out of baked potatoes at the moment, but I have hope that one day I’ll be back home, eating baked potatoes again. Thank you.

Black guys and white guys who had lived and clung to each other like twin brothers out of the same womb when in combat and the air was thick with flying metallic crap didn’t cease being so when off the gun line, for everyone knew they were there to kill or be killed. However, blacks and whites when on liberty in Saigon did not tend to hang out together, a part of it being a taste in music, and as the black guys said, “ole whitey don’t wanna hear no soul, whitey only digs that bronco redneck hillbilly crap”. So, the black dudes headed for Khanh Hoi, their soulville of the southland and free of “Sylvesters” white dudes, and the white dudes headed for Tu Do on the hunt for booze and “flatbackers”, prostitutes. Therefore, in Saigon there was an unofficial and mutually respected “Mason Line”, a demarcation line between a Black area and a White area. Fact was, when on or off the gun line folk’s personal survival rested on a state of mind and not a skin color.

One night, around the campfire after a dinner of bully-beef stew, someone opened an extra bottle of rum. ‘As it grew darker, the men began to sing, at first slightly self-conscious and shy, but picking up confidence as the song spread.’ Their songs were not the martial chants of warriors, but the schmaltzy romantic popular tunes of the time: ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’, ‘My Melancholy Baby’, ‘I’m Dancing with Tears in My Eyes’. The bigger and burlier the singer, Pleydell noted, the more passionate and heartfelt the singing. Now the French contingent struck up, with a warbling rendition of ‘Madeleine’, the bittersweet song of a man whose lilacs for his lover have been left to wilt in the rain. Then it was the turn of the German prisoners who, after some debate, belted out ‘Lili Marleen’, the unofficial anthem of the Afrika Korps, complete with harmonies: ‘Vor der Kaserne / Vor dem grossen Tor / Stand eine Laterne / Und steht sie noch davor …’ (Usually rendered in English as: Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate, darling I remember, how you used to wait.) As the last verse died away, the audience broke into loud whistles and applause. To his own astonishment, Pleydell was profoundly moved. ‘There was something special about that night,’ he wrote years later. ‘We had formed a small solitary island of voices; voices which faded and were caught up in the wilderness. A little cluster of men singing in the desert. An expression of feeling that defied the vastness of its surroundings … a strange body of men thrown together for a few days by the fortunes of war.’ The doctor from Lewisham had come in search of authenticity, and he had found it deep in the desert, among hard soldiers singing sentimental songs to imaginary sweethearts in three languages.

Hey guys!” Hey Boom. “Oooh, is this the introduction?” Yes. Now clear off. You’re in the spotlight. “Oh come on! I wanna be in the story too.” “Clear off Boom! Leave this part to the famous people.” “Famous? Are you kidding? There is no one more famous than the mighty Dr. Boom!” Dude, it’s been what, four books since we last saw you? Our first readers have probably died from old age by now. “LET ME HAVE THE SPOTLIGHT!” NEVER! ON WITH THE STORY! “NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Stonecutter said, pushing him gently in the back. “No, I’ll go last,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said. “Someone has to trigger the TNT so that the monsters cannot follow, and that’s my job.” He could hear the moans of the zombies getting louder as they neared the top of the wall. “Stonecutter, I need you to look after my sister,” Gameknight said, pointing to Monet, who still stood at the top of the watchtower with Hunter and Stitcher. “Please … go get her and take her to a minecart. Carry her if you must, but make her safe.” The stocky NPC nodded his head, his stone-gray eyes staring back at Gameknight999 with confidence and

Religious intolerance is an idea that found its earliest expression in the Old Testament, where the Hebrew tribe depicts itself waging a campaign of genocide on the Palestinian peoples to steal their land. They justified this heinous behavior on the grounds that people not chosen by their god were wicked and therefore did not deserve to live or keep their land. In effect, the wholesale slaughter of the Palestinian peoples, eradicating their race with the Jew's own Final Solution, was the direct result of a policy of religious superiority and divine right. Joshua 6-11 tells the sad tale, and one needs only read it and consider the point of view of the Palestinians who were simply defending their wives and children and the homes they had built and the fields they had labored for. The actions of the Hebrews can easily be compared with the American genocide of its native peoples - or even, ironically, the Nazi Holocaust. With the radical advent of Christianity, this self-righteous intolerance was borrowed from the Jews, and a new twist was added. The conversion of infidels by any means possible became the newfound calling card of religious fervor, and this new experiment in human culture spread like wildfire. By its very nature, how could it not have? Islam followed suit, conquering half the world in brutal warfare and, much like its Christian counterpart, it developed a new and convenient survival characteristic: the destruction of all images and practices attributed to other religions. Muslims destroyed millions of statues and paintings in India and Africa, and forced conversion under pain of death (or by more subtle tricks: like taxing only non-Muslims), while the Catholic Church busily burned books along with pagans, shattering statues and defacing or destroying pagan art - or converting it to Christian use. Laws against pagan practices and heretics were in full force throughrout Europe by the sixth century, and as long as those laws were in place it was impossible for anyone to refuse the tenets of Christianity and expect to keep their property or their life. Similar persecution and harassment continues in Islamic countries even to this day, officially and unofficially.