Wind Breaker Quotes

With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, We sailed for the Hesperides, The land where golden apples grow; But that, ah! that was long ago. How far, since then, the ocean streams Have swept us from that land of dreams, That land of fiction and of truth, The lost Atlantis of our youth! Whither, ah, whither? Are not these The tempest-haunted Orcades, Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers roar, And wreck and sea-weed line the shore? Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle! Here in thy harbors for a while We lower our sails; a while we rest From the unending, endless quest.

Hammer and nail, the Companions are now seven, wind and gail, bound for hell or bound for heaven.

Everyone has their own weaknesses. Everyone has a side of them that's less than cool. But it's not something to be scared off or embarrassed about. Everyone's the same.

Nailer smiled bitterly in the acrid wind. That was what thinking about clipper ships got you. A lungful of smoke because you weren't paying attention to what was around.

A wind came across the ocean, sweeping with it a pall of fine white ash. The ash fell into the sea and into the breakers. The breakers washed dead shrimp ashore with the driftwood. Then they washed up the whiting. The shark swam out to his deepest waters and brooded in the cold clean currents. He was very hungry that season.

It did not occur to me that absence of human companionship does not assure solitude. It may, on the contrary, plunge one into an environment compared with which New York or London would appear deserts. For we take memory and imagination with us. The seabirds that scream overhead or waddle along the margins of the surf; the grotesque forms of twisted cedars; the rustle of sea-grass in the wind; the interminable percussion of the breakers; the dead infinity of the sand itself - there can be no solitude, in the sense of freedom from disturbances of thought, in the presence of such things. They draw us back into the maelstrom. ("Absolute Evil")

You make it seem like it's so easy. Fighting me off while trying to protect the guy behind you. Gee, I wonder how long you're gonna last." "You don't seem to understand... that fighting this way can bring out the most of your power.

Then he saw them. The gulls. Out there, riding the seas. What he had thought at first to be the white caps of the waves were gulls. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands... They rose and fell in the trough of the seas, heads to the wind, like a mighty fleet at anchor, waiting on the tide. To eastward, and to the west, the gulls were there. They stretched as far as his eye could reach, in close formation, line upon line. Had the sea been still they would have covered the bay like a white cloud, head to head, body packed to body. Only the east wind, whipping the sea to breakers, hid them from the shore.

His lips touched the back of her neck and moved along her stubborn shoulder. One hand stroked her breasts, and the other moved unerringly between her thighs; he found the most sensitive part of her and moved against her and in her until her half-formed protests turned into soft, stifled moans. The moon moved lower in the sky, tangling itself in her eyes until he closed them with surprisingly gentle kisses. Her body was the ocean and his was the wild wind -- turning ripples into foam-capped breakers that soared and curved translucently before they crashed into oblivion against distant shores.

I've done so many things that I could never take back. It's just... I don't deserve any salvation!" "I don't give a shit about how you see yourself. But Anzai was willing to take a beating to save you. Even if you think of yourself as trash... it doesn't always mean others will see you in the same light.

At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before: Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor! With that he seized a great horn from Guthlaf his banner-bearer, and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And straightway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains. Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor! Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them. Eomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first eored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Theoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Orome the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. his golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.

He was held together by cotter pins, hose clamps, nuts, bolts, and magnets. Salo’s tangerine-colored skin, which was so expressive when he was emotionally disturbed, could be put on or taken off like an Earthling wind-breaker. A magnetic zipper held it shut.

Every spring the meadow in front of the house became an ocean of canary-colored mustard blossoms, and when a wind came up, it was like watching a sea of rippling golden waves rising and falling with the breeze like breakers just before they pound into a reef.

Don't tell me you're thinking about nonsense like 'you wish you were never born', right?" "Sakura-san..." "You said you wanted to be here with everyone... and that's what everyone's fightin' for. Take that helplessness and that frustration, and then swallow all of those feelings while you carefully watch as all of these guys put themselves through the wringer for you. And we swear... we'll never let anyone lay a finger on you".

[Robert's eulogy at his brother, Ebon C. Ingersoll's grave. Even the great orator Robert Ingersoll was choked up with tears at the memory of his beloved brother] The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower. Dear Friends: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me. The loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where manhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were falling toward the west. He had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest point; but, being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and, using his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust. Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For whether in mid sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death. This brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but in the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic souls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below, while on his forehead fell the golden dawning, of the grander day. He loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to tears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly gave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully discharged all public trusts. He was a worshipper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand times I have heard him quote these words: 'For Justice all place a temple, and all season, summer!' He believed that happiness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers. Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of death hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing. He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, 'I am better now.' Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead. And now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust. Speech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler, stronger, manlier man.

And the speck of my heart, in my shed of flesh and bone, began to sing out, the way the sun would sing if the sun could sing, if light had a mouth and a tongue, if the sky had a throat, if god wasn’t just an idea but shoulders and a spine, gathered from everywhere, even the most distant planets, blazing up. Where am I? Even the rough words come to me now, quick as thistles. Who made your tyrant’s body, your thirst, your delving, your gladness? Oh tiger, oh bone-breaker, oh tree on fire! Get away from me. Come closer.

The type of guys who dunk on what other people are passionate about—almost all of them have some kind of problem with themselves.

Hate is like throwing dust into a strong wind,” his mum always said. “You know where the dust is going to end up,

Well, you see, Ben, there are more than two votes involved here. The third vote, the tie-breaker, is my heart. And this is something I am very sure of. My heart votes for you.

I've wanted to change. I wanted to leave behind that desperate world where we fought over a single cookie... I've always wanted to be part of the beautiful, clean world outside.

My muscles are tense. It's hard to breathe. My breath is ragged. But I'm already used to these things. So even if it's hard, I know that this is what it means to live. But what if it doesn't have to be like this? What if this tightrope isn't he only path for me? What if there wasn't the tension and the ragged breaths and the fear of falling? What if there's a place where I can stand freely?

The funds are good at the moment," said the treasurer, with the bankbook in front of him. "The firms have been generous of late. Max Linder & Co. paid five hundred to be left alone. Walker Brothers sent in a hundred; but I took it on myself to return it and ask for five. If I do not hear by Wednesday, their winding gear may get out of order. We had to burn their breaker last year before they became reasonable. Then the West Section Coaling Company has paid its annual contribution. We have enough on hand to meet any obligations." "What

Washerwoman, indeed!' he shouted recklessly. 'Ho! ho! I am the Toad, the motor-car snatcher, the prison-breaker, the Toad who always escapes! Sit still, and you shall know what driving really is, for you are in the hands of the famous, the skillful, the entirely fearless Toad!

Last-Minute Message For a Time Capsule I have to tell you this, whoever you are: that on one summer morning here, the ocean pounded in on tumbledown breakers, a south wind, bustling along the shore, whipped the froth into little rainbows, and a reckless gull swept down the beach as if to fly were everything it needed. I thought of your hovering saucers, looking for clues, and I wanted to write this down, so it wouldn't be lost forever - - that once upon a time we had meadows here, and astonishing things, swans and frogs and luna moths and blue skies that could stagger your heart. We could have had them still, and welcomed you to earth, but we also had the righteous ones who worshipped the True Faith, and Holy War. When you go home to your shining galaxy, say that what you learned from this dead and barren place is to beware the righteous ones.

It's been so long since anything has tasted good." "Now don't forget that taste. When life gets tough, you won't even have the time to taste your food. But... when you share a meal with someone who can ease your anxiety... the food, for some reason tastes really good. We can't change what happened. No matter what people think. You can only shoulder the responsibility and live on. I'm pretty sure there are a lot of tough situations still waiting for you down the road. But when they come, remember... how the food tasted today. It's solid proof that you're not alone. Right?

But the truth remains... you couldn't move during the fight, right? It doesn't matter why. Once something is stuck, you can't do anything about it. You just have to figure out a way around it, right?" "A way around it?" "Like, letting those around you who can move cover your back. It's pretty obvious though...

You sure? Even after all those things you said about her being a heart-breaker, a manipulator and that she cut your heart into millions of little pieces and blew them in the wind like a dandelion ...” “Hey!” Jason shrieked. “Artists,” he said sheepishly. “We’re overly sensitive. And apparently can’t keep our mouths shut.

In the past... when I snap, everything in my mind would go blank. And before I realized it, I would be surrounded by bodies on the ground. Afterwards, I'd feel disgusted. Not being able to fight against my own self made me sick to my stomach. But in the end, I managed to learn how to control myself. Even if I'm just half-assed I was still made human.

Do we see the hundred-thousandth part of what exists? Look here; there is the wind, which is the strongest force in nature. It knocks down men, and blows down buildings, uproots trees, raises the sea into mountains of water, destroys cliffs and casts great ships on to the breakers; it kills, it whistles, it sighs, it roars. But have you ever seen it, and can you see it? Yet it exists for all that.

If there are other beings besides ourselves on this earth, how comes it that we have not known it for so long a time, or why have you not seen them? How is it that I have not seen them?” He replied: “Do we see the hundred-thousandth part of what exists? Look here; there is the wind, which is the strongest force in nature. It knocks down men, and blows down buildings, uproots trees, raises the sea into mountains of water, destroys cliffs and casts great ships on to the breakers; it kills, it whistles, it sighs, it roars. But have you ever seen it, and can you see it? Yet it exists for all that.

But the worst that the wind did was to be the primary cause of a huge, vicious, boat-flipping, morale-shattering seaway. The helicopter pilots, who, while hovering, had to dodge them, said the waves were as high as fifty feet. If that estimate were true, it still misses the point, for the danger of the waves lay not in their height but in their shape. “At daybreak the seas were spectacular,” remembered Peter Bruce, a commander in the Royal Navy who was navigator in Eclipse. “They had become very large, very steep, and broke awkwardly, but the boat was handling well.” George Tinley, who had been so badly beaten around in his Windswept, later said, “There were seas coming at one angle with breakers on them, but there were seas coming at another angle also with breakers, and then there were the most fearsome things where the two met in the middle.” After the gale, Major Maclean vividly described the appearance of the waves at night: “All around were white horses with their spray flurrying horizontally and slashing against us with the added impetus of the occasional rain squalls. But these white horses were just the top of some monster waves which hunched up, their tops flaring with spume, and marched on leaving us high at one minute so we could glimpse around, and then bringing us some fifty feet down into their troughs so we could appreciate the enormity of the next wave following. Some waves had boiling foam all over them where they were moving through the break of a previous wave, or, when the foam had fizzled away, they were deep green from the disturbance of the water. Otherwise the sea was black.

we step onto the beach, and Alessia can contain herself no more. She releases my hand and runs toward the raging sea, her hat flying off and her hair whipping in the wind. “The sea, the sea!” she cries, and twirls around, her arms in the air. Her earlier pique is forgotten, her smile is wide and her face bright, lit from within by her joy. I stride across the coarse sand and rescue her discarded woolly hat. “The sea!” she shouts again above the roar of the water, and she gesticulates wildly, her arms like a crazy windmill, welcoming each wave as it crashes to the shore. It’s impossible not to smile. Her unbridled enthusiasm for this first-time event is too appealing and too affecting. I grin as she squeals and dances back to avoid the breakers on the shoreline. She looks ridiculous, dressed in oversize Wellingtons and an oversize coat. Her face is flushed, her nose pink, and she is utterly breathtaking. My heart clenches. She runs toward me with childish abandon and grabs my hand. “The sea!” she cries once more, and drags me to the crashing waves. And I go willingly, surrendering myself to her joy.

Despite international calls for Chernobyl to be decommissioned at once, it endured a very gradual demise. On October 11th, 1991, just five years after the Unit 4 explosion, there was a third major accident at the plant, this time at Unit 2. Prior to the event, the Unit had been taken offline following another accident - this time a fire in its section of the turbine hall, which had broken out during minor turbogenerator repair work. After extinguishing the blaze, the generator had been isolated and its turbine coasted down to about 150 rpm when a faulty breaker switch closed, reconnecting it to the grid. The turbine rapidly sped up to 3000 rpm in under 30 seconds, then, according to a 1993 report by the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission, “the influx of current to TG-4 overheated the conductor elements and caused a rapid degradation of the mechanical end joints of the rotor and excitation windings. A centrifugal imbalance developed and damaged generator bearings 10 through 14 and the seal oil system, allowing hydrogen gas and seal oil to leak from the generator enclosure. Electrical arcing and frictional heat ignited the leaking hydrogen and seal oil creating hydrogen flames 8 meters high, and dense smoke which obstructed the visibility of plant personnel. When the burning oil reached the busbar of the generator it caused a three-phase 120,000-amp short circuit.”265

Then suddenly Merry felt it at last, beyond doubt: a change. Wind was in his face! Light was glimmering. Far, far away, in the South the clouds could be dimly seen as remote grey shapes, rolling up, drifting: morning lay beyond them. But at that moment there was a flash, as if lightning had sprung from the earth beneath the city. For a searing second it stood dazzling far off in black and white, its topmost tower like a glittering needle; and then as the darkness closed again there came rolling over the fields a great boom. At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before: "Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!" With that he siezed a great horn from Guthláf his banner-bearer and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And straightaway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm on the plain and a thunder in the mountains. "Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!" Suddenly the King cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them. Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removes, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror overtook them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath overtook them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the city.

Birds twittered, too, and screamed at each other or themselves to hear anything besides the rustling wind.

You are odder than I expected,” she chuckled. He quirked a brow at her. “And what did you expect?” The pirate captain paused, licking her lips. “Someone colder,” she finally said, looking him up and down. “Made of stone instead of flesh. Less mortal. Like all the things Cortael tried to be.” The wind blew over the harbor again, smelling of salt. He turned into it, facing the docks and little ship. A familiar figure ran its deck, checking the rigging, though she was no sailor. It was not like Sorasa Sarn to remain still. Dom heaved a breath. “I was that way once.” The shadow of a smile crossed Meliz’s face as she followed his gaze. “Love does that.” His throat tightened and his jaw clenched, teeth gritted so tightly Dom could not speak if he tried. Meliz only gave a wave of her hand. “I’m referring to my daughter and the love you bear her.” Her grin widened mischievously. “Of course.” “Of course,” Dom managed, wrenching his eyes away from the port. His entire body felt hot with embarrassment, if not indignance.

The wind stirred his loose hair and Sorasa assessed him for the first time since her memory failed. Since the deck of the Tyri ship caught fire, and someone seized her around the middle, plunging them both into the dark waves. She did not need to guess to know who. Dom’s clothing was torn but long dry. He still wore the leather jerkin with the undershirt, but his borrowed cloak had been left to feed the sea serpents. The rest of him looked intact. He had only a few fresh cuts across the backs of his hands, like a terrible rope burn. Scales, Sorasa knew. The sea serpent coiled in her head, bigger than the mast, its scales flashing a dark rainbow. Her breath caught when she realized he wore no sword belt, nor sheath. Nor sword. “Dom,” she bit out, reaching between them. Only her instincts caught her, her hand freezing inches above his hip. His brow furrowed again, carving a line of concern. “Your sword.” The line deepened, and Sorasa understood. She mourned her own dagger, earned so many decades ago, now lost to a burning palace. She could not imagine what Dom felt for a blade centuries old. “It is done,” he finally said, fishing into his shirt. The collar pulled, showing a line of white flesh, the planes of hard muscle rippling beneath. Sorasa dropped her eyes, letting him fuss. Only when something soft touched her temple did she look up again. Her heart thumped. Dom did not meet her gaze, focused on his work, cleaning her wound with a length of cloth. It was the fabric that made her breath catch. Little more than a scrap of gray green. Thin but finely made by master hands. Embroidered with silver antlers. It was a piece of Dom’s old cloak, the last remnant of Iona. It survived a kraken, an undead army, a dragon, and the dungeons of a mad queen. But it would not survive Sorasa Sarn. She let him work, her skin aflame beneath his fingers. Until the last bits of blood were gone, and the last piece of his home tossed away. “Thank you,” she finally said to no reply.

With a snarl of pain, she forced herself to sit up, her head spinning with the sudden movement. One hand touched her temple, sticky with dried blood. She winced, feeling a gash along her eyebrow. It was long but shallow, and already scabbing over. She clenched her jaw, teeth grinding, as she surveyed the beach with squinting eyes. The ocean stared back at her, empty and endless, a wall of iron blue. Then she noticed shapes along the beach, some half-buried in the sand, others caught in the rhythmic pull of the tide. She narrowed her eyes and the shapes solidified. A torn length of sail floated, tangled up with rope. A shattered piece of the mast angled out of the sand like a pike. Smashed crates littered the beach, along with other debris from the ship. Bits of hull. Rigging. Oars snapped in half. The bodies moved with the waves. Her steady breathing lost its rhythm, coming in shorter and shorter gasps until she feared her throat might close. Her thoughts scattered, impossible to grasp. All thoughts but one. “DOMACRIDHAN!” Her shout echoed, desperate and ragged. “DOMACRIDHAN!” Only the waves answered, crashing endless against the shore. She forgot her training and forced herself to stand, nearly falling over with dizziness. Her limbs aches but she ignored it, lunging toward the waterline. Her lips moved, her voice shouting his name again, though she couldn’t hear it above the pummel of her own heart. Sorasa Sarn was no stranger to corpses. She splashed into the waves with abandon, even as her head spun. Sailor, sailor, sailor, she noted, her desperation rising with every Tyri uniform and head of black hair. One of them looked ripped in half, missing everything from the waist down. His entrails floated with the rear of him, like a length of bleached rope. She suspected a shark got the best of him. Then her memories returned with a crash like the waves. The Tyri ship. Nightfall. The sea serpent slithering up out of the deep. The breaking of a lantern. Fire across the deck, slick scales running over my hands. The swing of a greatsword, Elder-made. Dom silhouetted against a sky awash with lightning. And then the cold, drowning darkness of the ocean. A wave splashed up against her and Sorasa stumbled back to the shore, shivering. She had not waded more than waist deep, but her face felt wet, water she could not understand streaking her cheeks. Her knees buckled and she fell, exhausted. She heaved a breath, then two. And screamed. Somehow the pain in her head paled in comparison to the pain in her heart. It dismayed and destroyed her in equal measure. The wind blew, stirring salt-crusted hair across her face, sending a chill down to her soul. It was like the wilderness all over again, the bodies of her Amhara kin splayed around her. No, she realized, her throat raw. This is worse. There is not even a body to mourn. She contemplated the emptiness for awhile, the beach and the waves, and the bodies gently pressing into the shore. If she squinted, they could only be debris from the ship, bits of wood instead of bloated flesh and bone. The sun glimmered on the water. Sorasa hated it. Nothing but clouds since Orisi, and now you choose to shine.

It was not like her to lose her senses. The ability to drift was beaten from her long ago. But Sorasa drifted now, pacing the beach. She did not hear the shift of sand, or the heavy scuff of boots over the loose stones. There was only the wind. Until a strand of gold blew across her vision, joined by a warm unyielding palm against her shoulder. Her body jolted as she turned, nose to nose with Domacridhan of Iona. His green eyes glittered, his mouth open as he shouted something again, his voice swallowed up by the droning in her own head. “Sorasa.” It came to her slowly, as if through deep water. Her own name, over and over again. She could only stare back into the verdant green, lost in the fields of his eyes. In her chest, her heart stumbled. She expected her body to follow. Instead, her fist closed and her knuckles met cheekbone. Dom was good enough to turn his head, letting the blow glance off. Begrudgingly, Sorasa knew he had spared her a broken hand on top of everything else. “How dare you,” she forced out, trembling. Whatever concern he wore burned away in an instant. “How dare I what? Save your life?” he snarled, letting her go Sorasa swayed without his support. She clenched her own jaw, fighting to maintain her balance lest she fall to pieces entirely. “Is that another Amhara lesson?” he raged on, throwing up both arms. “When given the choice between death or indignity, choose death?!” Hissing, Sorasa looked back to the spot where she woke up. Heat crept up her face as she realized her body left a trail through the sand when he dragged her up from the tide line. A blind man would have noticed it. But not Sorasa in her fury and grief. “Oh,” was all she could manage. Her mouth flapped open, her mind spinning. Only the truth came, and that was far too embarrassing. “I did not see. I—” Her head throbbed again and she pressed a hand to her temple, wincing away from his stern glare. “I will feel better if you sit,” Dom said stiffly. Despite the pain, Sorasa loosed a growl. She wanted to stand just to spite him, but thought better of it. With a huff, she sank, cross-legged on the cool sand. Dom was quick to follow, almost blurring. It made her head spin again. “So you saved me from the shipwreck just to abandon me here?” Sorasa muttered as Dom opened his mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. Time is of the essence now. A wounded mortal will only slow you down.” She expected him to bluster and lie. Instead, his brow furrowed, lines creasing between his still vivid eyes. The light off the ocean suited him. “Are you? Wounded?” he asked gently, his gaze raking over her. His focus snagged on her temple, and the gash there. “Anywhere else, I mean?” For the first time since she woke, Sorasa tried to still herself. Her breath slowed as she assessed herself, feeling her own body from toes to scalp. As her awareness traveled, she noted every blooming bruise and cut, every dull ache and shooting pain. Bruises ribs. A sprained wrist. Her tongue flicked in her mouth. Scowling, she spit out a broken tooth. “No, I’m not wounded,” she said aloud. Dom’s desperate smile broke wide. He went slack against the sand for an instant, falling back on his elbows to tip his face to the sky. His eyes fluttered shut only for a moment. Sorasa knew his gods were too far. He had said so himself. The gods of Glorian could not hear their children in this realm. Even so, Sorasa saw it on his face. Dom prayed anyway. In his gratitude or anger, she did not know. “Good,” he finally said, sitting back up.

Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them. Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.

You never saw such a wild thing as my mother, her hat seized by the winds and blown out to sea so that her hair was her white mane, her black lisle legs exposed to the thigh, her skirts tucked round her waist, one hand on the reins of the rearing horse while the other clasped my father's service revolver and, behind her, the breakers of the savage, indifferent sea, like the witnesses of a furious justice. And my husband stood stock-still, as if she had been Medusa, the sword still raised over his head as in those clockwork tableaux of Bluebeard that you see in glass cases at fairs. And then it was as though a curious child pushed his centime into the slot and set all in motion. The heavy, bearded figure roared out aloud, braying with fury, and, wielding the honourable sword as if it were a matter of death or glory, charged us, all three. On her eighteenth birthday, my mother had disposed of a man-eating tiger that had ravaged the villages in the hills north of Hanoi. Now, without a moment's hesitation, she raised my father's gun, took aim and put a single, irreproachable bullet through my husband's head.

You know, if you don't speak up for yourself, they'll just keep coming at you harder. You gotta fight back, too.

Do you know what color the coffee fruit is?" "Brown... like coffee?" "It's red. They're smooth, like cherries." "At first I thought the fruits were the beans that they sold in jars. But I never knew that those were actually the seeds and that they were white before they were roasted. You never know what something really looks like if you're only looking at it from one direction.

You're free to think however you want but dont be too hasty to form your opinion. You should talk to them... really look at them... and understand them. Or else, you'll never really know what a person is like. So, please... look up and face us, too. I'm willing to face you head-on.

Will we be able to get outta here? Can we make it back alive?" "Didn't ya come here to learn how to fight? Keep your eyes forward.

Yeah, you might have some skills, but that's not enough to be the top of Furin. Because you... are alone." "I ain't so weak that I needa depend on someone else to watch my back!" "I'm not talking about being physically alone. You should go meet the Furin kids first then you'll understand what I mean.

My looks are weird... strange, even. I know that better than anyone else. But what does that matter? What have I ever done to you people? This is... THIS IS WHO I AM!!!

The people of Bofurin stand up to protect the town. They defend the weak and crush the wicked. They're like heroes here!

All of you gotta protect our town. The name they gave us is Bofurin. The chime of the wind breaker. Live up to that name. Protect the people, the things, the memories... protect everything that's important to you.

Now that I think about it... ever since I came to this town, things like this keep happening to me. The human body is a lot warmer than I thought.

You don't find any of this fun unless you can throw some fists around, huh? It's not that I don't get it. We were all like that before, too. But being able to talk with people and being needed by them... this kinda stuff... can be pretty fun, too.

Anyone past this point who causes pain, who brings destruction, who holds evil in their heart, will be purged by Bofurin without exception.

To become an adult means that you have to engage in other people's feelings. That's where you'll need both imagination and experience.

If you only make a fuss when you’re the victim, then you’re still a petulant kid.

Fighting is communication, Sakura-kun. Sometimes, fists are a language that allows you to understand your opponent even better than words. But, well... it's a language that only we know how to speak.

I've never went into a fight like this where I'm battling for someone else. But... although, I can't really put it into words... I'm even more confident on winning than ever before.

...I wanna become strong enough to protect myself.

They won't understand a thing until you beat it into them.

Your punches are light. Do you know why that is? Because there's nothing behind them

Tomiyama... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you over the edge like this. But I guess this shows how close you were to the brink of snapping." "Shut up!" "But if you keep spiraling in despair and end up destroying everything... then from here on for the rest of your life... you'll only keep suffering.

Kame-chan I honestly believed that being the top of the team meant that I would have the most fun. I had my eyes on the treasure chest on top of the mountain and I was eager to take it. I thought that having the treasure to myself meant that I would be freer than anyone else. I was so excited imagining what could happen once I opened the chest. But once the box opened there was... nothing inside. I didn't feel anything at all. I was scared... I felt like I was hollowed out. I didn't know where I should go next. I felt nothing, no matter what I did. Everything became meaningless. I had to do something... I knew that this wasn't right. While I struggled, struggled, and struggled... I eventually couldn't see anything anymore. And I blamed it all on everyone else.

How can you be so happy while still being the top of Furin?" "For me... I just simply like eating!" "I love eating too! I really like curry! What about you?" "I love omelette rice! But, even more than eating... I like doing stuff like this. Where everyone's having fun, enjoying themselves while we eat together. We can talk about anything and laugh like idiots. In this very moment, all the bad things don't even matter anymore. I'm always excited to spend that time with everyone. That's why I'm so happy right now. And well... being the top has nothing to do with hanging out with friends.

You can't become the top when you're alone right? You can only reach the top if you're being lifted by everyone under you. It was only possible because there were people who agreed with my vision and wanted to help me. That's why, when I became the top, I thought my dream no longer only belonged to me. That's exactly why, in order to make this dream a reality... no matter how difficult the path... no matter how unreasonable the climb is... no matter how absurd it gets... I will never lose.

I don't accept just anyone. But... in order to accept someone you have to lay everything open and face each other. You're able to do that and it looks to me like you want to accept others. You could even become the top

You're really selfish, aren't you? You sure got a big mouth for someone facing a man whose league's stronger than you." "Who cares if it's selfish?! That's what it means to persevere... to push my will in a fight, right?! Even if I'm facing someone to whom I owe my life! Even if my opponent's strong! I will never look away! I will never bend my will!

Nothing's great about gettin' a leader who doesn't even know what he's supposed to do." "You don't know what you're supposed to do? Well, just do what you can! That's all you need to do.

Everyone has got one or two secrets that they don't wanna talk about.

I'd be betraying my virtues if I didn't lend a hand when someone needed the help!

Sheesh. You're reeling and weaving all over the place. What are you, a girl?" "How rude. You can just call me graceful. And if you think that only women can be graceful then you've got a pretty old-fashioned view.

I'm also a part of Furin! Even if I can't fight... even if I can't protect myself... the least I can do is to face the enemy head-on!

Just like you said, Bofurin... is a team that protects the town. And that means our job is to protect everything in the town... including the people and the memories.

You. The only thing running in your head is to send the guy up there flying, right?" "Of course! What's so wrong about that?" "You goddamn idiot. You're so distracted by that nobody up there you can't even deal with this small fry on your own. You can't even help the others that need it. You've got other shit you gotta take care of first, don't you?! If you can't even save your own classmates then you shouldn't call yourself their grade captain!" "... even if that's true, I... I can't let him get away with what he's done." "Well ain't that a coincidence. I can't either. So I'll give him an extra punch just for you. You need to focus on what you have to do.

Weak people can only obey the strong! Guys with no power have no right to be alive! Oh? Did I break your arms lil lady? Ha!" "You must not be very popular with the girls." "Whatcha say?" "Going on and on about your empty pride really turns girls off. They'll think you're too tiring to be around. As another fellow human being, I feel embarrassed for you.

You should stop bragging about the things that you just happen to be born with, by sheer luck.

Right now you are the only one who thinks everyone's rejecting you and you're getting scared for no reason. There's no way anyone can figure out what another person is thinking. But regardless, when all of your friends saw how 'weak' you were... or that's what you thought... and when they saw how you snapped at them, not a single one of them chose to reject you. This doesn't mean that they're only seeing what you're capable of. But it's proof that they're seeing you for who you really are.

... you keep getting scared of being rejected when it's not even happening. From what I can see, it looks to me that you're the one who's not seeing them for who they are. I have no idea what could've happened to you. But I can understand you're feeling that way. That's why I'm telling you this. You need to trust them based on what you can see.

C'mon. Sit down." "Why are we on the roof?" "Why? When we're talkin' about stuff like this, it's better to do it somewhere high up and open".

Someone that has things will never understand those with nothing!" "Never understand? Really? Well of course how can I understand?! It's not like you understand me either! If our environment is different, then what we think, and how we feel, will all be different. No human can fully understand another person's situation! But what I do understand is that you must've been suffering a lot. That has nothing to do with how we're born, what gender we are, or if we have everything or nothing!

I'm sorry. I didn't know anything about you, but I acted like I did. You know, here, on this street, I'm able to do what I like most. But in the past things were different. I was just like you. I was suffering so much. But there were people who reached out and helped me. The reason why I am who I am today is all thanks to them." "So what?! Well, good for you! Is that what you wanted to hear from me?!" "I don't know the details about why you don't have anything you like. But you're just like my past self. I can tell that you're suffering just like I did. That's why... I want to help you!

Ya better stop boastin' 'bout bullshit that you can't even do. Come hell or high water, as long as I'm alive, I ain't gonna let you assholes ruin this street!

By the way, Kanji-san. I heard that Roppo-Ichiza doesn't have many members. If you'reup against a crowd, then you could've asked Sasaki-san and the others for help." "We'll be fine. Roppo-Ichiza's a lot stronger than you think. It's true that we've got fewer people than a team like Furin. But we make up for it with the best of the best!

It doesn't matter if we don't win. You've got the wrong idea." "Wrong idea?" Roppo-Ichiza's job is to ensure that people can entertain and be entertained without fear. As long as we can keep doin' that then winnin' or losin'... doesn't matter. Even if you beat all of us here, even if we end up flat on the ground, as long as the street and Shizuka is safe, then that's all that matters to us.

It never occurred to me that there could be fights where the outcome didn't matter. They fight in order to protect.

Hey Sakura? What're your thoughts after listening to Kaji?" "I-I..." "There's a lot I can't do. I do a lot of things that make me look pretty pathetic or lame. But I'm not scared. That's because everyone here will accept me, no matter what I do, so I can do anything without having to worry. That's why I think it's okay for me to do the things that others can't. 'It doesn't matter how stupid they may look', 'I still like him'. Everyone has those close connections. We depend on others and let them depend on us. We forgive them, and they forgive us. That's why we're all together. That's why it's okay, Sakura. Trust Kaji. Trust your friends. And jump right out there with everything you've got!

While you were sleeping, Nirei and Suo brought those gifts to you. And I made this for you. It's because someone else that's not you... made the move. You sleep and rest and when you wake up there's food and water." "Wh- whatever. I can buy food by myself, too." "That's not what I'm trying to get through to you. Even if it's something you can do on your own... if others are doing it for you... then you're freed up to do something else. Every human can only do the things limited by the time on their clock. There's only so much you can do on your own. Well... I say that. But letting others do things for you... relying on them... is always a bit scary at first.

Y'know you act like you're owning up to being a lameass. But you're socially awkward and you're a pain to deal with. You've got a big attitude. We can all see that from just lookin' at ya. But, even so, who even gives a crap about that? How can any of us feel disappointed when we see how something that hurts us hurts you, too, and how stupidly serious you can be, worrying about it? Why do you have to apologize when you just did what's natural and we've done the same to you? Did you really think that'd be enough to piss us off? Get real, dude! No one like that exists here in Furin! It doesn't matter how socially awkward you are, or what a pain you can be! You still charge straight into trouble just to protect your friends! You're really cool for it, too! I... no, we... really, seriously like you for you who are!

When times are tough, everyone in the world always believes that what they're going through is the absolute worst! But even if that's true, I can't let anyone get away with forcefully taking away another person's love for passion. That's why I'll have to bring you down.

Sakura-kun. Causing trouble for others... or dealing with other people's troubles isn't entirely bad. It feels like you've always been alone. So it'd be a hard ask for you to suddenly change... But just take it one step at a time and I hope you'll grow familiar with what it's like to rely on someone else.

Well for me, putting on makeup makes me stronger." "Wuh? What're you saying? Have you lost your mind? Caking on powder isn't gonna make you stronger in a fight." "Not at all. It's my heart that becomes stronger. When I put makeup on, I can become the person I always wanted to be. I feel so happy and it gives me the drive to keep going. This isn't just limited to makeup, either. Love itself can make anyone stronger." "You're insane. Your heart? So what if your heart becomes stronger? What will that accomplish?" "I see... you have no idea how that feels. You poor thing.

I love Shizuka! She’s hasty, reckless, and a little meek, but kinder than anyone I know. Even when things don’t go her way, she stays true to herself and her passions. Seeing her makes me want to better myself, too!

Someone's love and passion can ignite strength in those around them.

I just thought that one day, somehow... my world would end up looking just like the game posters I saw. I thought that eventually, the world would turn fun and bright. But the reality is... things would only get worse. More and more people wanted a crumb from the cookie. Each person's share just got smaller and smaller. And then one day I finally realized that no one in this town had to luxury to save anyone else. Even if I wait... the fun and bright game will never come. And even if we try to struggle against the pain, our stomachs will never be full. There's no other choice. I have to change this messed-up reality.

You want to know how to rely on others right? That's 'cause I can't do everything on my own." "B-but... if you say that then it's like you're saying that you're weak! I can't do that." "What... is this?" "G- green tea?" "Exactly. But it's coffee inside." "What?! What's that supposed to-" "No matter how much you insist that this is green tea... to me, the inside is still coffee. Just changing the label doesn't mean that what's inside changes." "Well, duh." "So... when you can't do something and you refuse to admit it... then it's the same as faking and insisting that this is green tea... when the inside is coffee. You said that you understood. You knew that you can't do much on your own and that you need to rely on others. But you can't do it. That's because you're scared of being rejected by others. I don't know what you think about how the others around you judge you. But the fact that you're scared out of your wits... has been blatantly obvious to everyone.

You can smash a snow globe with a ball-peen hammer and be disappointed that the glass is actually plastic and the snow actually ground-up Styrofoam. • You can laminate anything by winding it in plastic wrap before a five-minute tumble on Cotton in the dryer. • You can microwave a lightbulb for nearly twenty beautiful seconds as it turns in there like a pink comet before it finally goes supernova. • You can safely remove your Helmet and whack your head repeatedly on the drywall, weaving an orange velvet into your vision, before you manage to leave a dent. • You can cover a wall dent by hanging a masterpiece over it and claiming that you need the work at eye level to properly appreciate it. • You can simulate immortality by sticking a rubberhandled flathead screwdriver directly into the outlet and only trip a breaker. • You can ride the laundry basket down the carpeted stairs like a mine cart four times until it catches and ejects you to the bottom, where you strike your elbow and it swells red as a hot-water bottle. • You can safely light the fluff on your sweatpants with a barbecue lighter and send flame rolling over your legs like poured blue water, leaving a crispy black stubble. • You can halt a fan if you thrust your hand into the blades bravely—only when you hesitate will your knuckles be rapped. • You can stick the chilly steel tube of the vacuum to your belly and generate a hideous yet painless bruise, and these pulsating circles when placed carefully can form an Olympic symbol that lasts well into a second week. Of course his mother’s catching wind of any of

I’ll bet you were a handful,” she said. “Got myself into a few scrapes.” “I knew it. You were a rule breaker.” “What do you mean, ‘were’?” He shrugged. “I was good at not getting caught, made the most of it.” “I’ll just bet you did.” Jake felt a smile pull his lips. She was almost flirting, but he wasn’t going to point it out. The moment he did, it would be over. He scanned the crowd for people he might know and need to avoid. “What turned you around?” “Who says I turned around?” She laughed, and the sound reminded him of the wind chimes on the porch, bright and happy. “All

Endless peace and a certain desolation – especially in the evenings. It’s been stormy nearly all the time and out on the point the house has been thoroughly ventilated. Breakers all round and the weirdest illusory sensation of voices, steps and music in the wind. In particular, the acoustic phenomenon of rhythmic violin music when I want to sleep has been a bit disturbing. You become different and think new thoughts when you live a long time alone with the sea and yourself.

Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?" And he answered: You delight in laying down laws, Yet you delight more in breaking them. Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with constancy and then destroy them with laughter. But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore, And when you dest them the ocean laughs with you. Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent. But what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and man-made laws are not sand-towers, But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with which they would carve it in their own likeness? What of the cripple who hates dancers? What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and deer of the forest stray and vagrant things? What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all others naked and shameless? And of him who comes early to the wedding feast, and when over-fed and tired goes his way saying that all feasts are violation and all feasters law-breakers? What shall I say of these save that they too stand in the sunlight, but with their backs to the sun? They see only their shadows, and their shadows are their laws. And what is the sun to them but a caster of shadows? And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop down and trace their shadows upon the earth? But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you? You who travel with the wind, what weather vane shall direct your course? What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke but upon no man's prison door? What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man's iron chains? And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your garment yet leave it in no man's path? People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?

But when the men went ashore for firewood, the wind veered and breakers began rolling into the bay. Captain and crew had to strip and shove the boat out to sea : ‘Oh! It was cold. And the sight of all hands naked was enough to make a cat laugh. We were red as lobsters and our teeth chattering.

Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.

Then came a final wave of his hand, his red wind-breaker like a splash of paint on the kingfisher blue and the dome of cerulean above it, almost a quaint folk painting, the forms containing all that was essential, man suspended above the abyss, the water and sky elegant, the points of color making the whole greater than the sum of its parts, as a work of art should do. As