The Sword In The Stone Quotes

Science, its imperfections notwithstanding, is the sword in the stone that humanity finally pulled. The question it poses, of universal and orderly materialism, is the most important that can be asked in philosophy and religion. ~ Edward O. Wilson

There are no boundaries among the geese. How can you have boundaries if you fly? ~ T.H. White

It was Christmas night, the eve of the Boxing Day Meet. You must remember that this was in the old Merry England of Gramarye, when the rosy barons ate with their fingers, and had peacocks served before them with all their tail feathers streaming, or boars' heads with the tusks stuck in again - when there was no unemployment because there were too few people to be unemployed - when the forests rang with knights walloping each other on the helm, and the unicorns in the wintry moonlight stamped with their silver feet and snorted their noble breaths of blue upon the frozen air. Such marvels were great and comfortable ones. But in the Old England there was a greater marvel still. The weather behaved itself. ~ T.H. White

The French Revolution, which is nothing more nor less than the ideal armed with the sword, rose abruptly, and by that very movement, closed the door of evil and opened the door of good.
It released the question, promulgated truth, drove away miasma, purified the century, crowned the people.
We can say it created man a second time, in giving him a second soul, his rights. Page 997 Saint-Denis chapter 7 Argot part III ~ Victor Hugo

This sword is not just an angel sword. She's an archangel sword. Better than an angel sword, in case that's not clear. She intimidates the other angel swords."
"What, the other swords quake in their scabbards when they see her? ~ Susan Ee

And Samuel said, "As your sword has made women childless, so shall your mother be childless among women." And Samuel hacked Agag to pieces before the LORD in Gilgal. ~ Anonymous

Let not thy sword skip one:
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;
He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,
That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ,
But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects;
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers:
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ~ William Shakespeare

Herlia, goddess of justice, weeping as she passes her first judgement (...) She fell in love with a mortal man, but his passion for her drove him to commit a terrible crime and so she judged him, consigning him to the depths of the earth, chained to a rock, where his flesh is eternally eaten by vermin (...) Indeed, he stole a magic sword and with it slew a god, thinking him a rival for her affections. In fact he was her brother, Ixtus, god of dreams. now, whenever we suffer nightmares it is the shade of the fallen god taking his revenge on mortal kind. ~ Anthony Ryan

I had forgotten about the sword in all of the excitement of almost burning alive. ~ Courtney Cole

You cannot escape that you are a woman," she began.
"I wish I could," Firekeeper muttered, but Elise continued as if she hadn't heard.
"Since you cannot, you cannot escape the expectations that our society and our class places upon women."
"Why?" Firekeeper said querulously.
"...Consider," she offered, "what you told me about learning to see at night so that you could hunt with the wolves. Learning to wear a gown, to walk gracefully, to eat politely…"
"I do that!"
"You're learning," Elise admitted, "but don't change the subject. All of these are ways of learning to see in the dark."
"Maybe," Firekeeper said, her tone unconvinced.
"Can you climb a tree?"
"Yes."
"Swim?"
"Yes!" This second affirmative was almost indignant.
"And these skills let you go places that you could not go without them."
Stubborn silence. Elise pressed her point.
"Why do you like knowing how to shoot a bow?"
"It lets me kill farther," came the answer, almost in a growl.
"And using a sword does the same?"
"Yes."
"Let me tell you, Firekeeper, knowing a woman's arts can keep you alive, let you invade private sanctums, even help you to subdue your enemies. If you don't know those arts, others who do will always have an advantage over you."
"All this from wearing a gown that tangles your feet? ~ Jane Lindskold

It was the perfect set. Theseus gave a great war cry and brought his sword arcing up toward Sheba's throat - but the monster of the labyrinth lives inside us all. She is the dark, devouring hunger that is never sated, the creeping shadow that ever plays the fiend to our seraphim, the secret rage hidden in our hearts; deny her, and we become her slaves; fight her, and we make her invincible. By now, you must know that no monster can ever be killed, not really - […] ~ Troy Denning

In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl, under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed, and all fled before his face.

All save one. There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate, sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínen.
"You cannot enter here," said Gandalf, and the huge shadow halted. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!"
The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter.
"Old fool!" he said. "Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade.

And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the city, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of war nor of wizardry, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.
And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns, in dark Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed. Great ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Salem snorted. The Vamp basically told her, 'I'm in a weird place in me life right now, and I need some space.' Of course, he told her that by pointing a bloody sword at her whilst bellowing, 'I forsake you!' in front of the whole kingdom. ~ Kresley Cole

The Dead Father was slaying, in a grove of music and musicians. First he slew a harpist and then a performer upon the serpent and also a banger upon the rattle and also a blower of the Persian trumpet and one upon the Indian trumpet and one upon the Hebrew trumpet and one upon the Roman trumpet and one upon the Chinese trumpet of copper-covered wood. Also a blower upon the marrow trumpet and one upon the slide trumpet and one who wearing upon his head the skin of a cat performed upon the menacing murmurous cornu and three blowers on the hunting horn and several blowers of the conch shell and a player of the double aulos and flautists of all descriptions and a Panpiper and a fagotto player and two virtuosos of the quail whistle and a zampogna player whose fingering of the chanters was sweet to the ear and by-the-bye and during the rest period he slew four buzzers and a shawmist and one blower upon the water jar and a clavicytheriumist who was before he slew her a woman, and a stroker of the theorbo and countless nervous-fingered drummers as well as an archlutist, and then whanging his sword this way and that the Dead Father slew a cittern plucker and five lyresmiters and various mandolinists, and slew too a violist and a player of the kit and a picker of the psaltery and a beater of the dulcimer and a hurdy-gurdier and a player of the spike fiddle and sundry kettledrummers and a triangulist and two-score finger cymbal clinkers and a xylophone artist and two gongers and a playe ~ Donald Barthelme

He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking agitated. "Look, I'm sure I could find you a nice little bomb shelter somewhere with two years worth of supplies."
"I'm guessing those are all taken."
"And I'm guessing someone would happily give one up for you, especially if I asked nicely." He gives me a dry smile. "You could take a little vacation from all this and come out after things settle down. Hole up, wait it out, be safe."
"You'd better be careful. You might be mistaken for someone who's worried about me." He shakes his head.
"I'm just worried someone might recognize my sword in your hands. If I squirrel you away for a couple of years, then maybe I can save myself the embarrassment ~ Susan Ee

Let me tell you a story," I say instead. "Once upon a time, there was a girl whose life was saved by the faery king - "

"This story sounds distinctly familiar. I think I might have heard it somewhere before."

I shush him and say not to interrupt. "If anyone asked her how she felt about the king, she would have said she loathed him. He ruthlessly trained her to fight his own kind. He taught her to kill. She learned from his lessons how to quiet the rage that burned inside her. But she had already decided that one day, when she had grown strong enough and learned everything she could about battle, she was going to murder him."

Kiaran goes still, his eyes glittering in the darkness. He says nothing.

"Her opportunity came one night when he decided she was ready to hunt her first faery. It was a skriker that had been terrorizing a nearby village, slaughtering children in the night. The king handed the girl his sword and ordered her to kill the goblin-like creature.

"She barely won. But in the end, as she thrust the sword deep into the monster's gut, she felt something so profoundly that she thought it would consume her. So she told the king. She whispered the words and meant them with every part of her rage-filled soul: 'I hate you. I hate all of you.' When she lifted the sword again, she intended to pierce it right through his heart.

"That was the first time the girl had ever seen the faery king smile."

~ Elizabeth May

The Word of God seems to be the only offensive weapon which you have in your spiritual armory. It is quite powerful, and in the words of Hebrews 4:12, "It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword" (NLT). You make use of this weapon when you speak God's Word to the Enemy concerning the situation you face. ~ Pedro Okoro

The design is based on the old St. Stephen's Chapel, where the earliest parliamentarians sat, like choirboys in facing pews, yet there is little that is angelic in the modern set-up. Members face each other in confrontation, as antagonists. They are separated by two red lines on the carpet, whose distance apart represents the distance of two sword lengths, yet this is misleading, for the most imminent danger is never more than a dagger's distance away, on the benches behind. ~ Michael Dobbs

He might have perfect form and better swordsmanship, but I had one thing on my
side that stacked the deck in my favor. I was absolutely crazy. ~ Katherine McIntyre

Your love renders you impatient and disturbed.
With such sincerity you have
placed your head at her feet that
you are oblivious to the world.
When in the eyes of your beloved riches don't count, gold and dust are as one to you.
You say that she dwells in your eyes - if they be closed, she is in your mind.
If she demands your life, you place
it in her hand; if she places a sword
upon your head, you hold it forward.
When earthly love produces such confusion and demands such obedience, don't you wonder if travelers of the road of God remain engulfed in the Ocean of Reality? ~ Saadi

And it shall come to pass, in the days when the Dark Hunt rides, when the right hand falters and the left hand strays, that mankind shall come to the Crossroads of Twilight and all that is, all that was, and all that will be shall balance on the point of a sword, while the winds of the Shadow grow.

-From The Prophecies of the Dragon translation believed done by Jain Charin, known as Jain Farstrider, sheortly before his disapperance ~ Robert Jordan

The hand that once wielded both sword and axe now aches after an evening of the quill. When I wipe the tip of one clean, I often wonder how many buckets of ink I have used in a lifetime. How many words have I set down on paper or vellum, thinking to trap the truth thereby? And of those words, how many have I myself consigned to the flames as worthless and wrong? I do as I have done so many times. I write, I sand the wet ink, I consider my own words. Then I burn them. Perhaps when I do so, the truth goes up the chimney as smoke. Is it destroyed, or set free in the world? I do not know. I ~ Robin Hobb

The God who had thrust him through in the darkness with probings of dread and shame was the same God who now held out the sword and shield. ~ Elizabeth Goudge

Look through people," I tell her, my voice muffled by the helmet. "Smile without kindness. No small talk, no court talk. Act as if you have a million secrets, and you're the only one important enough to know them all."
She nods, taking this all in stride. After all, Cal and I have both instructed her on how to pass as Maven. This is merely a reminder, a last glance at the book before the test. "I'm not a fool," she replies coldly, and I almost punch her in the jaw. She is not Maven rings in my head, louder than a bell.
"I think you've got it," Kilorn says as he stands. He grabs my arm, pulling me slightly away. "Mare nearly killed you. ~ Victoria Aveyard

A book can be as dangerous as a sword in the right hands, said Haldon. ~ George R R Martin

The eyes themselves were of that baffling protean gray which is never twice the same; which runs through many shades and colorings like intershot silk in sunshine; which is gray, dark and light, and greenish gray, and sometimes of the clear azure of the deep sea. They were eyes that masked the soul with a thousand guises, and that sometimes opened, at rare moments, and allowed it to rush up as though it were about to fare forth nakedly into the world on some wonderful adventure
eyes that could brood with the hopeless somberness of leaden skies; that could snap and crackle points of fire like those that sparkle from a whirling sword; that could grow chill as an arctic landscape, and yet again, that could warm and soften and be all adance with love-lights, intense and masculine, luring and compelling, which at the same time fascinate and dominate women till they surrender in a gladness of joy and of relief and sacrifice. ~ Jack London

I forgot to say - a merely curious detail - that in one of the first chapters of Sartor Resartus, when speaking about garments, Carlyle says that the simplest garment he knows of was used by the cavalry of Bolivar in the South American war. And here we have a description of the poncho as "a blanket with a hole in the middle," under which he imagines Bolivar's cavalry soldier, he imagines him - simplifying it a bit - "mother naked," as naked as when he came out of his mother's belly, covered by the poncho, with only his sword and his spear."25 ~ Jorge Luis Borges

We return you to the Vice President, who is now addressing the National Sword Swallowers Association."
"-the psychotics, the sob sisters, the skin merchants, the saboteurs, the self-styled Sapphos, the self-styled Swinburners, the swine, the satyrs, the schizos, the sodomists, the sissies, the screamers, the screwy, the scum, the self-congratulatory self-congratulators, the sensationalists, the snakes in the grass, the sex fiends, the shiftless, the shines, the shaggy, the sickly, the syphilitic- ~ Philip Roth

Diana gave her a measured look and ducked down behind the counter. She came up a moment later with a sword about the length of Clary's forearm. "What do you think of this?"

Clary stared at the weapon. It was undoubtedly beautiful. The cross-guard, grip and pommel were gold chased with obsidian, the blade a silver so dark it was nearly black.

"It's a shortsword. You might want to look at the other side," said Diana, and she flipped the sword over. On the opposite side of the blade, down the center ridge, ran a pattern of black stars.

"Oh." Clary's heart thumped painfully; she took a step away and nearly bumped into Jace, who had come up behind her, frowning. "That's a Morgenstern sword."

"Yes, it is." The sword-seller's eyes were shrewd. "Long ago the Morgensterns commissioned two blades from Wayland the Smith-a matched set. You have doubtless seen the the larger sword already, for Valentine Morgenstern carried it, and now his son carries it after him."

"You know who we are," Jace said. It wasn't a question. "Who Clary is."

"The Shadowhunter world is small," said Diana, and she looked from one of them to the other. "I'm on the Council. I've seen you give testimony, Valentine's daughter."

Clary looked doubtfully at the blade. "I've seen two men bear the larger version of that sword, and I hated them both. There are no Morgensterns in this world now who are dedicated to anything but evil."

Ja ~ Cassandra Clare

Sword rang on sword, the metallic sounds echoing throughout the wide market place and filling the crannies of every dark alley. Strength waged against strength, as, indeed, rivals of evil have ever-battled the adversaries of truth. The face of one combatant appeared cool and certain, the other passionate in his resolve, intent upon seeing the battle through and winning the day with valor... ~ Alicia A. Willis

We all have a plan, those of us who love George Romero and Resident Evil. We all keep a sword under our bed, or a chainsaw in our garage. We know the quickest way to the mall, and we practise our stealthy moves when no-one else around is watching. We know where we'll get food, water and gasoline, and where we'll stay until society gets back on its feet. We know the zombies are coming. ~ Hugh Howey

Three years ago, on a night like this I would have been driving my old car home alone, praying it didn't die a noble death in some snow drift. When I rolled up to the house, it would be dark. My heat would be off to save money, my bed would be cold, and if I wanted to tell someone about my day, I'd have to talk to my sword and pretend it listened. Slayer was an excellent weapon, but it never laughed at my jokes. ~ Ilona Andrews

What else did he say?"
"Just that. He's going to The Eye, and he's sorry." She screwed up her face. "Oh, and some weird thing about telling you that he still feels the same way about that tent, and he promises to say it to you in person next time he sees you."
I gave a bark of laughter that was more of a sob, "That asshat," I blubbered.
Elodie nodded in sympathy. "Such an asshat."
When I'd left Thorne Abbey, I'd held Archer's sword and had a sense that somehow things would turn out all right. Please, I thought. The rest of my magic is back, so let me have that power, too.
But there was no reply except the whistling of the wind. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Merlin Speaks:
Ô mighty trees of Avalon
release sap and seeds
into hearts and minds

So Arthur's dream
can reveal echoes
of futures past

So Camelot's glory
is forever ingrained
in the rich forests
and mountains' mysterious valleys
where a once and future King
lowered his sword
and lay in the arms
of his sweet Lady of Forests and Lakes ~ Ramon Ravenswood

Suppose we humans are, as a species, exhibiting disease
behavior: we're multiplying with no regard for limits, consuming natural
resources as if there will be no future generations, and producing
waste products that are distressing the planet upon which our
very survival depends. There are two factors which we, as a species,
are not taking into consideration. First is the survival tactic of
pathogens, which requires additional hosts to infect. We do not have
the luxury of that option, at least not yet. If we are successful at continuing
our dangerous behavior, then we will also succeed in marching
straight toward our own demise. In the process, we can also drag
many other species down with us, a dreadful syndrome that is already
underway. This is evident by the threat of extinction that hangs, like
the sword of Damocles, over an alarming number of the Earth's
species.
There is a second consideration: infected host organisms fight
back. As humans become an increasing menace, can the Earth try to
defend itself? When a disease organism infects a human, the human
body elevates its own temperature in order to defend itself. This rise
in temperature not only inhibits the growth of the infecting pathogen,
but also greatly enhances the disease fighting capability within the
body. Global warming may be the Earth's way of inducing a global
"fever" as a reaction to human pollution of ~ Joseph C. Jenkins

I let my sword slip to the ground, and for the second time I stood unarmed in the presence of werewolves.

Kresh put his lips to my forehead, and my skin burned beneath his kiss. When his hands repositioned to take me by the waist, my breathing - already shallow - ceased entirely. Then his lips fell on mine and I was suddenly everything he claimed me to be - his mate, his wife, his world.

The taste of him seemed mysteriously new and old at the same time. Every bit of tension eased as if internally I had come home again, and yet a sense of foreignness made our connection a sweet venture. My breast was afire as he continued to grasp my hips, keeping me close. I burned for him as if vampire venom were coursing through every inch of me.

The man was a constellation of suns in my desire, unlike Thaddeus who hardly equaled a speck of stardust. The thought of that coward reminded me of grim news. It took every bit of willpower I possessed to tear my lips away from what they craved, and yet I remained a submissive puddle in this werewolf's arms. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

My paradise is in the shadow of my sword. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

So the Dark did a simple thing. They showed the maker of the sword his own uncertainty and fear. Fear of having done the wrong thing
fear that having done this one great thing, he would never again be able to accomplish anything of great worth
fear of age, of insufficiency, of unmet promise. All such great fears, that are the doom of people given the gift of making, and lie always somewhere in their minds. ~ Susan Cooper

There's more ways to stop a man then with an arrow in the heart!" the first shaft struck Drale in the shoulder and the moon blossomed red through the dust suddenly swirling in murky streams. Drale cleared his head and charged into his enemies sword raised high above his head, then a cloud covered the moon and the forest went black. ~ Elizabeth Novak