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Quote by Stewart Stafford

“Inciting Justice by Stewart Stafford They stretched his neck out, On the noose of his ancestors, Bloodied and tattered, he died, No invader fealty in martyr veins. The rope, a country's pendulum, Faces of stone from onlookers, A witch-hunt's hysteria spreads, Mourner's rain fell with temerity. A snowball in a regime's eyes now, Is the next day's roaring avalanche, More then take up arms to fight on, And raise the oppressor's gauntlet. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

Quote by Stewart Stafford

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Stewart Stafford

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“From the moment that all productive goods have been declared the property of the State, the common people will feel, as they cannot feel now, that the State is themselves. They will be ready then to endure the sacrifices that are ahead of us, war or no war.”

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“Hold onto one thought: You're not important. You're not anything. Some day the load we're carrying with us may help someone. But even when we had the books on hand, a long time ago, we didn't use what we got out of them. We went right on insulting the dead. We went right on spitting in the graves of all the poor ones who died before us. We're going to meet a lot of lonely people in the next week and the next month and the next year. And when they ask us what we're doing, you can say, We're remembering. That's where we'll win out in the long run. And some day we'll remember so much that we'll build the biggest goddam steamshovel in history and dig the biggest grave of all time and shove war in and cover it up.”

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“Martinsson fired. Wallander watched Lucia fly back and put his hand up to his shoulder. The gun fell from his hand and landed outside the counter. With a bellow Martinsson yanked himself free of the guy ropes and launched himself at the counter, straight at the wounded man. The counter collapsed, and Martinsson landed in a jumble of leather jackets. Wallander lunged forwards and grabbed the gun from mud. He saw Skinhead dash past him into crowd. No-one seemed to have noticed the shots. The traders in the surrounding stalls had watched in amazement as Martinsson made his ferocious tiger pounce. “Get after him,” Martinsson shouted from the heap of leather jackets. “I’ll take care of this bastard.”

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“The wife of the dead man had thrown herself down in the mud, and her wails were so piercing that several of the policemen couldn’t tolerate the sound and had moved away. To his surprise, Wallander saw that the only one who was able to handle the grieving woman and the anguished children was Martinsson. The youngest policeman on the force, who so far in his career had never even been forced to notify someone of a relative’s death. He had held the woman, kneeling in the mud, and in some way the two were able to understand each other across the language barrier.”

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“Could you hold Martinsson’s flashlight for a moment?” Wallander said to Hansson. “Why?” “Just do it, please.” Martinsson handed Hansson his flashlight. Wallander took a step forward and hit Martinsson in the face. However, since it was hard to judge the distance between them in the shifting beams of the flashlights, the blow didn’t land squarely on the jaw as intended. It was more of a gentle nudge. “What the hell are you doing?” “What the hell are you doing?” Wallander yelled back. Then he threw himself on Martinsson and they fell into the mud. Hansson tried to grab them as they fell, but slipped.”

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