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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“The Hamartia of Esteem by Stewart Stafford A clash of Roses has seared these temples grey, The brash cur pack supplanting divinity's place, Nightshade words aimed at codpiece not the face, Inquisition's gauntlet strikes this judgement day. A death warrant marked by slander's inked stain? Scarred by a caricatured actor's grasping fear? In a groundless play for a groundling's sneer? Mannequin tyrant in a jailer playwright's disdain? Time shall be your confessor and guide, A guest casting stones at yourself in haste, Purifying my beloved's fair hand, debased, Redeem her undoing at a vengeful rabble's side. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The Hamas fighters who stormed into Israel on 7 October were largely young people who learned the language of violence from the bombs that Israel dropped on them. This is not a justification of what they did. But we should not be so certain that, had we been subject to the same trauma, with no resolution in sight, we would respond much better.”

“The Han language resembles no other on this earth. While I had no trouble learning to speak Mongol, and to write with its alphabet, I never learned more than a rudimentary comprehension of Han. The Mongol speech is gruff and harsh, like its speakers, but it at least employs sounds not too different from those heard in our Western languages. The Han, by contrast, is a speech of staccato syllables, and they are sung rather than spoken. Evidently the Han throat is incapable of forming more than a very few of the sounds that other people make. The sound of r, for one, is quite beyond them. My name in their speech was always Mah-ko. And, having so very few noises to work with, the Han must sound them on different tones—high, mid, low, rising, falling—to make a sufficient variety for compiling a vocabulary. It is like this: suppose our Ambrosian plainsong Gloria in excelsis had that meaning of “glory in the highest” only when sung to its traditional up and down neumes, and, if the syllables were sung in different ups and downs, were to change its meaning utterly—to “darkness in the lowest” or “dishonor to the basest” or even “fish for the frying.”

“The hand descended. Nearer and nearer it came. It touched the ends of his upstanding hair. He shrank down under it. It followed down after him, pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering. He still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this hand that touched him and violated his instinct. He could not forget in a day all the evil that had been wrought him at the hands of men.”

“The Hand of providence has been so conspicuous in all this, that he must be worse than an infidel that lacks faith, and more than wicked, that has not gratitude enough to acknowledge his obligations.”

“The Hand of Souls has an insatiable thirst. Its wicked delights are woven into the fabric of fate itself. It’s power drawing in souls like moths to a flame. As daylight fades and shadows lengthen, its cursed nature reaches out like vines in the night, ensnaring its user. Those who grasp the Hand of Souls are forever marked by its twisted touch, eternally intertwined with the darkness that plagues its very existence.”