Fun ITT we post random book lines/quotes out of context

The Red Army fights not merely for the sake of fighting but in order to conduct propaganda among the masses, organize them, arm them, and help them to establish revolutionary political power. Without these objectives, fighting loses its meaning and the Red Army loses the reason for its existence.

 

Rincewind turned around.
With an echoing chorus of creaks and groans, the Red Army turned around too.
And it was red. It was the same colour, Rincewind realized, as the soil.
He’d bumped into a few statues in the darkness. He hadn’t realized that there were this many. They stretched, rank on rank, into the distant shadows.
Experimentally, he turned around. Behind him, there was another chorus of stampings.
After a few false starts he found that the only way to end up facing them was to take off the boots, turn, and put the boots on again.
He lowered the visor for a moment, and saw himself lowering the visor for a moment.
He stuck up an arm. They stuck out their arms. He jumped up and down.
They jumped up and down, with a crash that made the globes swing.
Lightning sizzled from their boots.
He felt a sudden hysterical urge to laugh.
He touched his nose. They touched their noses.
He made, with terrible glee, the traditional gesture for the dismissal of demons. Seven thousand terracotta middle fingers stabbed towards the ceiling.

 

The first contradiction is the contradiction between labour and capital. Imperialism is the omnipotence of the monopolist trusts and syndicates, of the banks and the financial oligarchy, in the industrial countries. In the fight against this omnipotence, the customary methods of the working class-trade unions and cooperatives, parliamentary parties and the parliamentary struggle-have proved to be totally inadequate. Either place yourself at the mercy of capital, eke out a wretched existence as of old and sink lower and lower, or adopt a new weapon-this is the alternative imperialism puts before the vast masses of the proletariat. Imperialism brings the working class to revolution.

 

“You swore an oath to obey the commands of the Erl King. I am king now, Buffy. Be free, Slayer, and be well,” he said. “I fear that when next we meet, it will not be as friends.”
Buffy frowned. “You could change things,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“It does,” Roland said simply, taking her hand, and she heard the growl in his wide chest, like the sound of animals lurking in shadows. “Oh, things will change. A little at a time. As much as I can manage. But the Wild Hunt will always ride, and the hopeless and foolish will always join us whether they wish it or not. We are part of the fabric of the night, Buffy. Neither the Lord of the Hunt nor the Slayer is powerful enough to alter that.”

 

And if you had told me that one of the biggest stars in music was going to jump up onstage and announce that he thought I shouldn’t have won on live television, I would’ve said ‘That stuff doesn’t really happen in real life.

 

He was small, even for a dwarf. A large bronze horn lay across his knees.
"Glod Glodsson," said the dwarf. "You just play the harp?"
"Anything with strings on it," said Imp. "But the harp is the queen of instruments, see."
"I can blow anything," said Glod.
"Realllly?" said Imp. He sought for some polite comment. "That must make you very popullar."
The troll heaved a big leather sack off the floor. "Dis is what I play," he said. A number of large round rocks tumbled out on to the floor. Lias picked one up and flicked it with a finger. It went bam.
"Music made from rocks?" said Imp." What do you callll it?
"We call it Ggroohauga," said Lias, "which means, music made from rocks." The rocks were all of different sizes, carefully tuned here and there by small nicks carved out of the stone.
"May I?" said Imp.
"Be my guest." Imp selected a small rock and flicked it with his finger. It went bop. A smaller one went bing.
"What do you do with them?" he said.
"I bang them together."
"And then what?"
""What do you mean, 'And then what?'"
"What do you do after you've banged them together?"
"I bang them together again," said Lias, one of natures drummers.

 

The error has now been corrected. You may begin training a replacement.

 

Revolutionary Social-Democracy has always included the struggle for reforms as part of its activities. But it utilises “economic” agitation for the purpose of presenting to the government, not only demands for all sorts of measures, but also (and primarily) the demand that it cease to be an autocratic government. Moreover, it considers it its duty to present this demand to the government on the basis, not of the economic struggle alone, but of all manifestations in general of public and political life.

 

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.
I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am. "
She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"
The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.
She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me.
I said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."
Thunder shook the building.
"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."
I didn't know what she was talking about.
All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

 

Despite that, my life has been quite successful and I’ve accomplished much of what I originally set out to do. I enjoyed a twenty-year television career as a ventriloquist with my alter egos Jerry Mahoney and Knucklehead Smiff. I made a lot of movies, appeared on most top television shows, created and performed the voice of “Tigger” for almost thirty years at Disney Studios, invented and patented the first successful Artificial heart used in humans and developed many other inventions currently in use including the disposable razor. Still, during much of my adult life, I began to dwell on the question of my own happiness and the happiness and well-being of mankind in general. The study of religion and religious philosophy began to take up more and more of my interest and time.

 

"Nae king! Nae quin! Nae laird! Nae master! We willna' be fooled again!"

 

We have a - I have a policy on traps.

 

There was a little click above them. A small slab slid aside and a rusty metal hook descended slowly and jerkily. Another bar creaked out of the wall and tapped Rincewind on the shoulder. As he swung around, the first hook hung a yellowing notice on his back and retracted into the roof.
‘What’d it do? What’d it do?’ screamed Rincewind, trying to read his own shoulderblades.
‘It says, Kick Me,’ said Conina.
A section of wall slid up beside the petrified wizard. A large boot on the end of a complicated series of metal joints gave a half-hearted wobble and then the whole thing snapped at the knee.
The three of them looked at it in silence. Then Conina said, ‘We’re dealing here with a warped brain, I can tell. ’
Rincewind gingerly unhooked the sign and let it drop. Conina pushed past him and stalked along the passage with an air of angry caution, and when a metal hand extended itself on a spring and waggled in a friendly fashion she didn’t shake it but instead traced its moulting wiring to a couple of corroded electrodes in a big glass jar.
‘Your grandad was a man with a sense of humour?’ she said.
‘Oh, yes. Always liked a chuckle,’ said Creosote.
‘Oh, good,’ said Conina. She prodded gingerly at a flagstone which, to Rincewind, looked no different to any of its fellows. With a sad little springy noise a moulting feather duster wobbled out of the wall at armpit height.
‘I think I would have quite liked to meet the old Seriph,’ she said, through gritted teeth, ‘although not to shake him by the hand. You’d better give me a leg up here, wizard.’

 

Don Vito Corleone was a man to whom everybody came for help, and never were they disappointed. He made no empty promises, nor the craven excuse that his hands were tied by more powerful forces in the world than himself. It was not necessary that he be your friend, it was not even important that you had no means with which to repay him. Only one thing was required.

 

Marcone was criminal scum, but I’ll give the rat his due — he's got balls that drag the ground when he walks.

 

Indeed you are, you miserable creature. Out of luck and out of time.


(Not @Iron_lord )

 

Grievous shifted his gaze fractionally and found the reflection of Nute Gunray in the transparisteel. The Neimoidian viceroy stood dithering in the control center's doorway. Grievous regarded the reflection of the bulbous, cold-blooded eyes below the tall peaked miter.
"Gunray." He made no other motion. "Why are you still here?"
"Some things should be said privately, General." The viceroy's reflection cast glances either way along the hallway beyond the door. "I am disturbed by this new move. You told us that Utapau would be safe for us. Why is the Leadership Council being moved now to Mustafar?"
Grievous sighed. He had no time for lengthy explanations; he was expecting a secret transmission from Sidious himself. He could not take the transmission with Gunray in the room, nor could he follow his natural inclinations and boot the Neimoidian viceroy so high he'd burn up on reentry.

 

Be mindful? I could've gotten that much from Obi-Wan.

 

I think," Obi-Wan said carefully, "that abstractions like peace don't mean much to him. He's loyal to people, not to principles. And he expects loyalty in return. He will stop at nothing to save me, for example, because he thinks I would do the same for him."
Mace and Yoda gazed at him steadily, and Obi-Wan had to lower his head.
"Because," he admitted reluctantly, "he knows I would do the same for him.

 

"You move well for a fat old man," Vader granted. He was more powerful by far, but the plastoid armor made for awkward maneuvering. And he would never reclaim the physical grace he'd had as Anakin.
Vader shook off the thought, disgusted with himself. Anakin had nothing that he wanted, nothing. He let the disgust grow. This was what he needed. Not grace, not that foul Jedi concentration. Anger.
Darkness. Control.
Ferus leapt through the air, driving the lightsaber down in a chopping motion as he arced toward the ground. The blade came within centimeters of Vader's face plate. Sweat poured down Ferus's face with the effort of continuing the fight. And yet still, he lived.
"No older than you, Anakin," he gasped.
And it was true. They'd once been the same age, young and stupid, easily manipulated by their Jedi Masters. Now Vader was Master of all—and Ferus was this weak, stooped thing. Is this what Anakin would have grown into, had he stayed in that frail, human body? This sagging bag of loose flesh?
Vader was furious with himself for entertaining the thought. It didn't matter what Anakin would have become. Anakin was nothing—didn't exist, had never existed.
"There is no Anakin," Vader said.
"And yet here he is in front of me," Ferus countered. "The same cocky, deceitful, defiant, scared little boy you always were. You killed Obi-Wan because he saw the fear behind the mask. You killed Padme because she saw the monster."
Rage blotted out Vader's vision, turning the world to darkness—everything disappeared but Ferus's disgusting, knowing smile. Ferus was the one who had never changed, was still the same insufferable child he'd always been. Vader should have done the galaxy a favor and snuffed him out at the Academy. Better late than never.
Ferus advanced with a dizzying series of strikes and parries. "You can kill me, if you want. But you will never kill Anakin. I suspect someday, he'll kill you."
"Someday, perhaps. But unfortunately for you, that day is not today." He plunged his blade through Ferus's heart, and watched with pleasure as Anakin's long-lasting enemy dropped to the ground, the life draining from his eyes.
The pathetic old man knew nothing, he told himself. Anakin was dead and gone forever. And now there was no one who could bring him back.
Ferus lay still, as the thundering footsteps disappeared down the corridor. He lay on his back in a pool of blood, feeling his life force trickle away. And he lay with a smile on his face, knowing that he had succeeded.
He would have liked to kill Darth Vader.
He would have liked to save the galaxy.
But it was enough to know he had saved Leia.

 

"Save your fears for yourself."

It happened instantaneously. Ferus felt as though the top of his head had blown off. It was immediate and visceral. Every clue clicked into place, every suspicion, every nagging sense that he was missing something important.
They had stood outside the council room together.
"I'm afraid for you. You think admitting you were wrong opens you up to attack," Ferus had said. He still couldn't believe he had just resigned from the Jedi Order.
Anakin's lip had curled. "I think you should save your fears for yourself."

Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it.

 

At long last, he returned to Tiryns. Eurystheus was disappointed to find that the red cattle did not give strawberry milk, but he gave Hercules credit for completing the task.
‘That’s ten jobs done,’ said the high king. ‘Which means you only have your two bonus labours left!’
‘Bonus labours?’
‘First,’ said the king, ‘I have a hankering for apples. You’ve brought me all these fine meat products – crab, wild boar, cow, bird –’
‘You weren’t supposed to eat the Stymphalian birds!’
‘My doctor says I need more fruits and vegetables in my diet. I want you to find the Garden of the Hesperides. Bring me some golden apples from the sacred apple tree of Hera.’
‘Hera,’ repeated Hercules. ‘The goddess who hates me more than anyone in the world. You want me to steal her apples.’
‘Yes.’
Hercules’s lion-skin cape felt warmer than usual. Sweat trickled down his neck. ‘And this garden is where, exactly?’
‘I have no idea. I hear it’s far to the west.’
‘I was just in the west! I was as far to the west as you can go!’
‘The Hesperides are the daughters of the Titan Atlas,’ Eurystheus said helpfully. ‘Perhaps you could ask Atlas where to find the garden.’
‘And where do I find Atlas?’
‘I guess you’ll have to ask someone who knows about Titans. Happy hunting!’
Hercules had no idea how to find Atlas. The Titan didn’t have a Facebook profile and there was nothing on Wikipedia. Even Hercules’s dependable nephew Iolaus was stumped.

 

• 
  Of course, the Western media is presenting this as the last gasp of Communism and the ultimate result of having carried out a revolution, but it is not that at all. It's the ultimate result of having betrayed the revolution ten years ago. I haven't had the time to go back and search out those very cogent statements that Chairman Mao made about Deng, Liu, Shaochi, and other capitalist roaders. On many separate occasions he said that if these people come to power our party will change color and we will end up with a fascist regime, and then the Chinese people will rise up and will again conduct revolution and change this. The only surprising thing to me is how fast this happened. Ten years ago Deng was a very popular man. Ten years ago he was supposedly saving China from the debacle of the Cultural Revolution
  
  
  

 

"...No shots had been fired, there were no tanks in the streets. It had been, he thought, a very British coup".

 

Gaunt saw the Baneblade before anyone else.
His blood ran cold.
Three hundred tonnes of super-heavy tank, a captured, corrupted Imperial machine. It trundled casually out from behind the depot, its massive turret weapon rising.
A monster. A steel-shod monster from the mouth of hell.
“Baneblade! Enemy Baneblade at 61.78!” Gaunt yelled into his vox. Captain Woll, commanding the Old Strontium, couldn’t believe his ears.
His auspex picked up the behemoth a second before it fired and obliterated the Conqueror Tread Softly.
Woll layed in and fired, but his tank round barely made a dent on the massive machine’s hull.
The Baneblade’s secondary and sponson turrets began to fire on the Imperial positions. The immediate death toll was hideous. Staunch, loyal Ghosts broke in terror and ran as the Baneblade rolled forward.
“Stand true! Stand true, you worthless dogs!” Hark yelled at the fleeing Tanith around him. “This is the Emperor’s work! Stand true or face his wrath at my hand!”
Hark was suddenly jerked backwards as Gaunt seized his wrist tightly and spoiled the threatened aim of his plasma pistol.
“I punish the Ghosts. Me. Not you. Besides, it's a fething Baneblade, you moron. I'd be running too. Now, help me.”