Similar atrocities occurred in neighboring El Salvador, where US trained troops stabbed de-capitated, raped and machine gunned 767 civilians in the village of El Mozote in late 1981, including 358 children under age 13. Congress ended up funneling almost $6 billion to this tiny country making it the largest recipient of US foreign aid per capita in the world. Wealthy landlords were running the right-wing death squads that murdered thousands of suspected leftists. The death toll from the war reached 70,000.
Ein Flugzeug zu erfinden, ist nichts. Es zu bauen, ein Anfang. Fliegen, das ist alles.
But this trial has shown... that under a national crisis... ordinary, even able and extraordinary men... can delude themselves into the commission of crimes... so vast and heinous that they beggar the imagination.
To protest about bullfighting in Spain, the eating of dogs in South Korea, or the slaughter of baby seals in Canada while continuing to eat eggs from hens who have spent their lives crammed into cages, or veal from calves who have been deprived of their mothers, is like denouncing apartheid in South Africa while asking your neighbors not to sell their houses to blacks
It's the actor's job to avoid impediments to their performance.
— What does this Ark look like?
— There's a picture of it right here. That's it.
— Good God.
— Yes, that's just what the Hebrews thought.
— Now, what's that supposed to be coming out of there?
— Lightning... fire... power of God or something.
— I'm beginning to understand Hitler's interest in this.
— Oh, yes. The Bible speaks of the Ark levelling mountains, and laying waste to entire regions. An army which carries the Ark before it... is invincible.
[Burr] Can I buy you a drink?
[Hamilton] That would be nice
[Burr] While we’re talking, let me offer you some free advice
Talk less
[Hamilton] What?
[Burr] Smile more
[Hamilton] Ha
[Burr] Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for
[Hamilton] You can’t be serious
[Burr] You wanna get ahead?
[Hamilton] Yes
History shows that in the matter of religions, we progress backward, and not the other way. No matter, there will be a new God and a new religion. They will be introduced to popularity and acceptance with the only arguments that have ever persuaded any people in this earth to adopt Christianity, or any other religion that they werenot born to: the Bible, the sword, the torch, and the axe.
Is there a father who would persecute his baby with unearned colics and the unearned miseries of teething, and follow these with mumps, measles, scarlet fever, and the hundred other persecutions appointed for the unoffending creature? And then follow these, from youth to the grave, with a multitude of ten-thousandfold punishments for laws broken either by intention or indiscretion? With a fine sarcasm, we ennoble God with the title of Father—yet we know quite well that we should hang His style of father wherever we might catch him.
You know, there's a foundational idea in string theory that the whole universe may be a hologram. Well, the holographic principle suggests that what we all experience every day in three dimensions may really just be information on a surface located at the farthest reaches of our cosmos. So it's possible that our lives are really just acting out a painting on the largest canvas in the universe.
It's said that a centaur's road is paved with the corpses of the fallen. For the one called Warrunner, it has been a long road indeed. To outsiders, the four-legged clans of Druud are often mistaken for simple, brutish creatures. Their language has no written form; their culture lacks pictographic traditions, structured music, formalized religion. For centaurs, combat is the perfect articulation of thought, the highest expression of self. If killing is an art among centaurs, then Bradwarden the Warrunner is their greatest artist. He rose to dominance on the proving grounds of Omexe, an ancient arena where centaur clans have for millennia gathered to perform their gladiatorial rites. As his fame spread, spectators came from far and wide to see the great centaur in action. Always the first to step into the arena, and the last to leave, he composes a masterpiece in each guttering spray, each thrust of blood-slickened blade-length. It is the poetry of blood on steel, flung in complex patterns across the pale sands of the killing floor. Warrunner defeated warrior after warrior, until the arena boomed with the cheering of his name, and he found himself alone, the uncontested champion of his kind. The great belt of Omexe was bestowed, wrapped around his broad torso, but in his victory, the death-artist found only emptiness. For what is a warrior without a challenge? The great centaur galloped out of Omexe that day with a new goal. To his people, Warrunner is the greatest warrior to ever step into the arena. Now he has set out to prove he is the greatest fighter who has ever lived.