“We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams.”
“What a dolt my father sends me for weaponry,” Paul intoned. “This doltish Gurney Halleck has forgotten the first lesson for a fighting man armed and shielded.” Paul snapped the force button at his waist, felt the crinkled-skin tingling of the defensive field at his forehead and down his back, heard external sounds take on characteristic shield-filtered flatness. “In shield fighting, one moves fast on defense, slow on attack,” Paul said. “Attack has the sole purpose of tricking the opponent into a misstep, setting him up for the attack sinister. The shield turns the fast blow, admits the slow kindjal!” Paul snapped up the rapier, feinted fast and whipped it back for a slow thrust timed to enter a shield’s mindless defenses.”
“We have become so tolerant and accepting of the world’s ways that it is hard for many in the church to notice the sin much less answer how it crept in. The church is to be in the world, but worldliness is not to infiltrate the church.”
“How little wives may realize that a biting, stinging word in the morning will rob a husband of efficiency the whole day long. But a loving, tender, beautiful word—a little prayer word—will fill him with music and will lead him into victory.”
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