you made me tear up! /salute Kinna
When I consider how my light is spentEre half my days in this dark world and wide,And that one Talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest He returning chide,"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to preventThat murmur, soon replies, "God doth not needEither man's work or his own gifts. Who bestBear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His stateIs kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,And post o'er land and ocean without rest;They also serve who only stand and wait."On His Blindness"By John Milton
Since you are on the bench, can I have your shield?
Soldiers live and wonder why.
For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of a triumph - a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot, or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting.-George C. Scott, "Patton," 1970
Kinn's been sidelined?! Nuuuuuu!!!!111!!!1!
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