Dune (Dune #1)

by Frank Herbert

But it’s well known that repression makes a religion flourish.

the men who returned to pay him that highest Fremen compliment: “Your plan worked, Muad’Dib.”

“Tell me again about the waters of thy birthworld, Usul,” she said.

‘If Alia incites trouble, it is the fault of authority for not foreseeing and preventing the trouble.’

“Give as few orders as possible,” his father had told him…once…long ago. “Once you’ve given orders on a subject, you must always give orders on that subject.”

“Control the coinage and the courts—let the rabble have the rest.” Thus the Padishah Emperor advised you. And he tells you: “If you want profits, you must rule.” There is truth in these words, but I ask myself: “Who are the rabble and who are the ruled?”

that mourned the slave raids of Poritrin, Bela Tegeuse, Rossak, and Harmonthep.

It’s the dreariness, she thought. You can wait just so long. Then the dreariness of the waiting overcomes you.

Everyone knows a Fremen baby must get his crying done at birth, if he’s in sietch because he can never cry again lest he betray us on hajr.”

“I will tell them that Alia only pretends to be a little girl, that she has never been a little girl.”

“I know I’m a freak,” Alia whispered. The adult summation coming from the child mouth was like a bitter confirmation.

“It was Ramadhan and April on Bela Tegeuse.”

There was a basket with mish-mish and baklawa and mugs of liban—all manner of good things to eat.

You cannot avoid the interplay of politics within an orthodox religion. This power struggle permeates the training, educating and disciplining of the orthodox community. Because of this pressure, the leaders of such a community inevitably must face that ultimate internal question: to succumb to complete opportunism as the price of maintaining their rule, or risk sacrificing themselves for the sake of the orthodox ethic.

Come up, you lovely monster, he thought. Up. You hear me calling. Come up. Come up.

leaped

“You young pup! You young pup!” Gurney kept saying. And Paul: “Gurney, man! Gurney, man!”

“What’s the talk of Rabban in the sinks and villages?” Paul asked. “They say they’ve fortified the graben villages to the point where you cannot harm them. They say they need only sit inside their defenses while you wear yourselves out in futile attack.” “In a word,” Paul said, “they’re immobilized.” “While you can go where you will,” Gurney said.

bourkas

How often it is that the angry man rages denial of what his inner self is telling him.

“All men beneath your position covet your station,” went the Bene Gesserit axiom.

“Prophets have a way of dying by violence.”

“One of the most terrible moments in a boy’s life,” Paul said, “is when he discovers his father and mother are human beings who share a love that he can never quite taste.

“Gurney, why do you insist the Atreides must kill those they love?”

Do you still have a baliset, Gurney?” “I’ve a new one,” Gurney said. “Brought from Chusuk, a sweet instrument. Plays like a genuine Varota, though there’s no signature on it. I think myself it was made by a student of Varota’s who….” He broke off.

“Rabban has sent cautious overtures about a truce. His messengers have been returned without their water.

“How could you do such a foolish thing?” she demanded. “He is your son,” Chani said.

“He who can destroy a thing has the real control of it,” Paul said. “We can destroy the spice.”

“They’re searching for me,” Paul said. “Think of that! The finest Guild navigators, men who can quest ahead through time to find the safest course for the fastest Heighliners, all of them seeking me…and unable to find me. How they tremble! They know I have their secret here!”

“A great grandmother of a storm coming,” Stilgar said. “Can you not feel it, Muad’Dib?” “The air does feel chancy,” Paul agreed. “But I like the certainty of poling the weather.”

“They have no choice,” Paul said. “We can destroy the spice. The Guild dares not risk that.” “Desperate people are the most dangerous,” Gurney said. “Are we not desperate?” Stilgar asked.

“Why’s he so gloomy?” Stilgar asked. “He’s always gloomy before a battle,” Paul said. “It’s the only form of good humor Gurney allows himself.”

The language of the Great Convention is clear enough: ‘Use of atomics against humans shall be cause for planetary obliteration.’ We’re going to blast the Shield Wall, not humans.”

“They’re sending a new flag up on the tall ship,” the watcher said. “The flag is yellow…with a black and red circle in the center.” “There’s a subtle piece of business,” Paul said. “The CHOAM Company flag.”

“Men are more important than equipment now,” Paul said. “We’ll have more equipment than we can use soon or have no need for any equipment.”

And Paul thought: How little the universe knows about the nature of real cruelty!

But the Emperor’s hair was red, not black,

“Have you taken hostages?” the Emperor asked. “It’s useless, Majesty,” the Baron said. “These mad Fremen hold a burial ceremony for every captive and act as though such a one were already dead.”

“I’m sorry, Grandfather,” Alia said. “You’ve met the Atreides gom jabbar.”

Onward toward the Emperor’s hutment they came while the House Sardaukar stood awed for the first time in their history by an onslaught their minds found difficult to accept.

“I am the Kwisatz Haderach. That is reason enough.”

He seemed too submissive to Paul, but then the Sardaukar had never been prepared for such happenings as this day. They’d never known anything but victory which, Paul realized, could be a weakness in itself. He put that thought aside for later consideration in his own training program.

“Water from the sky,” Stilgar whispered. In that instant, Paul saw how Stilgar had been transformed from the Fremen naib to a creature of the Lisan al-Gaib, a receptacle for awe and obedience.

I have seen a friend become a worshiper, he thought.

“A Bene Gesserit should ask about legends?” he asked.

Will I lose Gurney, too? Paul wondered. The way I lost Stilgar—losing a friend to gain a creature?

The Guild navigators, gifted with limited prescience, had made the fatal decision: they’d chosen always the clear, safe course that leads ever downward into stagnation.

His Burseg helmet had been lost and the red hair stood out in disarray.

“Thufir, old friend,” Paul said, “as you can see, my back is toward no door.” “The universe is full of doors,” Hawat said.

“I used atomics against a natural feature of the desert,” Paul said. “It was in my way and I was in a hurry to get to you, Majesty, to ask your explanation for some of your strange activities.”