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The Sun at Midnight: The Revealed Mysteries of the Ahlul Bayt Sufis

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Laurence Galian

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“Min Herres behagelige Sendebrev af 27de Dag udi Glugmaanet, (a) haver jeg den anden Dag af Blidemaaned (b) bekommet. Min Herre forlanger at vide hvordan Tilstanden nu omstunder er ved Academiet, om man tilkommende Sommer kand vente, at see nogen, at blive ophøyed paa Doctor-Trappen, (c) enten udi den Guddommelige Kundskab (d), udi de verdslige Love, (e) eller udi Lægekunsten (f). Min Herre ønsker ogsaa at vide, hvor mange Mestere af Verdens Viisdom (g) i Fior bleve skabte (h), hvor mange Laurbærkronede Personer (i), Item, hvo dette Aar er Rector og Decanus, det er den høye Skoles Forstander og den verdslige Viisdoms Høvidsmand, iligemaade, hvad Nyt som ellers er forefaldet udi den lærde Fristad (k). (a) Januario.(b) Februario.(c) Doctor-Graden.(d) Theologien.(e) Injure.(f) Medicinen.(g) Magistri Philosophiae.(h) Creerede.(i) Baccalaurei.(k) Republica literaria.”

“Heh. I think you made your point, Atticus. Gods Below, Oberon, that was horrendous! You just violated the Schwarzenegger Pun Reduction Treaty of 2010. What? No, that didn't qualify! Yes, it did. Any pun related to a weapon's destructive capabilities or final disposition of a victim's body is a Schwarzenegger pun, by definition. That's negative twenty sausages according to the sanctions outlined in Section Four, Paragraph Two. My hound whined. No! Not twenty sausages! Twenty succulent sausages I'll never snarf? You can't do that - it's cruelty to animals! You can't argue with this. Your pawprint is on the treaty, and you agreed that Schwarzenegger puns are heinous abominations of language that deserve food-related punishments for purposes of correction and deterrence. Auggh! I still say it's your fault for renting Commando in the first place! You started it!”

“So you hook up with strangers?" Liam asked in a hushed whisper as the cashier rang up their order. "Were you with someone last night?" "Yes. His name is Max." She pulled out her phone. "I have a selfie of us together." She held it up for the cashier to see, keeping the screen away from Liam's line of vision. "Oh, he's gorgeous," the cashier said. "He's got the nicest eyes." "Let me see." Liam felt his protective instincts rise. "Who is he? Max who?" "He doesn't have a last name." "Jesus Christ, Daisy," he spluttered. "Does Sanjay know you do this? What about your dad?" "They know all about Max," Daisy said. "In fact, my dad took a picture of us cuddled together in bed the night before he left on his trip, and the cutest one of Max on my pillow. I bought some pajamas but he refused to wear them. He likes to sleep au naturel." Bile rose in Liam's throat. "And your dad took... pictures?" "Photography is his new hobby. He took some great shots when I was giving Max a bath..." "Stop." Liam held up a hand. "Just... I can't. I don't know what's happened to you, but it ends now. We're engaged and that means no more random hookups, no pornographic pictures, and no flashing pictures of strangers in the nude." "Amina doesn't mind. She's my second cousin." Daisy introduced them before turning her phone around. "And this is Max." Liam was a heartbeat away from shutting his eyes when his brain registered the picture of a fluffy white dog on a pink duvet. His tension left him in a rush. "Max is a dog." "He's a Westie. Layla got him for me as an emotional support dog at a bad time in my life." Liam bit back the urge to ask Daisy about a time so bad she'd needed extra love. It was her business, and he could only hope she would tell him when she was ready so he could offer his support. "That wasn't funny." "Amina and I were amused." "I heard you were engaged." Amina's gaze flicked to Liam and she blushed. "He's almost as cute as Max.”