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M Quotes

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All M Quotes

“My Aunt and Uncle can’t stop me. The other contestants can’t break me. The judges do not decide my fate. ♬ “It won’t always be like this.” ♬ It is a song wrapped in a memory. A memory wrapped in a song. And it is all mine. No matter the outcome. No matter the prize. This moment is all mine, and no one can take that away from me. ♬ “But the beauty is here to stay.” ♬ The piano notes had already stopped as I sing out my last line. Like it was just me, vulnerable and real, as I leave it all on that stage.”

“My Aunt Beverly sashayed when she walked. ... Her walk made the local boys sweat, well until those 'boys' were octogenarians. Anything she carried in her back pocket would have been as happily dizzy as a kid on a carnival ride. She sashayed like a Southern belle born in a time of dungarees and pedal pushers rather than restrictive skirts and social mores; she sashayed like a beautiful woman who was feeling sassy. She WAS beautiful, and she was sassy more often than not.”

“My Aunt Dahlia, who runs a woman's paper called Milady's Boudoir, had recently backed me into a corner and made me promise to write her a few words for her "Husbands and Brothers" page on "What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing". I believe in encouraging aunts, when deserving; and, as there are many worse eggs than her knocking about the metrop, I had consented blithely. But I give you my honest word that if I had had the foggiest notion of what I was letting myself in for, not even a nephew's devotion would have kept me from giving her the raspberry. A deuce of a job it had been, taxing the physique to the utmost. I don't wonder now that all these author blokes have bald heads and faces like birds who have suffered.”

“My aunt had given me these rosary beads that were glow-in-the-dark. So all of a sudden I look down and they're glowing, and I'm looking toward the door and thinking, "Oh, my God, I don't want anything to come though here. I'm not worthy, I'm not ready." I didn't want to be one of those kids who sees Our Lady of Fatima.”

“My aunt just stood there, and in that second it was as though the world and the future collapsed down into a single point, and I understood that this—the kitchen, the spotless cream linoleum floors, the glaring lights, and the vivid green mass of Jell-O on the counter—was all that was left now that my mother was gone. Suddenly I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t stand the sight of my aunt’s kitchen, which I now understood would be my kitchen. I couldn’t stand the Jell-O. My mother hated Jell-O. An itchy feeling began to work its way through my body, as though a thousand mosquitoes were circulating through my blood, biting me from the inside, making me want to scream, jump, squirm. I ran.”

“My aunt remarked to me how silent my husband always seemed to be. He never participated in dinner discussions and often retreated into the bedroom when the family was together. Once in recovery he emerged as a man with the ability to join in conversation and not run off to his private world. I had come to believe he was incapable of socializing. I came to understand that retreat was what he did as a gambler.”