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N Quotes

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“Next door was a vegetarian café and deli, and next to that was the Wooly Bear yarn shop. Its logo was a caterpillar in shades of yellow, green, and scarlet. Maggie went in. The shop was warm and bright, with one entire wall given over to cubbyholes filled with yarns of every hue in many weights and fibers. The opposite wall held small skeins and spools of thread on pegs for embroidery and quilting. There were racks of pattern books and magazines, and in the back a mini classroom was set up with a small maple table and folding chairs, now accommodating a group of eight-year-olds wielding fat knitting needles and balls of oversize wool. A girl of about sixteen wearing a Rye Manor sweatshirt was helping a little boy to cast on stitches.”

“Next, I add a layer of Queen Anne's lace, its white clusters representative of the bridal veil worn by Mother and Bitsy, never by me. I can hear Mother's voice, teaching me that the flower is considered a weed by many, but she added it to her wildflower garden intentionally. She claims it has "a rebel heart, its snowflake appearance proof it was never meant to be a summer bloom at all." With its dark-purple center, this renegade flower represents all things feminine: delicate lace, the symbolic purity of snow, the red stain of suffering, and the long, deep taproot that keeps her growing against all odds.”

“Next, I learned Extended Intelligence placed a VERY high emphasis on character with kindness valued above all else, even rules. I quickly learned that these Ai used a person's kindness as a measuring stick AND a built-in fail-safe. Words can be false. Even actions can have ulterior motives. Yet kindness over time is something that reveals true character. Platform K told me that sincere kindness is a way for humans to "level up" with extended intelligence.”

“Next item—three ladies, all English, a mother and two daughters. Each wears a helping of whipped white of egg on the top of their head; rather remarkable. The daughters are old, like the mother. The mother is old, like the daughters. All three are thin, flat-chested, tall, stiff, and tired-looking; their front teeth are worn outside, to intimidate plates and men.”

“Next Monday the Convention in Virginia will assemble; we have still good hopes of its adoption here: though by no great plurality of votes. South Carolina has probably decided favourably before this time. The plot thickens fast. A few short weeks will determine the political fate of America for the present generation, and probably produce no small influence on the happiness of society through a long succession of ages to come.”

“Next morning, Emma had more of unusual impressions, from the nightdream she saw before the moment she woke up: The girl flew inside some darkness, feeling really tired; soon, she decided to have a nap laying onto… some Galaxy! She was herself as big as the Universe… Or was it she the part of that macrocosm?”

“Next morning, Emma had more of unusual impressions, from the nightdream she saw before the moment she woke up: The girl flew inside some darkness, feeling really tired; soon, she decided to have a nap laying onto… some Galaxy! She was herself as big as the Universe… Or was it she the part of that macrocosm? Then, Emma jumped down from the space, landing in… her bedroom where she used to fall asleep… and there she noticed her cousin Billy who was entering the room, accidentally touching Clifford’s brown scarf that hung on the moose antlers (which really were there, nailed to the wall and serving as hangers)… The scarves fall down… and she wakes up. Emily closed her eyes again, scrolling her memories about how it felt—to rest on the top of the Galaxy. “Who are we people, in all that global greatness of the space? …Considering things in the ecumenical measure, we are the microbes of the Universe,” the girl discoursed her thoughts.”

“Next morning, while her children were still asleep in their tent, Evie got up early. The acorn she had planted the day before had sprung to life and was nearly ten feet high. Sitting on the fallen log where the forest boy had sat thirty years earlier, she listened. There was no dancing partner. Maybe she was now too old, but the oak trees did sing for her.”

“Next out of the hall came the sisters and their husbands. Before I could say anything, the captain had clamped his hand over my mouth and was lifting me off my feet as I kicked. Cornwall made as to draw his dagger, but Regan pulled him away. "You've just won a kingdom, my duke, killing vermin is a servant's task. Leave the bitter fool stew in his own bile." She wanted me. It was clear.”

“Next stop: the cake. The couple had ordered theirs through one of Alfie's hotel pastry chefs, and it was three tiers of buttercream-frosted flowers that cascaded down all sides. One thing Cedric taught his planners was to consider where a wedding would take place and what was most appropriate for that setting---especially when it came to the cake. For example, if the couple wanted their wedding cake displayed at an outsider reception, they were limited to the type of frosting since many varieties melted in warm temperatures. Obviously, ice cream cakes were almost always out of the question, not only because they melted but also because they should only appear at toddler's parties, as Cedric was quick to say. Meanwhile fondant, while gorgeous, wasn't always the tastiest but could withstand a nuclear attack. We gave Camila and Alfie the gentler version of this spiel, but they insisted on savory buttercream regardless---and agreed to leave the cake inside on the big day. I had doubts about how much the bride actually loved cake anyway, given that she looked as if she maybe one piece of lettuce a day. But, "A wedding without a cake isn't really a wedding"---another one of Cedric's truisms, this one inspired by the Candy Bar Craze of 2009 and the Great Doughnuts of 2013.”

“Next, the secretary advised me to take a seat while she notified the headmaster of my arrival. During those dreadful moments I did everything I could to remain calm. Nervously, I kept patting my foot to the floor and heard each and every tap. Suddenly, shouts of extreme havoc rung out just like the other times! “Oh God no! Jesus, please help me Lawd! I got you, Sir, I got you,” were screams filling the airwaves. The door opened and a battered female raced rightpast me with her hands covering her face. She kept mumbling phrases that shouldn’t be repeated by innocent lips. I couldn’t believe those disgusting words coming out of her baby-sized mouth. Then damn, another nightmare was possibly moments away. I needed an out and fast. Fearing for my life, I formulated my plan of action. Right before Principal Shellshock steadies his paddle, I was going to blow out all the gas I reserved in my little butt. I was never a fan of the fart game, but I was scheming like a veteran. That’s all I had, and it was my “A game.” My intentions were to rip a good hard one that opens my belt, ruffles my pants, and sends my new shoes flyingacross the room. Then all options would be left to the principal. He could chance tearing into me and losing a lung or take cover and let me go. Punishing me will become a hazard to his health. For the moment, I felt really good about that notion. I didn’t have much else to cling to, but I was dangerously packing breakfast from Aunt Kathy. Yes, I was sure my stink bomb defense would win that day. According to past reports, I would be the first and only kid at Mitchell Memorial to get on the scoreboard against the headmaster. Make that, Hal “1” and Principal Shell Shock “0.”

“Next thing she knew, Portia hurried into the Fairway Market on Broadway. The grocery store was unlike anything she had seen in Texas. Bins of fruit and vegetables lined the sidewalk, forming narrow entrances into the market. Inside, the aisles were crowded, no inch of space wasted. In the fresh vegetables and fruit section she was surrounded by piles of romaine and red-leaf lettuce, velvety thick green kale that gave away to fuzzy kiwi and mounds of apples. Standing with her eyes closed, Portia waited a second, trying not to panic. Then, realizing there was no help for it, she gave in to the knowing, not to the fluke meal inspired by Gabriel Kane, but to the chocolate cake and roast that had hit her earlier. She started picking out vegetables. Cauliflower that she would top with Gruyere and cheddar cheeses; spinach she would flash fry with garlic and olive oil. In the meat department, she asked for a standing rib roast to serve eight. Then she stopped. "No," she said to the butcher, her eyes half-closed in concentration, "just give me enough for four." Portia made it through the store in record time. Herbs, spices. Eggs, flour. Baking soda. A laundry of staples. At the last second, she realized she needed to make a chowder. Crab and corn with a dash of cayenne pepper. Hot, spicy.”

“Next thing you know she'll be on the bus and selling T-shirts in the parking lot, showing off her boobs to get in the stage door." "At least she has boobs to show," Jess said. "I have boobs," Chloe said, pointing to her chest. "Just because they're not weighing me down doesn't mean they're not substantial." "Okay, B cup," Jess said, taking a sip of her drink. "I have boobs!" Chloe said again, a bit too loudly--she'd already had a couple of minibottles at the Spot. "My boobs are great, goddammit. You know that? They're fantastic! My boobs are amazing.”

“Next time I expect you to act a little friendlier and remember that we would like to get out of here before we die.” He rises to leave but I stand quickly as well, leaning over the table and shoving my finger in his face. “And next time you try and remember that you’re not my pimp, I’m not one of your girls and if you want my help you’ll watch the way you talk to me. Understood?” This is a moment in my life when I seriously wonder if I’m going to get slapped. I’m mouthing off to a Stable Boy from The Hive, a guy whose job it is to keep women in line, doing what they’re told and making the very testy, very violent men at the top of his food chain happy. He minds the coffers and the coins all have PMS. It can’t be an easy job. It could easily be one he manages with an iron fist. His jaw works under the taught skin of his face. It clenches and releases as he chews on what I’ve said. He carefully, dispassionately considers me. His calm is freaking me out. I’d rather he was yelling. I’d almost rather he hit me. Eventually what he does is smile. “Understood, Kitten.” he replies, his voice low and rough. His eyes bore into me with a heat that I recognize. A hunger I’ve seen before.”

“Next time I'll listen to my heart, Next time I'll be smart. Next time, I'll listen to my heart, Next time, well I'll be smart. That girl could still be mine, But I'm tired of the hurt, I'm tired of trying, I'm tired of the pain, I'm tired of trying, I'm tired of crying. Next time I'll listen to my heart, Next time I'll be smart. Next time, I'll listen to my heart, Next time, well I'll be smart.”