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P Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with P. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All P Quotes

“Poppy paused to look down at the large, unshaven man in her bed. Even in his unkempt state, his dark-angel handsomeness was breathtaking. His lids trembled infinitesimally as he succumbed to encroaching dreams. Complex, remarkable, driven man. Not incapable of love... not at all. He merely needed to be shown how. And just as she had a few days earlier, Poppy thought, this is the man I'm married to. Except that now, she felt a stirring of gladness.”

“Poppy," she murmured, "no matter how Miss Marks tries to civilize me- and I do try to listen to her- I still have my own way of looking at the world. To me, people are scarcely different from animals. We're all God's creatures, aren't we? When I meet someone, I know immediately what animal they would be. When we first met Cam, for example, I knew he was a fox." "I suppose Cam is somewhat fox-like," Poppy said, amused. "What is Merripen? A bear?" "No, unquestionably a horse. And Amelia is a hen." "I would say an owl." "Yes, but don't you remember when one of our hens in Hampshire chased after a cow that had strayed too close to the nest? That's Amelia." Poppy grinned. "You're right." "And Win is a swan." "Am I also a bird? A lark? A robin?" "No, you're a rabbit." "A rabbit?" Poppy made a face. "I don't like that. Why am I a rabbit?" "Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They're very sociable, but they're happiest in pairs." "But their timid," Poppy protested. "Not always. They're brave enough to be companions to many other creatures. Even cats and dogs." "Well," Poppy said in resignation, "it's better than being a hedgehog, I suppose." "Miss Marks is a hedgehog," Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin. "And you're a ferret, aren't you, Bea?" "Yes. But I was leading to a point." "Sorry, go on." "I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.”

“Poppy. 'That's the third time you've called me that,' I said. 'Fourth,' he corrected, and I blinked. 'We're friends, aren't we? Only your friends and your brother call you that, and you may be the Maiden, and I'm a Royal Guard, but all things considered, I would hope that you and I are friends.' 'We are.' And we were. His hand flattened against my cheek, and a sigh shuddered through him. 'And I'm not... I'm not being a good friend or guard right now. I'm not...' His hand slid, and his fingers curled around the nape of my neck for a few seconds before he slipped his hand away. 'I really should get you back to your room. It's getting late.”

“Poppy took a deep, appreciative breath. “How bracing,” she said. “I wonder what makes the country air smell so different?” “It could be the pig farm we just passed,” Leo muttered. Beatrix, who had been reading from a pamphlet describing the south of England, said cheerfully, “Hampshire is known for its exceptional pigs. They’re fed on acorns and beechnut mast from the forest, and it makes the bacon quite lovely. And there’s an annual sausage competition!” He gave her a sour look. “Splendid. I certainly hope we haven’t missed it.” Win, who had been reading from a thick tome about Hampshire and its environs, volunteered, “The history of Ramsay House is impressive.” “Our house is in a history book?” Beatrix asked in delight. “It’s only a small paragraph,” Win said from behind the book, “but yes, Ramsay House is mentioned. Of course, it’s nothing compared to our neighbor, the Earl of Westcliff, whose estate features one of the finest country homes in England. It dwarfs ours by comparison. And the earl’s family has been in residence for nearly five hundred years.” “He must be awfully old, then,” Poppy commented, straight-faced. Beatrix snickered. “Go on, Win.” “‘Ramsay House,’” Win read aloud, “‘stands in a small park populated with stately oaks and beeches, coverts of bracken, and surrounds of deer-cropped turf. Originally an Elizabethan manor house completed in 1594, the building boasts of many long galleries representative of the period. Alterations and additions to the house have resulted in the grafting of a Jacobean ballroom and a Georgian wing.’” “We have a ballroom!” Poppy exclaimed. “We have deer!” Beatrix said gleefully. Leo settled deeper into his corner. “God, I hope we have a privy.”

“Poppy was busy with needlework, stitching a pair of men’s slippers with bright wool threads, while Beatrix played solitaire on the floor near the hearth. Noticing the way her youngest sister was riffling through the cards, Amelia laughed. “Beatrix,” she said after Win had finished a chapter, “why in heaven’s name would you cheat at solitaire? You’re playing against yourself.” “Then there’s no one to object when I cheat.” “It’s not whether you win but how you win that’s important,” Amelia said. “I’ve heard that before, and I don’t agree at all. It’s much nicer to win.” Poppy shook her head over her embroidery. “Beatrix, you are positively shameless.” “And a winner,” Beatrix said with satisfaction, laying down the exact card she wanted.”

“Poppy was dressed in her best gown, a violet silk that shimmered with tones of blue and pink as the light moved over it. The unique color had been achieved with a new synthetic dye, and it was so striking that little ornamentation was needed. The bodice was intricately wrapped, leaving the tops of her shoulders bare, and the full, layered skirts rustled softly as she moved. Just as she set down the powder brush, Harry came to the doorway and surveyed her leisurely. "No woman will compare to you tonight," he murmured.”

“Poppy wiped his sweating face with a dry cloth. “Poor Merripen.” She brought a cup of water to his lips. When he tried to refuse, she slid an arm beneath his head and raised it insistently. “Yes, you must. I should have known you’d be a terrible patient. Drink, dear, or I’ll be forced to sing something.” Amelia stifled a grin as Merripen complied. “Your singing isn’t that terrible, Poppy. Father always said you sang like a bird.” “He meant a parrot,” Merripen said hoarsely, leaning his head on Poppy’s arm. “Just for that,” Poppy informed him, “I’m going to send Beatrix in here to look after you today. She’ll probably put one of her pets in bed with you, and spread her jacks all over the floor. And if you’re very lucky, she’ll bring in her glue pots, and you can help make paper-doll clothes.” Merripen gave Amelia a glance rife with muted suffering, and she laughed. “If that doesn’t inspire you to get well quickly, dear, nothing will.”

“Pops added,"you know, they say if you don't vote, you get the government you deserve." "And if you do, you never get the results you expected," (Katherine) replied.”

“Pops: Plans for the future? Justin: Not sure yet. Pops: Well, why not? You don't got much longer in school, boy. Now's the time to figure things out, not later. Didn't anyone ever tel you that you can't spell later without the word late? Justin: I promise you, I'm doing my best to figure things out. Pops: "Doing my best" is a phrase failures use. Why don't you buy a man card and finish figuring? Me: Pops! That's so rude. Justin, I'm so sorry. Pops: What? How is a valid question rude? But all right, fine, I'll move on since baby boy can't take the heat. How about you finish this sentence for me, Jason? When a girl says no, she means... Justin, looking desperately at me: No? Nana: Are you not sure? Justin, shifting uncomfortably: I'm sure. No means no. Nana: Well, look at you. You got no right. Now here's another, even tougher sentence for you to finish. Premarital sex is... Me: Nana! I'm so sorry, Justin. Nana: Unlike Pops, I'm not moving on, Justin? Pops: His name is Jason. Justin: Uh...uh... Pops: While you think about that, why don't you tell me how you feel about drinking and driving? Justin: I'm totatlly against it, I swear! Nana: Methinks he protests too much.”

“Pops Zak!” Breezy said, and Drizzt laughed with joy. “Oh, by the gods,” Catti-brie lamented. “What?” Drizzt and Jarlaxle asked in unison. “When this one witnesses cazzcalci,” she said, looking pointedly at Drizzt, “we’ll never get him back home.” “Maybe he’ll already be at home,” Jarlaxle offered. “I take my home with me,” Drizzt said, ending the debate. Catti-brie hugged him, their daughter wrapping her arms around them both, completing the circle.”

“Popular belief considers Christopher Columbus as some sort of hero, while in reality he was a murderer. While the world admires him as a brave explorer, all this brainless buffoon did was sail around the Caribbean and slaughtered innocent natives who greeted him with nothing but hospitality. You don't discover a land where people are already living. On top of that, when someone invades their land and starts looting, pillaging and slaughtering, he is neither brave, nor an explorer, he's just a petty thief and brut.”

“Popular Christianity has for its emblem a gibbet, for its chief sensation a sanginary execution after torture, for its central mystery is an insane vengeance bought off by a trumpery expiation. But there is a nobler and profounder Christianity which affirms the sacred mystery of equality and forbids the glaring futility and folly of vengeance.”

“Popular culture as a whole is popular, but in today's fragmented market it's a jostle of competing unpopular popular cultures. As the critic Stanley Crouch likes to say, if you make a movie and 10 million people go see it, you'll gross $100 million - and 96 per cent of the population won't have to be involved. That alone should caution anyone about reading too much into individual examples of popular culture.”

“Popular culture bombards us with examples of animals being humanized for all sorts of purposes, ranging from education to entertainment to satire to propaganda. Walt Disney, for example, made us forget that Mickey is a mouse, and Donald a duck. George Orwell laid a cover of human societal ills over a population of livestock.”

“Popular culture is the new Babylon, into which so much art and intellect now flow. It is our imperial sex theater, supreme temple of the western eye. We live in the age of idols. The pagan past, never dead, flames again in our mystic hierarchies of stardom.”

“Popular culture, on average, has been growing more cognitively challenging over the past thirty years, not less. Despite everything you hear about declining standards and dumbing-down, you have to do more intellectual work to make sense of today's television or games - much less the internet - than you did a few decades ago.”

“Popular glory is a perfect coquette; her lovers must toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice, and perhaps at last be jilted into the bargain. True glory, on the other hand, resembles a woman of sense; her admirers must play no tricks. They feel no great anxiety, for they are sure in the end of being rewarded in proportion to their merit.”