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R Quotes

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

All R Quotes

“Rachael Ray was in the middle of making small lemon bars, which reminded me almost immediately of a new recipe for lemon drop cookies I'd been wanting to try and maybe serve at an upcoming children's birthday party I had scheduled. Like I say, cooking can be like therapy for me when I'm real upset, and no sooner had I grabbed a bag of lemon drop candy in the cabinet, wrapped the nuggets in a towel, and begun beating them to bits with a hammer than I calmed down and concentrated on making the batter just right. Butter, sugar, grated lemon rind, heavy cream, an egg, flour baking powder and salt, the crushed candy- the ingredients couldn't have been simpler. What I wondered about was whether the candy would melt during the baking, and I got my answer after the cookies had been in the oven about twelve minutes, and I finally bit into a cooled one, and noticed a slight crunch that was one of the most wonderful sensations I'd ever experienced. Yeah, the cookies were out of this world, and I knew the kids would love 'em, but since I personally like most of my cookies to be kinda chewy, I did decide then and there that the next time I baked a batch, I'd test the texture after only ten minutes of baking- or till just the edges of the cookies browned. I also decided these cookies could give Miss Rachael Ray's lemon bars a good run for their money, and that they should have me on that program doing something a little different. I mean, anybody can make ordinary lemon bars.”

“Rachel anaknya jangkung, cantik, rambutnya pirang, dan tak kenal takut. Yah, jauh di dalam lubuk hati sih ia juga merasa tidak aman, cemas kalau-kalau ia tak bisa beradaptasi, dan tertekan karena harus hidup memenuhi standar tinggi yang ditentukannya sendiri. Tapi semua itu tersembunyi jauh di dalam. Jauh sekali, sehingga jika kau berusaha mencapainya, ia akan mencincangmu sebelum kau bahkan bisa mendekat.”

“Rachel believes in it, the laws of of pattern formation and how they are universal: whatever she sees, crystallizing, a landscape of fractals, of emergence and symmetry, her world falling happily into shape where he must forge it, a pioneer of industry, sooty and scarred. For Rachel Wolff, quite simply, there are patterns everywhere, she can't help it; she is an illustrator, naturalist, cartographer—and her eye, a kaleidoscope.”

“RACHEL: [...] Ci aspettavamo un sacco di cose dalla vita, non abbiamo combinato niente, stiamo scivolando giù nel nulla e lo stiamo facendo in un buco di culo dove una splendida cascata ogni giorno ci ricorda che la miseria è un'invenzione degli uomini e la grandezza il normale andazzo del mondo. Potremmo spararci, ma non abbiamo neanche i soldi per comprare una pistola. Quindi siamo nella merda, tutti e tre, e una sola cosa ci può salvare. WESSON: Sarebbe? RACHEL: Il nostro talento.”

“Rachel crossed her arms. “And the other three Oracles? I’m sure none of them was a beautiful young priestess whom you praised for her…what was it?…‘scintillating conversation’?” “Ah…” I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like my acne was turning into live insects and crawling across my face. “Well, according to my extensive research—” “Some books he flipped through last night,” Meg clarified.”

“Rachel,” I snap, “I don’t care if Janelle wants to work at Hooters. I don’t care if you and the rest of the world want to go spend your money on dried-out chicken and ketchup-based sauces. And least of all—less than almost anything else I can imagine—I don’t care how much sex your sister is or isn’t having. That’s kind of the deal with the whole uptight feminazi thing—we don’t care when other women want to wear stupid orange Soffe shorts with white tennis shoes and have a lot of sex, or when they want to wear habits and live in a convent, or if they want to walk around in pasties and never French kiss, so long as they’re allowed to do what they want. And right now, all I want is to go to bed. Okay?”

“Rachel inches over until they’re huddling together. “Do you like him back? Now?” The answer’s just as automatic as the apology. Still, it comes out as a whisper: “Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, gives voice to some of the noise in her head. “But what if I’m just feeling this because we’re out here and it’s scary and he feels safe? Or what if I’m just relieved to have my friend back, but I don’t like him like him? I don’t even know why he’d choose me. Then or now.” Rachel drops her head down onto Hallelujah’s shoulder. She nuzzles into Hallelujah’s neck, like a cat. “Hal, despite the giant prickly wall you’ve put up around yourself with the neon Off Limits sign flashing at the gate—” Hallelujah lets out a small laugh at this picture of herself. “—you’re nice. Like I said when I told you about my parents, you listen. And you care. Which is more than I can say for about three-quarters of the high school population. And you’re pretty. And while I’ve never heard you sing, obviously Jonah likes that about you.”

“Rachel laughs out loud when people call her pretty. It's always older or middle-aged women who say it. The women say it in the type of way that conveys that they have nothing to else to offer - no specifics. It comes out ragged and awful, always, not because Rachel doesn't believe she is capable of some kind of beauty, but because she knows she doesn't have the beauty that these middle-aged women want, and that they are lying through their teeth.”

“Rachel put her hand over mine. “Things can turn out differently, Apollo. That’s the nice thing about being human. We only have one life, but we can choose what kind of story it’s going to be.” That seemed hopelessly optimistic. I had spent too many centuries watching the same patterns of behavior be repeated over and over, all by humans who thought they were being terribly clever and doing something that had never been done before. They thought they were crafting their own stories, but they were only tracing over the same old narratives, generation after generation. Still…perhaps human persistence was an asset. They never seemed to give up hope. Every so often they did manage to surprise me”

“Rachel reappeared with a wooden peel holding a free-form pizza heaped with vegetables, its edges blackened by the flame. Melody's mouth practically watered at the sight of it. The moules on Saturday had been amazing, but after the day she'd had, pizza and wine and butterscotch bars- hopefully with good coffee- would feed her soul as much as her body. Her friend cut the pizza into diagonal strips with a dangerous-looking mezzaluna, and then it was a free-for-all to grab the crispiest slices. Melody closed her eyes to savor the perfectly tender vegetables on top of the crisp pizza crust and sighed with happiness. "You did a garlic Parmesan cream sauce." "I figured I was allowed to deviate from traditional primavera since it's pizza." "It's good Parmesan." "Local. Makes up for the fact it's not Italian.”

“Rachel Resnick's story of love lost and love sought cracks open the timeworn addiction narrative to release something raw, probing, brave, and redemptive. The courage it took to write this story is challenged only by the courage it must have taken to live it. I sit in awe of such unflinching honesty. LOVE JUNKIE is memoir at its very best.”

“Rachel’s story will stay with you long after you turn the last page. If you’re facing your own hard season, I hope her story gives you comfort and strength. Remember, you don’t have to have it all figured out. Just take the next step, lean on your faith, and trust that grace will meet you where you are. Patty Aubery New York Times Bestselling Author Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul”

“Rachel’s the first one to speak. “So—he told you.” “Told me what?” “Come on, Hal. What’s changed since yesterday?” Rachel sneaks one arm out of her jacket cocoon to give Hallelujah a soft punch in the shoulder. “I may not be at my best right now, but I’m not blind.” She pauses. “Or deaf.” Hallelujah feels her face get hot. “Oh. What did you hear?” “Bits and pieces. I was really out of it last night, after . . . whatever that was. After almost freezing to death.” Rachel shudders. “I have to say, it was totally obvious from the get-go that Jonah liked you.” “It was?” Hallelujah is still surprised. She still doesn’t quite believe it. “Um, yeah. Or did you think he’s out here for me?” Rachel says slowly, as if to a child, “You followed me. He followed you.”

“Rachel's voice is fierce. The Commander will send out scouts. We should-" "Oh, he sent out scouts," Willow says. "Five of them. And they were doing a good job of searching the city. Unfortunately for them, all they managed to find was me." "You killed them?" Ian asks. "No. I invited them over for dinner." She smacks his shoulder. "the sun is almost down. By the time the Commander realizes his scouts aren't coming back, it will be too dark to send more. He can't risk us seeing torchlight, and they can't search these ruins without light." "You scare me a little," Ian says, but his voice is full of admiration. Adam steps closer to Willow. "She's good at everything she does." Quinn clears his throat." Maybe we should get back to the problem?" "We can't travel at night," I say. "We need light as well. But we can leave at dawn, and-" "They'll leave at dawn, too," Adam says. "And if they're that close already, there's no way we can outrun them. Not with children and elderly and the wagons." "Which is why we're going to create a barrier between us," I say. "Something they can't cross." Rachel meets my eyes, and her smile is cold and bright. "Fire." I match her smile with one of my own. "Fire. And when the army finally gets past the blaze, we won't be where they expect, because we're leaving the main road behind." "What are we waiting for?" Willow asks. "Let's go burn something down.”

“Rachel slips off the bed and stands before him to rearrange his collar, aware that in this small gesture there is a quality acutely other than motherly, sisterly, companionable, and that, in this moment, everything ever intended for her, for them, has begun, that the beginning is in the rearrangement of his collar and not the first kiss they share now, Zach recovering his wind as quickly as he lost it, a Great Northern Diver resurfacing. Zach clasps his hands round her ears, steps into her body and breathes the very air from her lungs. His teeth scrape against hers and he rests his open mouth against her face, gasping for air, his eyes squeezed shut as in great pain. And Rachel and Zachariah are born. Now truly they are born. 'Zachariah, Zachariah,' whispers Rachel. 'My fighting man.”

“Rachel thinks, What long fingers Mama has, like wands in fairy tales. All the better to conduct with my dear! Ekaterina Wolff has conduits for fingers. Rachel muses on the conducting of music and the conducting of electricity, and of the yellow sign depicting a man falling, struck by a current. Danger of death! What fells the man? A powerful conduction of electricity? Of thought? Of sound? Which? Perhaps the man is felled by music. In the sign, he falls backwards.”

“Rachel watches Zachariah and often, quite regularly, her heart skips a beat. If you map the ECG of the heart in phase space, its strange attractor resembles a spider. When Lev tutors Rachel in the principles of complexity, he has a dream of determinism, immanence. Through chaos, he shapes her. Through it he owns her. . . . When he teaches her to love the principles of complexity and see patterns in everything, the strange attractor that is Rachel and Zachariah is not what he had in mind; it is not a phase space he ever imagined.”