Folmer Brown Quotes

A semicolon is where a writer can choose to end the sentence," she said, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. "But they don't. The story goes on. It's a symbol of hope. To keep going." She smiled tremulously. "Sometimes I need that reminder. ~ Emma Scott

Man is no island. We need those who love us. We need those who hate us. We need others to tether us to life, to give us a reason to live, to feel. ~ Pierce Brown

There is no music that can't be used politically, but the motives behind the creation of that music can be non-political. ~ Earle Brown

Just as there are different types of stars - red and white and brown and blue and dwarf and giant and all that lot - there are different types of Quests, and if we determine what type you face, we shall have a much easier time managing the whole business. We're doing very well. Already we know that Prince Myrrh is an Endgame Object Type W - that's Wonderful, since we have yet to see if he will be any Use in governing. He sleeps suspended in a Theseus-type narrative matrix, however he does seem to have some gravitational pull on events, which is unusual for a T-Type. After all, we still remember him even after all these years. It's far easier to forget something than to remember it. Remembering takes all kinds of magic. No one knows who he is or what he looks like or where to find him, and yet we all know of him. We all know he sleeps in an unopenable box on an unbreakable bower. That's a frightfully strong E.K.T. Field for one little creature! ~ Catherynne M Valente

Vulnerability pushed, I pushed back. I lost the fight, but probably won my life back. ~ Brene Brown

Lady Calpurnia.
He had thought her a boon- a woman with an unparalleled reputation who had simply appeared. She was the perfect solution to the problem of preparing Juliana for her first season- or so he had thought. But then he had kissed her.
And the kiss had been rather extraordinary.
He scoffed at the thought. He had been frustrated and taken aback by the arrival of his sister. Any kiss would have been a welcome distraction.
Especially one so freely given by such an enthusiastic, enjoyable partner.
Ralston hardened almost instantly, remembering the way Callie felt in his arms, her soft sighs, the way she had so willingly given herself up to the kiss. He wondered if her excitement for kissing would translate into eagerness for other, more passionate, acts. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine her in his bed, all enormous brown eyes and full, welcoming lips, wearing nothing but a willing smile. ~ Sarah MacLean

I looked around the lot. "Is he dead anywhere nearby?" I really wanted a no on this one. I'd already had my millennium quota of dead.
"You see that big bush by the Dumpster?" Jackie said.
"Yeah."
"You see that ugly-ass foot sticking out of that big bush?"
Oh boy. She was right. There was a foot sticking out of the bush. "Shit, Jackie," I said. "You didn't kill that foot, did you?"
"No, I didn't kill that foot. That's what I've been trying to tell you. Someone jacked me over. I've been sitting out here, freezing my ass off, waiting to kill that sonovabitch Cameron Brown, and someone beat me to it. It isn't fair! ~ Janet Evanovich

Splatters of mud stained Rothbury's fine lawn shirt, which clung slickly to the broad expanse of his back like a second skin. Having rolled up his sleeves at the onset of his task, his muscled arms were now streaked with mud and rain as were the tall boots and tight black breeches that hugged the sinewy muscles of his long, undoubtedly strong legs.
Her admiring gaze alighted upon his golden-brown hair, which now looked more brown than golden as it was wet with perspiration and mist. A few locks lay plastered to his neck in wispy whorls.
Charlotte suddenly felt overly warm. Seeing him... wet... somehow embarrassed her. It felt dark, intimate. Truly, if it weren't for the mud- and clothes- she rather thought this would be what he looked like after a bath.
A shiver ran down her arms as her eyes drifted to the dewy trails of rain droplets that ran over his slightly bristled jaw and neck, disappearing in the nest of his loosely tied cravat.
And then her hungry gaze raised... and connected with Rothbury's. All thoughts flew straight out of her head.
Looking at her from over his shoulder, he straightened, his smile twisting with arrogance.
Despite the chill in the air, her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. How long had he been watching her in-depth perusal? Long enough, she supposed, if the heated gleam in his eyes was any indication at all.
She blinked, shaking her head hurriedly, hoping by that action she was silently telling him, "No, I defi ~ Olivia Parker

Sometimes I rode north to the big prairie-dog town to watch the brown earth-owls fly home in the late afternoon and go down to their nests underground with the dogs. ~ Willa Cather

I never said you had to like it. You have to accept it. No regret."
- Clare Harding

From the current book in writing BUMPKIN by Lani Brown. ~ Lani Brown

I am a man, and men do not drink pink drinks. Now, be gone, woman, and fetch me something brown." Jace said.
"Brown?" said Isabelle.
"Yes. Brown. It's a manly color. See? Alec is wearing it." Jace said.
"Well, it was black but it faded." Alec said.
"Well, I can always fix it up with something sparkly," Magnus said, holding a sparkley headband.
"Resist the urge, Alec, resist the urge." Simon said. ~ Cassandra Clare

If I had auditioned for 'Merlin' on magic alone, I don't think I'd have got it. Like any kid, I probably had a magic kit, but it's not something I ever pursued. I've never watched a magic show like David Copperfield or used him to base my character on, but I really like David Blaine and Darren Brown. They are doing wonders. ~ Colin Morgan

Ah dearest heart if you will but wait
I'll become the ideal soulmate
nevermore causing you a moment's trouble
and I but a mere ectoplasmic bubble
swaying above your gorgeous head
gruff and garrulous and safely dead. ~ Christy Brown

Looking at her, he was in London again. He saw the gaslight and smelled the smoke and dirt and horses, the metallic tang of fog, the flowers in Kew Gardens. He saw a boy with black hair and blue eyes like Alec's. A girl with long brown curls and a serious face. In a world where everything went away from him eventually, she was one of the few remaining constants. ~ Cassandra Clare

In fact, all of us are very susceptible to having our humiliating experiences turn to shame, especially when the person who is putting us down is someone with whom we have a valued relationship or someone whom we perceive to have more power than we do... ~ Brene Brown

He looked like a baby, his mouth half open, his cheek flused, his curly hair darkening the pillow and half hiding his damp round forehead and his long eyelashes glinting slightly in the summer sun. We were both naked and the sheet we had used as a cover was tangled around our feet. Joey's body was brown, was sweaty, the most beautiful creation I had ever seen til then. I would have touched him to wake him up but something stopped me. I was suddenly afraid. Perhaps it was because he looked so innocent lying there, with such perfect trust; my own body suddenly seemed gross and crushing and the desire which was rising in me seemed monstrous. ~ James Baldwin

When someone hugs you, let them be the first to let go. ~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

No partnership matters more. The relationship with the one you marry provides 90 percent of your happiness and 90 percent of your misery. ~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

And It was said to me: "embrace the glorious mess you are". How easy it is to see darkness in the winter shedding and not see that even in its gloominess lies great beauty. That even in our great struggles - lies within a great victory. How then does the Spring green come about without the fertilisation of the Winter brown? Isn't it the very brown that gives way and life to the green we await to goggle in awe. There is power and sheer beauty in your mess. A true triumphing chaos that renders sweet melodic honey to your journey. So again it was whispered to me "embrace the glorious mess that you are ~ Malebo Sephodi

Be as polite to the custodian as you are to the chairman of the board. ~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

It would be there - the eternal smell of the coffee the sugar the hemp sweating slow iron plates above the forked deliberate brown water and lost lost lost all ultimate blue of latitude and horizon; the hot rain gutterfull plaiting the eaten heads of shrimp; the ten thousand inescapable mornings wherein ten thousand airplants swinging stippleprop the soft scrofulous soaring of sweating brick and ten thousand pairs of splayed brown hired Leonorafeet tigerbarred by jaloused armistice with the invincible sun: the thin black coffee, the myriad fish stewed in a myriad oil - tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow; not only not to hope, not even to wait: just to endure. ~ William Faulkner

the willingness to show up and be seen with no guarantee of outcome - is the only path to more love, belonging, and joy. He ~ Brene Brown

Someone knocked on the back door. He push back the chair and had to pause. The wolf was angry that someone had breached his sanctuary. Not even his pack had been brave enough the past few days to approch him in his home.
By the time he stalked into the kitchen, he had it mostly under control. He jerked open the back door and expect to see one of his wolves. But it was Mercy.
She didn't look cheerful - but then, she seldom did when she had to come over and talk to him. She was tough and independent and not at all happy to have him interfere in any way with that independence. It had been a long time since someone had bossed him around the way she did - and he liked it. More than a wolf who'd been Alpha for twenty years ought to like it.
She smelled of burnt car oil, Jasmine from the shampoo she'd been using that month, and chocolate. Or maybe that last was the cookies on the plate she handed him.
"Here," she said stiffly. And he realize it was shyness in the corner of her mouth. "Chocolate usually helps me regain my balance when life kicks me in the teeth."
She didn't wait for him to say anything, just turned around and walked back to her house.
He took the cookies back to the office with him. After a few minutes, he ate one. Chocolate, thick and dark, spread across his tongue, it's bitterness alleviated by a sinfull amount of brown sugar and vanilla. He'd forgotten to eat and hadn't realized it.
But it wasn't the chocolate or the food ~ Patricia Briggs

Make sure to be well informed before accepting the challenge of a commission - check out that you have a source of reference readily available. ~ Richard Brown

One of the most common traits among successful people is getting up early in the morning. They put their personal priorities in front of other people's priorities as they know that their priority has to be done if it is to be done. This is why they don't spend the first few hours checking their email but instead use the early hours of the day as their 'me' time. Even a few minutes of visualization and positive thinking in the early hours ~ Bill Brown

The receptionist, a gray-haired lady with thick glasses at the front counter of the office, read over my transcript. Her eyebrows shot up above her brown frames. With her eyes riveted on me, she cleared her throat and blasted as if on a megaphone. "Your former school is Beauty." ...
Mum blasted right back at her," You are an excellent reader. Congratulations. ~ Brenda Vicars

His life coiled back into the brown murk of the past like a twined filament of electric wire; he gave life, a pattern, and movement to these million sensations that Chance, the loss or gain of a moment, the turn of the head, the enormous and aimless impulsion of accident, had thrust into the blazing heat of him. His mind picked out in white living brightness these pinpoints of experience and the ghostliness of all things else became more awful because of them. So many of the sensations that returned to open haunting vistas of fantasy and imagining had been caught from a whirling landscape through the windows of the train.

And it was this that awed him - the weird combination of fixity and change, the terrible moment of immobility stamped with eternity in which, passing life at great speed, both the observer and the observed seem frozen in time. There was one moment of timeless suspension when the land did not move, the train did not move, the slattern in the doorway did not move, he did not move. It was as if God had lifted his baton sharply above the endless orchestration of the seas, and the eternal movement had stopped, suspended in the timeless architecture of the absolute. Or like those motion-pictures that describe the movements of a swimmer making a dive, or a horse taking a hedge - movement is petrified suddenly in mid-air, the inexorable completion of an act is arrested. Then, completing its parabola, the suspended body plops down into the pool. Only, ~ Thomas Wolfe

than this landline. ~ Carolyn Brown

A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is also called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage. ~ Suzanne Collins

Tonight, I went to look for cypripediums at the florist, and with them I decorated my friend Jerome, whose flesh already complements the subtleties of their orchid-green, brown, and violet sulphurs. Both have the same plump brilliance - as if sticky - both achieve that triumphant state of a substance at its peak - at the extreme accomplishment of itself - that precedes effervescence and purification.

Stretched out on his side, Jerome seemed to be sleeping, his sex introduced into the calyx of a cypripedium, whose liquor inundated him, while a cascade of lively flowery odours escaped from the swarthy bruises that marbleised his rose-coloured secret. ~ Gabrielle Wittkop

They believe civilization weakens natural selection. They do nature's work so that we do not become a soft race. The Passage, it seems, is a continuation of that policy. Only we were the tools they used. My ... victim ... was, bless his soul, a fool. He was from a family of no worth, and he had no wits, no intelligence, no ambition," he frowns at the words before sighing, "he had nothing the Board values. There is a reason he was to die."
Was there a reason Julian was to die?
Roque knows what he does because his mother is on the Board. He loathes his mother, and only then do I realize I should like him. Not only that, I take refuge in his words. He disagrees with the rules, but he follows them. It is possible. I can do the same until I have power enough to change them. ~ Pierce Brown

Meaning is not in things but in between them. ~ Norman O. Brown