John Peters You Know The Farmer Quotes

As a last resort, with the orange nearing my face and my back pressing hard against the sharp edge of my broadcast table, I grabbed my phone to tell Carlos that if I didn't make it home tonight, it wasn't because I didn't love him, or didn't want to watch a documentary on special scientific graphs, or was too obsessed with my job to relax and enjoy a good meal and some television. It was only because I was zapped out of existence by a lunatic Non-John Peters. And that, in fact, I do love Carlos, and I would want nothing more than to watch a documentary on scientific graphs over some homemade linguini, or go out to eat again, or whatever.

But then, as I grabbed my phone, I thought: That's way too long to write for a text. So I just hit John Peters upside the head with it... ~ Joseph Fink

Schopenhauer remarked that buying books would be better if you could also buy the time to read them. Books are different from natural objects in that they can overwhelm us in a way that nature's abundance rarely does. There has always been too much to know; the universe is thoroughly baffling. When we walk into a bookstore, it is easy to feel oppressed by the amount of knowledge on tap. Why don't we have the same feeling in a forest, at the beach, in a big city, or simply in breathing? There is more going on in our body every second than we will ever understand, and yet we rarely feel bothered by our inability to know it all. Books, however, are designed to make demands on our attention and time: they hail us in ways that nature rarely does. A thing is what Heidegger calls zunichtsgedrängt, relaxed and bothered about nothing. A plant or stone is as self-sufficient as the Aristotelian god or Heidegger's slacker things, but books are needy. They cry out for readers as devils hunger for souls. ~ John Durham Peters

Who's the fifth?"
I'm surprised he's been keeping count. "John Ambrose McClaren."
Peter's eyes widen. "McClaren? When did you like him?"
"Eighth grade."
"I thought you liked me in eighth grade!"
"There may have been a little bit of overlap," I admit. Stirring my straw, I say, "There was this one time, in gym…he and I had to pick up all the soccer balls, and it started to rain…" I sigh. "It was probably the most romantic thing that ever happened to me."
"What is it with girls and rain?" Peter wonders.
"I don't know…I guess maybe because everything feels more dramatic in the rain," I say with a shrug.
"Did anything actually happen with you two, or were you just standing out in the rain picking up soccer balls?"
"You wouldn't understand." Someone like Peter could never understand. ~ Jenny Han

So who are you writing to?"
I hesitate. "Do you remember John Ambrose McClaren?"
He rolls his eyes. "Of course I remember John Ambrose McClaren. I had a crush on him in seventh grade."
"I had a crush on him in eighth!"
"Of course you did. We all did. In middle school you either liked John or you liked Peter. Those were the two main choices. Like Betty and Veronica. Obviously John is Betty and Peter's Veronica." He pauses. "Remember how John used to have that really endearing stutter?"
"Yes! I mourned it a little when it went away. It was so sweet. So boyish. And do you remember how his hair was the color of pale butter? Like, the way I bet freshly churned butter looks."
"I thought it was more like moonlit corn silk, but yeah. So how did he turn out?"
"I don't know…It's strange because there's the him I remember from middle school, and that's just my memory of him, but then there's the him now."
"Did you guys ever go out back then?"
"Oh no! Never."
"So that's probably why you're curious about him now."
"I didn't say I was curious."
Lucas gives me a look. "You basically did. I don't blame you. I'd be curious too."
"It's just fun to think about. ~ Jenny Han

The trouble in this life is that you never really know where you're going.

~Andy Peters ~ Agatha Christie

It is not doubted, and you know it, that Ireland and all those islands which have received the faith, belong to the Church of Rome; if you wish to enter that Island, to drive vice out of it, to cause law to be obeyed and St Peter's Pence to be paid by every house, it will please us to assign it to you. ~ Pope Adrian IV

So know this, little one. Whether you are the Messiah, or you become a rabbi, or even if you are nothing more than a farmer, here is the sum of all I can teach you, and all that I know: treat others as you would like to be treated. Can you remember that? ~ Christopher Moore

Monkshood was a good hour's walk from the town proper. The very narrow lanes meant that occasionally you had to throw yourself in the ditch to avoid a car, and once they had to throw themselves in the ditch to avoid a farmer coming by in a blue cart.

"The Americans have these inventions called sidewalks," Jared noted.

"We call them pavements," Kami said. "And we see them as luxuries that you just can't have with every road."

"You know what goes faster than us? Or even pretty, pretty ponies?" Jared asked.

"Your head, spinning through the air when detached from your shoulders after a grisly motorcycle crash ~ Sarah Rees Brennan

That's love? To let someone beat you and be hateful to you? These people are all so ... Weak. Powerless to change their lives. I know the feeling. All you can do is take it. No one understands how it beats you down. ~ Julie Anne Peters

Stokes is running a little late this morning, ma'am. Like, an emergency, you know. Being a woman of moderate expectations, Jacqueline accepted the stumbling ~ Elizabeth Peters

Big Yellow Taxi

They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot

They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot

Hey farmer, farmer
Put away the DDT now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees, please

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot

Late last night
I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot

I said, "Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got till it's gone?
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot"

They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot
They paved paradise
Put up a parking lot ~ Joni Mitchell

Hey, Large," Gabe says, flicking me with his towel. "Where you been all day?"
"I've been around." I look over at Peter, but he won't meet my eyes. "I saw you guys on the slopes."
Darrell says, "Then why didn't you holler at us? I wanted to show off my ollies for you."
Teasingly I say, "Well, I called Peter's name, but I guess he didn't hear me."
Peter finally looks me in the eyes. "Nope. I didn't hear you." His voice is cold and indifferent and so un-Peterlike, the smile fades from my face.
Gabe and Darrell exchange looks like oooh and Gabe says to Peter, "We're gonna head out to the hot tub," and they trot off.
Peter and I are left standing in the lobby, neither of us saying anything. I finally ask, "Are you mad at me or something?"
"Why would I be mad?"
And then it's back to quiet again.
I say, "You know, you're the one who talked me into coming on this trip. The least you could do is talk to me."
"The least you could do was sit next to me on the bus!" he bursts out.
My mouth hangs open. "Are you really that mad that I didn't sit next to you on the bus?"
Peter lets out an impatient breath of air. "Lara Jean, when you're dating someone, there are just…certain things you do, okay? Like sit next to each other on a school trip. That's pretty much expected."
"I just don't see what the big deal is," I say. How can he be this mad over such a tiny thing?
"Forget it." He turns like he's going to leave, and I grab ~ Jenny Han

I am not a cowboy with a ranch and cattle, but I have this stable with some of the most beautiful horses in the world. I am not a farmer with a hundred-year-old farmhouse and acres of crops, but I have an island with acres of fertile land. I am not a mechanic with grease under my fingernails, but I know how to fix a flat tire. I am not your everyday average guy. I do not know if I can be one. But if you marry me, I will do my best to make your life as ordinary as you'd like. ~ Melissa McClone

People have wracked their brains for an explanation of benzene and how the celebrated man, August Kekulé, managed to come up with the concept of the benzene theory. With regard to the last point especially, a friend of mine who is a farmer and has a lively interest in chemistry has asked me a question which I would like to share with you. My 'agricultural friend' apparently believes he has traced the origins of the benzene theory. 'Has Kekulé,' so ran the question, 'once been a bee-keeper? You certainly know that bees too build hexagons; they know well that they can store the greatest amount of honey that way with the least amount of wax. I always liked it,' my agricultural friend went on, 'When I received a new issue of the Berichte; admittedly, I don't read the articles, but I like the pictures very much. The patterns of benzene, naphthalene and especially anthracene are indeed wonderful. When I look at the pictures I always have to think of the honeycombs of my bee hives. ~ August Wilhelm Von Hofmann

How to Tell the Truth and Get in Trouble I am a fourth-generation dairy farmer and cattle rancher. I grew up on a dairy farm in Montana, and I ran a feedlot operation there for twenty years. I know firsthand how cattle are raised and how meat is produced in this country. Today I am president of the International Vegetarian Union. Sure, I used to enjoy my steaks as much as the next guy. But if you knew what I know about what goes into them and what they can do to you, you'd probably be a vegetarian like me. And, believe it or not, as a pure vegetarian now who consumes no animal products at all, I can tell you that these days I enjoy eating more than ever. If you're a meat-eater in America, you have a right to know that you have something in common with most of the cows you've eaten. They've eaten meat, too. ~ Howard F. Lyman

You can't plan your character arc - you have a vague idea, maybe, but I'm constantly surprised. Sometimes actors in films will play the ending of the movie, or even the middle, and you know where it's going - as an audience member you can read the actor. ~ Evan Peters

People don't change. There are two kinds of people in the world: winners and losers. Black and white. I don't know where gray fits in, or if you can even live in that shade. ~ Julie Anne Peters

After Josh leaves and Kitty goes upstairs to watch TV, I'm tidying up the living room and Peter's sprawled out on the couch watching me. I keep thinking he's about to leave, but then he keeps lingering.
Out of nowhere he says, "Remember back at Halloween how you were Cho Chang and Sanderson was Harry Potter? I bet you that wasn't a coincidence. I bet you a million bucks he got Kitty to find out what your costume was and then he ran out and bought a Harry Potter costume. The kid is into you."
I freeze. "No, he isn't. He loves my sister. He always has and he always will."
Peter waves this off. "Just you wait. As soon as you and I are done, he's gonna pull some cheesy-ass move and, like, profess his love for you with a boom box. I'm telling you, I know how guys think."
I yank away the pillow he's got cushioning his bac and put it on the recliner. "My sister will be home for winter break soon. I bet you a million dollars they get back together."
Peter holds his hand out for me to shake on it, and when I take it, he pulls me onto the couch next to him. Our legs touch. He has a mischievous glint in his eye, and I think maybe he's going to kiss me, and I'm scared, but I'm excited, too. But then I hear Kitty's footsteps coming down the stairs, and the moment's over. ~ Jenny Han

Poetry ~~ No definition of poetry is adequate unless it be poetry itself. The most accurate analysis by the rarest wisdom is yet insufficient, and the poet will instantly prove it false by setting aside its requistions. It is indeed all that we do not know. The poet does not need to see how meadows are something else than earth, grass, and water, but how they are thus much. He does not need discover that potato blows are as beautiful as violets, as the farmer thinks, but only how good potato blows are. The poem is drawn out from under the feet of the poet, his whole weight has rested on this ground. It has a logic more severe than the logician's. You might as well think to go in pursuit of the rainbow, and embrace it on the next hill, as to embrace the whole of poetry even in thought. ~ Henry David Thoreau

But in a way it's like looking at old photographs of yourself. There comes a point at which the record needs to be updated, because you've shed too many links with what you were. He doesn't quite know how it happened; all he knows is that he doesn't recognize himself in those stories any more, though he remembers the bursting feeling of writing them, something in himself massing and pushing irresistibly to be born. He hasn't had that feeling since; he almost thinks that to remain a writer he'd have to become one all over again, when he might just easily become an astronaut, or a farmer. It's as if he can't quite remember what drove him into words in the first place, all those years before, yet words are what he still deals in. I suppose it's a bit like marriage, he said. You build a whole structure on a period of intensity that's never repeated. It's the basis of your faith and sometimes you doubt it, but you never renounce it because too much of your life stands on that ground. ~ Rachel Cusk

And what about those [writers' workshop] critiques, by the way? How valuable are they? Not very, in my experience, sorry. A lot of them are maddeningly vague. I love the feeling of Peter's story, someone may say. It had something ... a sense of I don't know ... there's a loving kind of you know ... I can't exactly describe it ...
It seems to occur to few of the attendees that if you have a feeling you just can't describe, you might just be, I don't know, kind of like, my sense of it is, maybe in the wrong fucking class. ~ Stephen King

I put on my sunglasses and start to sing "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" from The Sound of Music. "You need someone older and wiser, telling you what to do." I tap him on the nose for emphasis.
"Hey, I'm older than you," he objects.
I run my hand along Peter's cheek and sing, "I am seventeen going on eighteen, I-I-I'll take care of you."
"Promise?" he says.
"Sing it just once for me," I prompt. Peter gives me a look. "Please? I love it when you sing. Your voice is so clean."
He can't help but smile. Peter never met a compliment he didn't smile at. "I don't know the words," he protests.
"Yes you do." I pretend to wave a wand in his face. "Imperio! Wait--do you know what that means?"
"It's…an unforgivable curse?"
"Yes. Very impressive, Peter K. And what does it do?"
"It makes you do things you don't want to do."
"Very good, young wizard. There's hope for you yet. Now sing!"
"You little witch." He looks around to see if anyone is listening, and then he softly sings, "I need someone older and wiser telling me what to do…You are seventeen going on eighteen…I'll depend on you."
I clap my hands in delight. Is there anything more intoxicating than making a boy bend to your will? I roll closer to him and throw my arms around his neck.
"Now you're the one making PDAs!" he says. ~ Jenny Han

If you look just at the decades after 1934, you know it's hard to point to really inspired and positive support from outside of Haiti, to Haiti, and much easier to point to either small-minded or downright mean-spirited policies. ~ Paul Farmer

Do you love him?"
I jumped out of my skin. She was standing right beside me. "Who?"
Her eyes widened.
"Seth?" I peered over my shoulder at his retreating back. "Um, we've been going together for a long time. A year."
"That's not what I asked."
I couldn't look at her. Couldn't risk her seeing through me, reading me.
"Do you hear bells?" she asked.
I had to smile at that. "Bells?"
"You know, bells. Music, fireworks." She wiggled her eyebrows.
I let out a short laugh. It sounded strangled, same way I felt. "Only in my dreams."
"Oh, yeah?" She arched an eyebrow.
Why did I say that? God.
Cece said softly, "Maybe you should listen to your dreams."
My stomach suffered a major eruption.
She pushed off the locker she'd been balancing against with the sole of her shoe and said, "Think about it."
Like I haven't been. "Do you think about it?" I asked at her back.
She stopped and turned around. "I don't have to. I know." (Chapter13) ~ Julie Anne Peters

I've been fighting to defend who I am all my life. I'm tired. I just don't know how to go on anymore. This is the only way I can think of I can still be me and survive. I just don't know any other way".
Theresa sat back in her chair. "I'm a woman, Jess. I love you because you're a woman, too. I made up my mind when I was growing up that I was not going to betray my desire by resigning to marrying a dirt farmer or the boy at the service station. Do you understand?"
I shook my head sadly. "Do you wish I wasn't a butch?"
She smiled. "No, I love your butchness. I just don't want to be some man's wife, even if that man's a woman. ~ Leslie Feinberg

Welcome to Final Forum. Use this board to communicate with other who are completers. Please note: Participants may not attempt to dissuade or discourage self termination. Disregard for free will informed consent will result in immediate removal from the board. Future access to Through-The-Light will be denied. This board is monitored at all times."

That's comforting. I've been to suicide boards before where people get on and say stuff like, "Don't do it. Suicide is not the answer."
They don't know the question.
Or, "Life's a bitch. Get used to it."
Thanks.
"Suicide is the easy way out."
If it's so easy, why am I still here?
And my favorite: "God loves you. Life is the most precious gift from God. You will break God's heart if you throw His gift away."
God has a heart? That's news to me.
People on boards are very, very shallow.
The Final Forum has a long list of topic, including: Random Rants, Bullied, Divorce, Disease, So Tired, Hate This Life, Bleak, Bequests, Attempts.
Already I like this board.
I start with Random Rants. ~ Julie Anne Peters

Know a man's faith, and you knew at least half the man. Know his wife, and you knew the other half. ~ Philip Jose Farmer

When you are doing what I've asked you to do, you don't have to worry about getting to the farm. I'll bring you the farmer instead. And when you think you have lost sight of all your sketches, just know that it's okay. I know where the sketches are, what they need to be, and I will never leave you.
Let go of the grief and the sorrow. Release the anger and the plans set in stone. Because I hold your sketch in My hand the way Mr. Gentry did in his. I watch and I draw - even when you don't know. I am concerned with all things that concern you. ~ Angie Smith

Quests always have their ups and downs,' rumbled the giant. 'The point is never to give up, even if you're falling off a cliff. You never know what might happen on the way to the bottom. ~ Nancy Farmer

The next morning, on the way to school in Peter's car, I steal a look at his profile. "I like how you're so smooth," I say. "Like a baby."
"I could grow a beard if I wanted to," he says, touching his chin. "A thick one."
Fondly I say, "No, you couldn't. But maybe one day, when you're a man."
He frowns. "I am a man. I'm eighteen!"
I scoff, "You don't even pack your own lunches. Do you even know how to do laundry?"
"I'm a man in all the ways that count," he boasts, and I roll my eyes.
"What would you do if you were drafted to go to war?" I ask.
"Uh…aren't college kids given a pass on that? Does the draft even still exist?"
I don't know the answers to either of these questions, so I barrel forward. "What would you do if I got pregnant right now?"
"Lara Jean, we're not even having sex. That would be the immaculate conception."
"If we were?" I press.
He groans. "You and your questions! ~ Jenny Han

If ever you do go back, what is it you want of Evesham?"
"Do I know? [ ... ] The silence, it might be ... or the stillness. To have no more running to do ... to have arrived, and have no more need to run. The appetite changes. Now I think it would be a beautiful thing to be still. ~ Ellis Peters

I open the box, and there are notes. Notes and notes and notes. Peter's notes. Peter's notes I threw away.
"I found them when I was emptying your trash," she says. Hastily she adds, "I only read a couple. And then I saved them because I could tell they were important."
I touch one that Peter folded into an airplane. "Kitty…you know Peter and I aren't getting back together, right?"
Kitty grabs the bowl of popcorn and says, "Just read them." Then she goes into the living room and turns on the TV.
I close the hatbox and take it with me upstairs. When I am in my room, I sit on the floor and spread them out around me.
A lot of the notes just say things like "Meet you at your locker after school" and Can I borrow your chemistry notes from yesterday?" I find the spiderweb one from Halloween, and it makes me smile. Another one says, "Can you take the bus home today? I want to surprise Kitty and pick her up from school so she can show me and my car off to her friends." "Thanks for coming to the estate sale with me this weekend. You made the day fun. I owe you one." "Don't forget to pack a Korean yogurt for me!" "If you make Josh's dumb white-chocolate cranberry cookies and not my fruitcake ones, it's over." I laugh out loud. And then, the one I read over and over: "You look pretty today. I like you in blue."
I've never gotten a love letter before. But reading these notes like this, one after the other, it feels like I have. It's like…it's like there's onl ~ Jenny Han

You know what amazes me about UFO's? They never land at the White House. They always land at laramie, Wyoming. Thiry miles out, where they're seen by one farmer. ~ Larry King

You seemed, in your power, as free as man can be. But at what cost? What made you free? And I... I was made, moulded like clay, by the will of the women serving the Old Powers, or serving the men who made all services and ways and places, I no longer know which. Then I went free, with you, for a moment, and with Ogion. But it was not my freedom. Only it gave me a choice; and I chose. I chose to mould myself like clay to the use of a farm and a farmer and our children. I made myself a vessel. I know its shape. But not the clay. Life danced me. I know the dances. But I don't know who the dancer is. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin