Kipnuk Has A Birthday Quotes

Just sharing one little smile can change someone's whole world. ~ Heather Wolf

You matter because you are you and there is no other person in this world who could ever take your place. ~ Heather Wolf

In this world we must try to be kind to one another. ~ Heather Wolf

With just a little drop of kindness you can water a whole garden. ~ Heather Wolf

Baking and love go hand in hand, for as one bakes a tasty treat and fills the room with its sweet aroma, the true joy is to take what has been made and share it with another. ~ Heather Wolf

Practice loving kindness wherever you may go. ~ Heather Wolf

Mr. Morris's poem is ushered into the world with a very florid birthday speech from the pen of the author of the too famous Poems and Ballads, - a circumstance, we apprehend, in no small degree prejudicial to its success. But we hasten to assure all persons whom the knowledge of Mr. Swinburne's enthusiasm may have led to mistrust the character of the work, that it has to our perception nothing in common with this gentleman's own productions, and that his article proves very little more than that his sympathies are wiser than his performance. If Mr. Morris's poem may be said to remind us of the manner of any other writer, it is simply of that of Chaucer; and to resemble Chaucer is a great safeguard against resembling Swinburne. ~ Henry James

Happy birthday. Your thirteenth is important. Maybe your first really public day. Your thirteenth is the chance for people to recognize that important things are happening to you.
Things have been happening to you for the past half year. You have seven hairs in your left armpit now. Twelve in your right. Hard dangerous spirals of brittle black hair. Crunchy, animal hair. There are now more of the hard curled hairs around your privates than you can count without losing track. Other things. Your voice is rich and scratchy and moves between octaves without any warning. Your face has begun to get shiny when you don't wash it. And two weeks of a deep and frightening ache this past spring left you with something dropped down from inside: your sack is now full and vulnerable, a commodity to be protected. Hefted and strapped in tight supporters that stripe your buttocks red. You have grown into a new fragility.

And dreams. For months there have been dreams like nothing before: moist and busy and distant, full of unyielding curves, frantic pistons, warmth and a great falling; and you have awakened through fluttering lids to a rush and a gush and a toe-curling scalp-snapping jolt of feeling from an inside deeper than you knew you had, spasms of a deep sweet hurt, the streetlights through your window blinds crackling into sharp stars against the black bedroom ceiling, and on you a dense white jam that lisps between legs, trickles and sticks, cools on you, hardens and cle ~ David Foster Wallace

He has a profound respect for old age. Especially when it's bottled. ~ Gene Fowler

Most of us have fond memories of food from our childhood. Whether it was our mom's homemade lasagna or a memorable chocolate birthday cake, food has a way of transporting us back to the past. ~ Homaro Cantu

Sometimes people ask you: "When is your birthday?" But you might ask yourself a more interesting question: "Before that day which is called my birthday, where was I?"

Ask a cloud: "What is your date of birth? Before you were born, where were you?"

If you ask the cloud, "How old are you? Can you give me your date of birth?" you can listen deeply and you may hear a reply. You can imagine the cloud being born. Before being born it was the water on the ocean's surface. Or it was in the river and then it became vapor. It was also the sun because the sun makes the vapor. The wind is there too, helping the water to become a cloud. The cloud does not come from nothing; there has been only a change in form. It is not a birth of something out of nothing.

Sooner or later, the cloud will change into rain or snow or ice. If you look deeply into the rain, you can see the cloud. The cloud is not lost; it is transformed into rain, and the rain is transformed into grass and the grass into cows and then to milk and then into the ice cream you eat. Today if you eat an ice cream, give yourself time to look at the ice cream and say: "Hello, cloud! I recognize you. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Thirty-nine-year-old moderately successful Human Resources Director. Interests include regency romances, reality TV, and baking large novelty birthday cakes for other people's children. Hobbies include drinking Tia Maria and eating Turkish delight in the bath and dining out with her mum and dad. Wanted to be a ballerina but didn't end up with a ballerina body; however, has been told she is an impressive dirty dancer when drunk. Knows her wine, so please just hand the wine list over. Godmother to nine children, member of two book clubs, Social Club Manager for the Australian Payroll Officers' Association. Suffers from a severe blushing problem but is not shy and will probably end up better friends with your friends than you, which you'll find highly irritating after we break up. Has recently become so worried about meeting the love of her life and having children before she reaches menopause that she has cried piteously in the middle of the night. But otherwise is generally quite cheerful and has on at least three separate occasions that she knows of been described as 'Charming'. Yep, that about summed it up. What a catch. ~ Liane Moriarty

He loves me so he hurts me
To try and make me good.
It doesn't work. I'm just too bad
And don't do what I should.

My memory has so many different sections and, like all survivors, there are so many compartments with so many triggers. I'll remember a smell which reminds me of a man which reminds me of a place which reminds me of another man who I think was with a woman who had a certain smell - and I'm back to square one. This is the case for most survivors, I believe. When we try to put together our pasts, the triggers are many and varied, the memories are disjointed - and why wouldn't they be? We were children. Even someone with an idyllic childhood who is only trying to remember the lovely things which happened to them will scratch their head and wonder who gave them that doll and was it for Christmas or their third birthday? Did they have a party when they were four or five? When did they go on a plane for the first time? You see, even happy memories are hard to piece together - so imagine how hard it is to collate all of the trauma, to pull together all of the things I've been trying to push away for so many years. ~ Laurie Matthew

Christmas has a deeper significance to followers of Jesus. It's not all about the gifts underneath Christmas trees or the elaborate meals served in extravagantly decorated homes. Christmas is the season of Immanuel. We celebrate the good news that He is near, that He cares for us, and that He transforms lives. His presence was the greatest present God gave mankind. May we be present carriers of that presence! ~ Katherine J. Walden

Well then. Let us begin with essentials. Are you free to marry me?" He exhaled slowly, in a pointed effort not to hold his breath.
"Of course. When I come of age, that is."
"Tell me your birthday."
She smiled. "The first of February."
"It will be our wedding day." He traced the shape of the birthmark on her hip. "Very convenient for me, for your birthday and our anniversary to coincide. I'll be more likely to remember both."
"I wish you would stop touching me there."
"Do you? Why?"
"Because it is ugly. I hate it."
He tilted his head, surprised. "I quite adore it. It reminds me that you are imperfectly perfect and entirely mine." He slid down her body and bent to kiss the mark to prove the point. "There's a little thrill in knowing no one else has seen it."
"No other man, you mean." He kissed her there again, this time tracing the shape with his tongue. She squirmed and laughed. "When I was a child, I would scrub at it in the bath. My nursemaid used to tell me, God gives children birthmarks so they won't get lost." Her mouth curled in a bittersweet smile. "Yet here I am, adrift on the ocean on the other side of the world. Don't they call that irony?"
"I believe they call it Providence." He tightened his hands over her waist. "You're here, and I've found you. And I take pains not to lose what's mine."
He kissed her hip again, then slid his mouth toward her center as he settled between her thighs.
"Gray," she protested ~ Tessa Dare

Such is their mutual antipathy that friends have observed that Diana finds her husband's very presence upsetting and disturbing. He in turn views his wife with indifference tinged with dislike. When a Sunday newspaper reported how the Prince had pointedly ignored her at a concert at Buckingham Palace to celebrate the Queen Mother's 90th birthday, she remarked to friends that she found their surprise rather odd. "He ignores me everywhere and has done for a long time. He just dismisses me." She would, for example, never contemplate making any input into any of his special interests such as architecture, the environment or agriculture. Painful experience tells her that any suggestions would be treated with ill-disguised contempt. "He makes her feel intellectually insecure and inferior and constantly reinforces that message," notes a close friend. When Charles took his wife to see A Woman of No Importance when he celebrated his 43rd birthday, the irony was not lost on her friends. ~ Andrew Morton

In my land, in the event of a divorce, the mother has the right to retain her children if they are still suckling. But in most cases, a mother maintains custody of daughters until a girl child reaches puberty. In the case of male children, the boy should be allowed to remain with his mother until he is seven. When he reaches his seventh birthday, he is supposed to have the option to choose between his mother or father. Generally it is accepted that the father have his sons at age seven. A son must go with his father at the age of puberty, regardless of the child's wishes. Often, in the case of male children, many fathers will not allow the mother to retain custody of a son, no matter what the age of the child. ~ Jean Sasson

But you are not under a system similar to that by which the Jews were obliged to pay tithes to the priests. If there were any such rule laid down in the Gospel, it would destroy the beauty of spontaneous giving and take away all the bloom from the fruit of your liberality! There is no law to tell me what I should give my father on his birthday. There is no rule laid down in any law book to decide what present a husband should give to his wife, nor what token of affection we should bestow upon others whom we love. No, the gift must be a free one, or it has lost all its sweetness. ~ Charles Spurgeon

About astrology and palmistry: they are good because they make people vivid and full of possibilities. They are communism at its best. Everybody has a birthday and almost everybody has a palm. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

I glanced over and saw Wyatt glaring at me. Journey's "Lovin' Touchin', Squeezin'" was playing on the radio.

"What?" I asked.

"You secretly hate me, don't you." He gestured toward the radio. "You can't stand the thought of me taking a much needed nap and leaving you to drive without conversation. You're torturing me with this sappy stuff."

"It's Journey. I love this song."

Wyatt mumbled something under his breath, picked up the CD case, and started looking through it. He paused with a choked noise, his eyes growing huge.

"You're joking, Sam. Justin Bieber? What are you, a twelve-year old girl?"

There's gonna be one less lonely girl, I sang in my head. That was a great song. How could he not like that song? Still, I squirmed a bit in embarrassment.

"A twelve-year old girl gave me that CD," I lied. "For my birthday."

Wyatt snorted. "It's a good thing you're a terrible liar. Otherwise, I'd be horrified at the thought that a demon has been hanging out with a bunch of giggling pre-teens."

He continued to thumb through the CDs. "Air Supply Greatest Hits? No, no, I'm wrong here. It's an Air Supply cover band in Spanish." He waved the offending CD in my face. "Sam, what on earth are you thinking? How did you even get this thing?"

"Some tenant left it behind," I told him. "We evicted him, and there were all these CDs. Most were in Spanish, but I've got a Barry Manilow in there ~ Debra Dunbar

Whoever, in middle age, attempts to realize the wishes and hopes of his early youth, invariably deceives himself. Each ten years of a man's life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires. ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

I find many adults are put off when young children pose scientific questions. Why is the Moon round? the children ask. Why is grass green? What is a dream? How deep can you dig a hole? When is the world's birthday? Why do we have toes? Too many teachers and parents answer with irritation or ridicule, or quickly move on to something else: 'What did you expect the Moon to be, square?' Children soon recognize that somehow this kind of question annoys the grown-ups. A few more experiences like it, and another child has been lost to science. Why adults should pretend to omniscience before 6-year-olds, I can't for the life of me understand. What's wrong with admitting that we don't know something? Is our self-esteem so fragile? ~ Carl Sagan

I believe another one of the Song girls has a birthday coming up." He sings, "You are sixteen, going on seventeen…" I feel a strong surge of love for him, my dad who I am so lucky to have.
"What song are you singing?" Kitty interrupts.
I take Kitty's hands and spin her around the kitchen with me. "I am sixteen, going on seventeen; I know that I'm naïve. Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet; willingly I believe."
Daddy throws his dish towel over his shoulder and marches in place. In a deep voice he baritones, "You need someone older and wiser telling you what to do…"
"This song is sexist," Kitty says as I dip her.
"Indeed it is," Daddy agrees, swatting her with the towel. "And the boy in question was not, in fact, older and wiser. He was a Nazi in training."
Kitty skitters away from both of us. "What are you guys even talking about?"
"It's from The Sound of Music," I say.
"You mean that movie about the nun? Never seen it."
"How have you seen The Sopranos but not The Sound of Music?"
Alarmed, Daddy says, "Kitty's been watching The Sopranos?"
"Just the commercials," Kitty quickly says.
I go on singing to myself, spinning in a circle like Liesl at the gazebo. "I am sixteen going on seventeen, innocent as a rose…Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet, and willingly I believe…"
"Why would you just willingly believe some random fellows you don't even know?"
"It's the song, Kitty, not me! God!" I stop spinning. "Lies ~ Jenny Han

We walk inside, and I stop short. Our booth, the one we always sit in, has pale pink balloons tied around it. There's a round cake in the center of the table, tons of candles, pink frosting with sprinkles and Happy Birthday, Lara Jean scrawled in white frosting. Suddenly I see people's heads pop up from under the booths and from behind menus--all of our friends, still in their prom finery: Lucas, Gabe, Gabe's date Keisha, Darrell, Pammy, Chris. "Surprise!" everyone screams.
I spin around. "Oh my God, Peter!"
He's still grinning. He looks at his watch. "It's midnight. Happy birthday, Lara Jean."
I leap up and hug him. "This is just exactly what I wanted to do on my prom night birthday and I didn't even know it." Then I let go of him and run over to the booth.
Everyone gets out and hugs me. "I didn't even know people knew it was my birthday tomorrow! I mean today!" I say.
"Of course we knew it was your birthday," Lucas says.
Darrell says, "My boy's been planning this for weeks."
"It was so endearing," Pammy says. "We called me to ask what kind of pan he should use for the cake."
Chris says, "He called me, too. I was like, how the hell should I know?"
"And you!" I hit Chris on the arm. "I thought you were leaving to go clubbing!"
"I still might after I steal some fries. My night's just getting started, babe." She pulls me in for a hug and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, girl."
I turn to Peter and say, "I can't ~ Jenny Han

Let us suppose you give your three-year-old daughter a coloring book and a box of crayons for her birthday. The following day, with the proud smile only a little once can muster, she presents her first pictures for inspection. She has colored the sun black, the grass purple, and the sky green. In the lower right-hand corner, she has added woozy wonders of floating slabs and hovering rings; on the left, a panoply of colorful, carefree squiggles. You marvel at her bold strokes and intuit that her psyche is railing against its own cosmic punniness in the face of a big, ugly world. Later at the office, you share with your staff your daughter's first artistic effort and you make veiled references to the early work of van Gogh.

A little child can not do a bad coloring; nor can a child of God do bad prayer. "A father is delighted when hi little one, leaving off her toys and friends, runs to him and climbs into his arms. AS he hold shi little one close to him, he cared little whether the child is looking around, her attention flittering from one thing to another or just settling down to sleep. Essentially the child is choosing to be with the father, confident of the love, the care, the security that is hers in those arms. Our prayer is much like that. We settle down in our Father's arms, in his loving hands. Our minds, our thougths, our imagination may flit about here and there; we might even fall asleep; but essentially we are choosing for thi time to remian intimately wi ~ Brennan Manning

When you buy from an independent, locally owned business, as opposed to nationally owned businesses, you strengthen the economic base of our city. And of course there's no doubt that you'll receive a better quality product or service. I share John Roeser's amazement that people today tend to prefer saving a dollar or too two on a birthday cake, for example, by purchasing a sub-par cake made with artificial, cheap ingredients from a mass retailer, when Roeser's Bakery offers some of the most delectable, housemade cakes in the world. How could anyone step into a fast food joint when we live in a city that has Lem's barbecque rib tips, Kurowski's kielbasa, Manny's matzo ball soup, and Lindy's chili within reach? You can't even compare the products and services of the businesses featured in this book with those of mass retailers, either: Jjust try putting an Optimo hat on your head - you'll ooze with elegance. Burn a beeswax lambathe from Athenian Candle and watch it glow longer than any candle you've ever lit. Bite into an Andersonville coffeecake from the Swedish Bakery - and you'll have a hard time returning to the artificial ingredient– laden cakes found at most grocers.
Equally important, local, family- owned businesses keep our city unique. In our increasingly homogenized and globalized world, cities that hold on tightly to their family-owned, distinctive businesses are more likely to attract visitors, entrepreneurs, and new investment.
Chicago just wouldn't be C ~ Amy Bizzarri

Shawn rested his head against the seat then turned to talk to Sarah. "It's your birthday tomorrow." "Ruby Tuesday's thought it was three months ago." "Ruby Tuesday's has a touch of dementia. ~ Nina Post

He does cry a lot. It's nothing new, nothing special! And actually I think everyone was crying in my box, so I think he wasn't the only one. I was crying, as well. But my dad is very emotional. I have that from him. It's my dad. He has a birthday tomorrow, so I'm just glad that he has a nice present. ~ Petra Kvitova

It always has been and always will be the same. The old folk of our grandfathers' young days sang a song bearing exactly the same burden; and the young folk of to-day will drone out precisely similar nonsense for the aggravation of the next generation. "Oh, give me back the good old days of fifty years ago," has been the cry ever since Adam's fifty-first birthday. Take up the literature of 1835, and you will find the poets and novelists asking for the same impossible gift as did the German Minnesingers long before them and the old Norse Saga writers long before that. And for the same thing sighed the early prophets and the philosophers of ancient Greece. From all accounts, the world has been getting worse and worse ever since it was created. All I can say is that it must have been a remarkably delightful place when it was first opened to the public, for it is very pleasant even now if you only keep as much as possible in the sunshine and take the rain good-temperedly. ~ Jerome K. Jerome

When a man has a birthday, he takes a day off. When a woman has a birthday, she takes at least three years off. ~ Joan Rivers

Interrupting what promised to be a long spate of fatherly advice, St. Vincent said in a clipped voice, "It's not a love match. It's a marriage of convenience, and there's not enough warmth between us to light a birthday candle. Get on with it, if you please. Neither of us has had a proper sleep in two days."
Silence fell over the scene, with MacPhee and his two daughters appearing shocked by the brusque remarks. Then the blacksmith's heavy brows lowered over his eyes in a scowl. "I don't like ye," he announced.
St. Vincent regarded him with exasperation. "Neither does my bride-to-be. But since that's not going to stop her from marrying me, it shouldn't stop you either. Go on. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Don't lament so much about how your career is going to turn out. You don't have a career. You have a life. Do the work. Keep the faith. Be true blue. You are a writer because you write. Keep writing and quit your bitching. Your book has a birthday. You don't know what it is yet. ~ Cheryl Strayed

Don hits rock bottom in the series' finest hour, "The Suitcase," which is essentially a two-character play about Don and Peggy stuck in the office through a tumultuous night. She wants to leave for a birthday dinner with her boyfriend, while he needs company to avoid placing the phone call that will tell him that Anna Draper - the widow of the real Don, and the one person on Earth with whom this Don feels truly comfortable and safe - has died of cancer. Over the course of the episode, Jon Hamm and Elisabeth Moss are asked to play every emotion possible: rage and despair, joy and humiliation, companionship and absolute contempt. In the most iconic moment, Peggy complains that Don took all the credit for an award-winning campaign she helped conceive. "It's your job," he tells her, his voice dripping with condescension. "I give you money. You give me ideas." "And you never say, 'Thank you,'" she complains, fighting back tears. "That's what the money is for!" he screams. ~ Alan Sepinwall

I know that the smallest, most inconsequential things can set me off: a well-meaning friend or family member who says, "Come on, just this once." Off-limit foods served at special occasions like birthday parties, weddings, and holidays. A perceived insult, a bad day, or lousy weather. If there has been an excuse to eat, I have used it to always find my way to food - and the price I paid was staying fat. Those days are over. ~ Tory Johnson

A man of sixty has spent twenty years in bed and over three years in eating. ~ Arnold Bennett

Legend: A lie that has attained the dignity of age. ~ H.L. Mencken

Forgiveness is not simply the absolving of an enemy, or one who has done us wrong. Forgiveness must encompass all those things which disturb the tranquility of our soul: the barking dog that robs you of sleep, the heat of summer, the cold of winter. Forgive the ingrown toenail, the flea that bites; forgive the cranky child, wrinkles, a forgotten birthday. ~ Barbara Wood

A woman has the age she deserves. ~ Coco Chanel

My mother died of colon cancer one week after my eleventh birthday, and that fact has shaped my life. All that I have become and much that I have not become, I trace directly or indirectly to her death ... In my professional and personal life, I have lived with the awareness of death's imminence for more than half a century, and labored in its constant presence for all but the first decade of that time. ~ Sherwin B. Nuland

We had our family patterns and were quite comfortable in them, which made it even more shocking when, just after his eightieth birthday, Papa began bringing up his time as a prisoner of war in Germany.

Of course, I had always known that he had served in World War II and been captured, just like I had always know the stories about my grandmother and the build of their house. It's that peculiar type of family memory, where someone has obviously told you but you were too young to remember actually hearing it, so it seems like knowledge that was instilled at birth. Papa never brought it up, and my parents said they hadn't heard him mention it once in the previous fifty years. But suddenly, he was talking. ~ Jesse Cozean

You don't have to be here," William offered with his trademark quiet solemnity.
I shook my head but kept my eyes fixed on the closed doors at the end of the hall. "No. I wouldn't miss it." Would rather be home in my slippers watching Judge Judy, sure, but duty calls.
That was my style of party these days. Throw in a slice of Battenberg and some Werther's Originals and I could go wild on a sugar high. But no, today was William's birthday, so I was going to try and keep my grumpy old man behavior to a minimum.
Try being the operative word.
No promises.
My teammate, and the guest of honor for this particular party, tugged on the sleeve of my suit jacket and brought us to a stop. "Hey. Seriously. You're eighteen months sober."
"Has it been eighteen months already?" I stroked the stubble on my chin and cracked a grin. "Time flies when you're killing house plants. ~ L.H. Cosway