L L Brunk Quotes

Frustration is the result of failed expectations. ~ Stuart Kidder

Our story opens in the mind of Luther L. (L for LeRoy) Fliegler, who is lying in his bed, not thinking of anything, but just aware of sounds, conscious of his own breathing, and sensitive to his own heartbeats. Lying beside him is his wife, lying on her right side and enjoying her sleep. ~ John O'Hara

Maybe you didn't need to know anything special to write a work of fiction. Maybe you didn't need to delve into some kind of life question you knew you'd lived. Perhaps your subconscious would do the job for you, if only you dared to dream. ~ L.L. Barkat

If Laura was so prolific with poems, and in truth she was, then what was the problem with Megan's request? Couldn't Laura, with a little doing, keep stringing together line after line of words and construct, in time, a novel? It seemed logical, but there was the matter of finding an idea and sustaining it. Only fire could do that. The fire of rebellion.
Mario Vargas Llosa had not used the term "fire" exactly, but rather had discussed the presence of "seditious roots" that could "dynamite the world" the writer inhabited. He claimed that writing stories was an exercise in freedom and quarreling - out-and-out rebellion, whether or not the writer was conscious of it. And this rebellion, Vargas Llosa reminded his readers, was why the Spanish Inquisition had strictly censored works of fiction, prohibiting them for three hundred years in the American colonies. ~ L.L. Barkat

The clothes are different: pre-dog, I used to be very finicky and self-conscious about how I looked; now I schlep around in the worst clothing - big heavy boots, baggy old sweaters, a hooded down parka from L.L. Bean that makes me look like an astronaut. ~ Caroline Knapp

Whenever we face challenges, we have the privilege of framing them in words - words that express our hopes, our losses, our dreams; words that transform our personal vision or the world's. These words can become a source of sustenance and discovery, for the sometimes long work of bringing to birth necessary change. ~ L.L. Barkat

It shouldn't make a difference to me, I suppose,but it does. I've grown to trust you, and I'd hate to think that I've been wrong about you."
"Well,it's real nice to hear you like me, Freckles," he teased. "I kind of like you,too." He wiggled his eyebrows as he had earlier.
Willow laughed and leaned over to swat at him but missed. "You know, I really don't have freckles. Why don't you call me Williw like everyone else does?"
"Maybe, because everyone else does." He shrugged. "Freckles is mine. My special name for you, that is. And you do have freckles, cute little ginger-colored freckles, all-l-l aross the bridge of your nose."
"I don't!" Her mouth twisted in annoyance.
"Tell you what, we'll race on it. You win-you don't have freckles. I win-you do have freckles."
Knowing her only chance to beat his big stallion was to get a head start, Willow didn't waste time agreeing to ny terms. She dug her heels into Sugar's sides and tore off across the desert.
"Hey!" Rider called, laughing and spurring Sultan into a run. "You're supposed to wait till I say go."
Her laugh drifted back on the wind.
"Come on,Sultan. Let's show Miss Freckle Britches who she's dealing with."
The spirited stallion's legs stretched out ith effortless grace, his body lowering in a ground-eating pace, and Willow's little mare was no match for the big stallion.
"See you back at the ranch, Freckles," Rider laughingly taunted as he rode past. ~ Charlotte McPherren

Writing starts with living.
- Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing ~ L.L. Barkat

And father said "I never wanted this. I'm sick of everyone pretending to be old Dan Beavers in his L. L. Bean moccasins, and his Dubbelwares, and his Japanese bucksaw -- all these fake frontiersmen with their chuck wagons full of Twinkies and Wonderbread and aerosol cheese spread. Get out the Duraflame log and the plastic cracker barrel, Dan, and let's talk self-sufficiency! ~ Paul Theroux

Everybody knows this legend in kind of African-American lore. There's always somebody in your neighborhood named Orangejello or Lemonjello. And that's spelled - Orangejello is spelled O-R-A-N-G-E-J-E-L-L-O. ~ Jordan Peele

The greater the monument, the greater the man. The stone the Greeks quarry for his grave is huge and white, stretching up to the sky. A C H I L L E S, it reads. It will stand for him, and speak to all who pass: he lived and died, and lives again in memory. ~ Madeline Miller

The late William Jennings Bryan, L.L.D., always had one great advantage in controversy; he was never burdened with an understanding of his opponent's case. ~ H.L. Mencken

What I really want is to sit next to someone on an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don't want some rusty '73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when its rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos? ~ Augusten Burroughs

If she was going to write a novel, she felt defeated before she began, because someone might be coming along to pick it apart, looking for symbols like The Conch or The Whale, which seemed to have mythic proportions. ~ L.L. Barkat

Let go yesterday and hold out for tomorrow, the future is in the palm of your hand. ~ L.L. Caulton

I couldn't suppress a smile. It was inconceivable that I was here, in a place as extraordinary as the fantasy books Sophie loved. Maybe...just maybe those stories are based on a measure of truth. Maybe one day I'd write our story. ~ Heather L. L. FitzGerald

Her tea basket was still lost, but that didn't seem to matter now. People used to eat loose tea on long journeys. They'd pack it into hard little cakes they'd pull out later, to gnaw on while they warmed their hands by a fire. The tea provided physical sustenance, but it was also considered good for the soul. ~ L.L. Barkat

Had Mary Shelley fretted so? Maybe yes, maybe no. She'd begun her classic work on a dare. Had culled a dream to bring it into being. But it was not lost on Laura that the story might be a prolonged exercise in Shelley's personal terrors. The subtitle of the work was 'Prometheus Unbound,' and Laura wondered if Shelley herself was not Prometheus in the form of the wandering monster, who desperately sought love and acceptance but was ultimately driven to face an icy landscape that seemed almost fantastical - the way our own subconscious could be, white and frozen-slippery. ~ L.L. Barkat

Please look for a new work of historical fiction, The Black Spaniard by L.L.Holt, to be published by Unsolicited Press during the 2016-2017 season. Set roughly between 1792 and 1804 in Vienna, Austria, the novel explores a creative genius's encounters with cultural diversity, transformation, and the love of a good friend. ~ L.L.Holt

Maybe the real problem wasn't that she had nothing to write about, but that she had too much. Maybe she wasn't afraid of her finiteness after all, but rather Infinity and how it called her to begin somewhere, anywhere. To begin might be an acceptance that indeed she was some kind of creator, with tremendous powers.

It might mean taking people's lives into her hands–her own life, her friends', even her father's or mother's. And maybe she was afraid they would think she had animated a wandering Frankenstein no one wanted to hold. ~ L.L. Barkat

Earth care, as it turns out, is really about self-care and other-care. What we design today impacts how we live tomorrow. For better or for worse, it impacts far into upcoming generations. ~ L.L. Barkat

Oh, I don't know. The human world has its charms. Cotton candy for instance."
"Yeah, and it's got plenty of problems."
"It's got you. ~ L.L. McKinney

The class of dishonest bees which I have been describing, may be termed the "Jerry Sneaks" of their profession, and after they have followed it for some time, they lose all disposition for honest pursuits, and assume a hang-dog sort of look, which is very peculiar. Constantly employed in creeping into small holes, and daubing themselves with honey, they often lose all the bright feathers and silky plumes which once so beautifully adorned their bodies, and assume a smooth and almost black appearance; just as the hat of the thievish loafer, acquires a "seedy" aspect, and his garments, a shining and threadbare look. ~ L.L. Langstroth

You could use a moth like that as a symbol in a novel, but it was trite, wasn't it? The old moth-to-the-flame image had been used and used again. It was the stuff of amateur poetry. And she, having so little experience crafting a story, would be the most in danger of falling into trite approaches. If she wrote a novel, it probably would be about her father. And the male Luna moth would haunt its pages. Everyone would recognize the work as that of a first novelist. "She wrote about herself through the lens of her father."
The really good novelists, Laura thought, put their fathers, and maybe their mothers too, deeper into the stories. Which, she suddenly thought, might redeem Melville just the littlest bit. ~ L.L. Barkat

In 1892, mine owner L. L. Nunn had hired the electrical wizard Nikola Tesla to build the world's first alternating-current power ~ Clive Cussler

This was borne out again in October 1996 when Pope John Paul II, standing in the context of a train of Catholic thought which stretched back to the Church Fathers said, in essence, "Looks like there's some good evidence for some sort of biological evolution."[22] That is, he said, as so many Catholics have already said, that there is nothing in divine revelation that particularly forbids you to believe that God made Adam from the dust of the earth r-e-a-l-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y rather than instantaneously (and used other creatures to somehow assist in the process) so long as you bear in mind that God did, in fact, create man and woman (particularly the soul, which is made directly by God and is not a result of the collision of atoms).

--Making Senses of Scripture ~ Mark Shea

Maybe Laura's real problem came in admitting this: there was nothing new under the sun. To write a story would be, somehow deep down, to embrace her limits, to admit that, indeed, she would someday die - if not of a worm or a ceiling, then of something else. The very nature of a story admitted this reality. To be a writer was to say, yes, I am just another Murasaki, and it is quite possible that no one will remember my name. ~ L.L. Barkat

Thanks to the fictional character named Fraser, in a well-loved Scottish novel, Alexander's existence on the grounds of Culloden had become its own bit of Hell. ~ L.L. Muir

Maybe it wasn't the smart thing, but when you lose someone like that? They're just gone? There's this hole inside you you'd give anything to fill. You don't think, you don't plan, you just pour shit into it, anything that will fill it. ~ L.L. McKinney

I brought a condom," I tell her when I slide her panties down. We're both hot and sweaty, and I can't resist hr anymore.
"I did, too," she whispers against my neck. "But we might not be able to use it."
"Why not?" I expect her to tell em this was all a mistake, that she really didn't mean to get me all hot and bothered just to tell me I'm not worthy enough to take her virginity, but it's the truth.
She clears her throat. "It all d-d-depends on whether or not you're allergic to l-l-latex. ~ Simone Elkeles

Little Bit

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Hands down, I'm too proud for love
But with eyes shut it's you I'm thinking of
But how we move from A to B?
It can't be up to me 'cause you don't know
Eye to eye, thigh to thigh, I let go

I think I'm a little bit, little bit
A little bit in love With you
But only if you're a little bit, little bit
Little bit in l-l-l-l love for me, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

And for you I keep my legs apart
And forget about my tainted heart
And I will never ever be the first
To say it but still I, you know I, I, I

I would do it
Push a button, pull a trigger
Climb a mountain, jump off a cliff
'Cause you know, baby

I love you, love you a little bit
I would do it, I would say it
I would mean it and we could do it
It was you and I and I only

I think I'm a little bit, little bit
A little bit in love for you
But only if you're a little, little bit
Little bit in l-l-love for me

I think I'm a little bit, little bit
A little bit in love for you
But only if you're a little, little bit
Little bit in l-l-love for me, oh

Come here, stay with me
Stroke me by the hair
'Cause I would give anything, anythi ~ Lykke Li

The problem was that he had fallen in love with her. After considering the situation, he discovered it was useless trying to figure out how it had happened. Bewitched from the beginning with her beauty, her wit and her honesty had drawn him in further. She was so unlike anyone - any woman - he had ever met before, and the emotions had simply crept up on him. He was in the middle before he had been aware he had begun. ~ L.L. Diamond

No one gets out of this world alive ~ L.L. Helland

Love isn't about trusting you'll never hurt me. It's about being sure you'll never do it on purpose and forgiving you when you unintentionally do. ~ L.L. Kellogg

I'm kind of hoping it will end like this. You made me happy. Very happy. But…you deserve everything. Wife, kids, a white picket fence."

"And I'll have all of it. With you."
"You know that can't happen with me."
"Then it can't happen with anyone. There won't be a next Rosie. And there won't be another story like ours. This is it, Rose LeBlanc. And this is us. If there is no you, then there is no me."

"You know, I always hated Romeo and Juliet . The play. The movie. The very idea. It was tragic, all right. Tragically stupid. I mean, they were what? Thirteen? Sixteen? What a waste of life, to kill yourself because your family wouldn't let you get hitched. But Romeo and Juliet were right. I was the next eleven years killing myself slowly while I grieved for you. Then you came back, and I still thought it was just a fascination. But now that I know…"

"Now that I know that it can only ever be you, you're going to get better for me so Earth won't explode. Can you do that, Sirius? I promise not to leave this room until you get out. Not even for a shower. Not even to get you your chocolate chip cookies. I'll get someone to drive all the way to New York and bring them for you."

"I love you." Rosie's tears curtained her vision.
"I love you, Baby LeBlanc," I said. "So fucking much. You taught me how to love. How well did I do?"
"A-plus," she whispered. "You aced it. Can you promise me something?"
"Anything."
" L ~ L.J. Shen

Sam nodded. "I was right about you. ~ L.L. Collins

The best way to spell victory? K-I-L-L. ~ Gena Showalter

M S S S T S C P U E S A L L I A E C E E G P N L D D M Q A C I G U A Q P D T U D S A C C A E U A A Q F L T E I E A P N A E C L S E U A H 0 E E I E E E O O A N P P A A N P X E P S A A E E R E E U E L A N R U E E U N E I U R E R S N R U L E O S N T O O R N I A U S N U I 0 R U S P T N U R E E E M D P C T E T R R S A S R A R R E M I R E E S X T E T M T C A E U T D U M C E I T E T S 0 B R T E T P E C E E E A T E D S G S N B D E M R R A T E T C T E R L T R T 0 E T S E I S L L E E I O T E E E E T E R H S E E O 0 R E A T E I E E N R T S U E E T I 0 E S L R E B E R S R R 0 E U U E U E 0 C R S C 0 T T 0 I I 0 B B 0 L L 0 E E ~ Olivier BEAL

Writing starts with living. ~ L.L. Barkat

From the line, watching, three things are striking: (a) what on TV is a brisk crack is here a whooming roar that apparently is what a shotgun really sounds like; (b) trapshooting looks comparatively easy, because now the stocky older guy who's replaced the trim bearded guy at the rail is also blowing these little fluorescent plates away one after the other, so that a steady rain of lumpy orange crud is falling into the Nadir's wake; (c) a clay pigeon, when shot, undergoes a frighteningly familiar-looking midflight peripeteia -- erupting material, changing vector, and plummeting seaward in a corkscrewy way that all eerily recalls footage of the 1986 Challenger disaster.

All the shooters who precede me seem to fire with a kind of casual scorn, and all get eight out of ten or above. But it turns out that, of these six guys, three have military-combat backgrounds, another two are L. L. Bean-model-type brothers who spend weeks every year hunting various fast-flying species with their "Papa" in southern Canada, and the last has got not only his own earmuffs, plus his own shotgun in a special crushed-velvet-lined case, but also his own trapshooting range in his backyard (31) in North Carolina. When it's finally my turn, the earmuffs they give me have somebody else's ear-oil on them and don't fit my head very well. The gun itself is shockingly heavy and stinks of what I'm told is cordite, small pubic spirals of which are still exiting the barrel from the Korea-vet who prec ~ David Foster Wallace

Have tea, might write," Laura returned. ~ L.L. Barkat

If it's good enough to drink, it's good enough to cook with! ~ Cooper D. Brunk