Picnic In Urdu Quotes

The picture would remind Oliver of the morning when I first spoke out. Or of the day when we rode by the berm pretending not to notice it. Or of that day we'd decided to picnic there and had vowed not to touch each other, the better to enjoy lying in bed together the same afternoon. I wanted him to have the picture before his eyes for all time, his whole life, in front of his desk, of his bed, everywhere. Nail it everywhere you go, I thought. ~ Andre Aciman

I judge myself by the shiny, pretty people I see at parent-teacher meetings, or on Facebook, or Pinterest, who seem to totally have their shit together and never have unwashed hair. They never wait until Thursday night to help their kid with the entire week's homework. They don't have piles of dusty boxes in corners waiting to be opened from the move before last. They have pretty, pastel lives, and they are happy, and they own picnic baskets and napkins and know how to recycle, and they never run out of toilet paper or get their electricity turned off. And it's not even that I want to be one of those people. I fucking hate picnics. If God wanted us to eat on the ground He wouldn't have invented couches. I just don't want to feel like a failure because my biggest accomplishment of the day was going to the bank. ~ Jenny Lawson

I took the brooch because I was too overcome with irresistible temptation. I was imagining I was Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald, and I just had to wear the brooch over the footbridge of the Lake of Shining Waters, with the wind blowing my auburn hair over to Camelot. I thought I could put it back before you came home, but as I leaned over to look at my reflection in the lake, it slipped from my fingers and sank beneath the rippling waves. That's the best I can do at confessing. Now may I go to the picnic? ~ L.M. Montgomery

Pa Larkspur?"
She smiled. "Don't be so chauvinistic. He's the best cook in the county. His baskets bring in more money than any others at the picnic auctions."
"Jesus. Baskets? Picnic? Just how country is the Nest?"
"Very." His horrified expression made her laugh. "Clay, you live in a tree. I don't think you should throw stones. ~ Nalini Singh

When I'm home, I spend Sunday with my husband. If we're not cooking, we travel around in our camper, stop at fast-food restaurants, and picnic. We love that stuff that will harden your arteries in a hurry. ~ Dolly Parton

Urdu can not die out because it has very strong roots in Persia. The language itself is not only just the language of the Muslims, but it's also the language of the Hindus. ~ Ismail Merchant

Surely, somewhere in the back of Bulfinch, in a part Lillian had not gotten to, there is an obscure (abstruse, arcane, shadowy, and even hidden) version of Proserpine in he Underworld in which a tired Jewish Ceres schleps through the outskirts of Tartarus, an ugly village of tired whores who must double as laundresses and barbers, a couple of saloons, a nearly empty five-and-dime, and people too poor to pull up stakes. In this version, Ceres looks all over town for her Proserpine, who crossed the River Cyane in a pretty sailboat with Pluto, having had the good sense to come to an understanding with the king early on. Pluto and Proserpine picnic in a charming park, twinkling lights overhead and handsome wide benches like the ones in Central Park. When Ceres comes, tripping a little on her hem as she walks through the soft grass, muttering and trying to yank Proserpine to her feet so they can start the long trip home to Enna and daylight (which has lost much of its luster, now that Proserpine is queen of all she surveys), the girl does not jump up at the sight of her mother, but takes her time handing out the sandwiches and pours cups of sweetened tea for the three of them. She lays a nicely ironed napkin in her lap and another in the lap of her new husband, the king. Proserpine does not eat the pomegranate seeds by mistake, or in a moment of desperate hunger, or fright, or misunderstanding. She takes the pomegranate slice out of her husband's dark and glittering hand and pulls ~ Amy Bloom

Cricket needs brightening up a bit. My solution is to let the players drink at the beginning of the game, not after. It always works in our picnic matches. ~ Paul Hogan

I want to take long romantic walks up your arm with my lips.
I wanna picnic on the arc of your neck and sneak a bottle of wine
in a thermos with you and get stoned
somewhere on the mossy side of your ribs. ~ Shinji Moon

I closed my eyes and I thought of the lash of her skirt snapping around her as she danced one evening in a bar on the South Side to a jukebox that was playing "Barefootin'," of the downy slope of her neck and the declivity in her nightgown as she bent to wash her face in the bathroom sink, of a tuna salad sandwich she'd handed me one windy afternoon as we sat at a picnic table in Lucia, California, and looked out for the passage of whales, and I felt that I loved Emily insofar as I loved those things – beyond reason, and with a longing that made me want to hang my head – but it was a love that felt an awful lot like nostalgia. ~ Michael Chabon

We could never predict what moment in the service would trigger a full-blown crisis of faith. Once, it was the kids' choir singing "Nothing but the Blood" during special music.
"Surely I'm not the only one who thinks it's creepy to hear all those little voices singing about getting washed in the flow of someone's blood," I muttered as Dan and I escaped out the double doors.
Another time it was a prayer about God granting our troops victory over their enemies as they served him in Iraq.
"Don't you think the Iraqis are just as convinced God is on their side?" I whispered.
Sometimes it was just the way people chatted in the fellowship hall about "those liberals," as if feminists or Democrats or Methodists couldn't possibly be in their midst.
Often it was the assumption that women were unfit to speak from the pulpit or pass the collection plate on Sunday mornings, but were welcome to serve the men their key lime pie at the church picnic. ~ Rachel Held Evans

The best way to tell whether the Norwegian is a Norwegian is to say:
"Are you Swedish?"
Regardless whether you say this in English, French, Italian, Japanese, Urdu or Swahili, he will answer:
"Swedish? Me? I'm a Norwegian!"
Then you will be able to tell. ~ Odd Borretzen

Pride! In English it is a Deadly Sin. But in Urdu it is fakhr and nazish - both names that you can find more than once on our family tree. ~ Kamila Shamsie

I had a dream about you. Flowers were overflowing in the cemetery, so we decided to have a picnic there. You brought apple pie, and I brought my Aunt Mildred, who'd been dead for some time and I just hadn't gotten around to disposing of her body. I thought you'd think me both efficient and romantic, but it turns out you didn't. You only saw the romantic side of my action. ~ Jarod Kintz

Fourth of July picnic. And by the way, that picnic, like everything else in this land, is a model of efficiency: you drive at top speed, set up in a previously reserved space, spread out the baskets, bolt your food, kick the ball, and rush home to avoid the traffic. In Chile, a similar project would take three days. ~ Isabel Allende

Arin took the basket from her. "Coming or going?"
"I've a errand here, and won't be home until late."
"Shall I guess what brings you to town?"
"You can try."
He peeked in the basket. Bread, still warm from the oven. A bottle of liquor. Long, flat, pieces of wood. Rolls of gauze. "A picnic ... with a wounded soldier? Sarsine," he teased, "is it true love? What's the wood for? Wait, don't tell me. I'm not sure I want to know."
She swatted him. "The cartwright's oldest daughter has a broken arm. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Except for the field organizers of strikes, who were pretty tough monkeys and devoted, most of the so-called Communists I met were middle-class, middle-aged people playing a game of dreams. I remember a woman in easy circumstances saying to another even more affluent: 'After the revolution even we will have more, won't we, dear?' Then there was another lover of proletarians who used to raise hell with Sunday picknickers on her property.
I guess the trouble was that we didn't have any self-admitted proletarians. Everyone was a temporarily embarrassed capitalist. Maybe the Communists so closely questioned by the investigation committees were a danger to America, but the ones I knew - at least they claimed to be Communists - couldn't have disrupted a Sunday-school picnic. Besides they were too busy fighting among themselves. ~ John Steinbeck

The oak was, of course, a great stealer of the surrounding pasture - its only value to provide shade for the livestock - but it was a magnificent tree. It had been there at least as long as Luxtons had owned the land. To have removed it would have been unthinkable (as well as a forbidding practical task). It simply went with the farm. No one taking in that view for the first time could have failed to see that the tree was the immovable, natural companion of the farmhouse, or, to put it another way, that so long as the tree stood, so must the farmhouse. And no mere idle visitor - especially if they came from a city and saw that tree on a summer's day - could have avoided the simpler thought that it was a perfect spot for a picnic. ~ Graham Swift

Now everyday ain't gonna be no picnic
Love ain't no walk in the park
All you can do is make the best of it now
Can't be afraid of the dark
Just know that you're not in this thing alone
There's always a place in me that you can call home. ~ Cheryl Cole

It's easier to hang out with the patients in the indoor garden, with its sunlight and picnic tables. Easier to forget that someone's ill when you're not surrounded by the antiseptic reek of hospital-issue debris. ~ Corrine Jackson

Have you ever been to a picnic? And someone blows up a balloon, and everyone starts tossing it around, and it's always just about to touch the ground, but someone always gets there just in time to tap it back up? That balloon, that's God, the very best in all of us, the kindness, the heavy petting, Funny Girl! ... Evil bores me. It's just one note. It doesn't sing! Oh, of course life sucks! It always will. So why not make the most of it? ~ Paul Rudnick

At some point Ewan had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were bulging with muscle, and his shoulders appeared likely to rip through the thin linen of his shirt. Annabelle swallowed, thinking of Ewan without his shirt at their picnic. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"Where do you get all these muscles?" she asked.
"Lifting damsels in distress." He grinned at her, and there was a slight lurch as he leaped off the carriage and landed with a splash in the ditch. ~ Eloisa James

Ozymandias controls not only the dead, but the living. He works the dark magics, and it is said he knows the paths between the worlds and walks them without fear. He wields the-"
"Stop! In English, okay?""
"In English?" she asked, throwing the empty wineglass into the picnic basket. Riley nodded.
"You're in serious shit. ~ Jana Oliver

The name Urdu, by which this language is usually known, is said to be of Turkish origin, and means literally "camp." But the Moghuls of India first introduced it in the precincts of the Imperial camp; so that as Urdu-i-muali (High or Supreme Camp) came to be a synonym for new Dehli after Shahjahan had made it his permanent capital, so Urdu-ki-zaban meant the lingua franca spoken at Dehli. ~ H.G. Keene

Do you want to know the first time I ever saw you?" he said with his lips at my ear.
I knew the story,but I nodded anyway, frantically.
"Your family had just moved in. You were...how old were you,Becks?"
I shrugged,and he ran his fingers over my head, calming me.He knew the answer.
"You were eleven," he said. "I was twelve.I remember Joey Velasquez talking about the pretty new girl in the neighborhood.Actually his exact words were 'the hot chick.' But I didn't think a thing about it until I saw you at the baseball field. We were having practice at the park and your family showed up for a picnic.You had so much dark hair,and it was hiding your face.Remember?"
I nodded. "I know what you're trying to do."
He ignored me. "I had to see if Joey was right,about the hot chick part, and I kept trying to get a good look at your face, but you never looked over our way.I hit home run after home run trying to get your attention, but you couldn't be bothered with my record-shattering, supherhuman performance."
I smiled,and breathed in slowly. I'd heard this story so many times before.The familiarity of it enveloped me with warmth. "So what did you do?" I asked, fully aware of the answer.
"I did the only thing I could think of. I went up to the bat,lined my feet up in the direction of your head,and swung away."
"Hitting the foulest foul ball anyone had ever seen," I continued the story.
I felt him chuckle next to me. "Yep. I figured in order ~ Brodi Ashton

Who brings a picnic to a break-in? ~ Stephanie Tromly

Speaking two languages may seem a relative affluence, but more often it entails the problems of maintaining a second establishment even though your body can be in one place at a time. When I return to Urdu, I feel shocked at my own neglect of a space so intimate to me: like relearning the proportions of a once-familiar room, it takes me by surprise to recollect that I need not feel grief, I can eat grief; that I need not bury my mother but instead can offer her into the earth, for I am in Urdu now. ~ Sara Suleri

And it is true you write in Urdu, Kashmiri, and English?"
"My daughter talks too much," he said, evidently pleased. "But she is correct. I find that different languages are useful for different things. For instance, it is best to write poetry in Urdu. Urdu words are made for poetry and songs. For stories, Kashmiri is the best."
"And English?"
"English?" He smiled. "English is excellent for signboards and maps. ~ Madhuri Vijay

Why is it their business? They expect me to go sit at their fucking picnic - alone - and watch them with their happy fucking little families, and I'm supposed to pretend like the one person in this town I give a damn about doesn't even exist?" "Uh ... ." I couldn't really think of anything to say to that. I couldn't believe that he had said any of it and was pretty sure he wouldn't have on any normal day. But it didn't matter. He was still talking, and the pull on the back of my head had resumed. ~ Marie Sexton

How could anything be the same? The red of blood lay over the market road in slick pools mingled with a yellow spread of dal someone must have brought in anticipation of a picnic after the parade, and there were flies on it, left behind odd slippers, and a sad pair of broken spectacles, even a tooth. It was rather like the government warning about safety that appeared in the cinema before the movie with the image of a man cycling to work, a poor man but with a wife who loved him, and she had sent his lunch with him in a tiffin container; then came a blowing of horns and small, desperate cycle tinkle, and a messy blur clearing into the silent still image of a spread of food mingled with blood. Those mismatched colors, domesticity shuffled with death, sureness running into the unexpected, kindness replaced by the image of violence, always made the cook feel like throwing up and weeping both together. ~ Kiran Desai

My first real kiss came when I was 10, and it was in an acting class. I had to do a scene from a movie where someone gets kissed under a tree, and I did not want to do it! But my acting partner wanted me to feel comfortable, so he bought a picnic basket with all these snacks. He made such an effort - and it was cute. ~ Vanessa Hudgens

I simply cannot see why one would wish to picnic in the nude. There would be ants in dreadful places. ~ Cassandra Clare

The family which takes its mauve an cerise, air-conditioned, power-steered and power-braked automobile out for a tour passes through cities that are badly paved, made hideous by litter, lighted buildings, billboards and posts for wires that should long since have been put underground. They pass on into countryside that has been rendered largely invisible by commercial art. (The goods which the latter advertise have an absolute priority in our value system. Such aesthetic considerations as a view of the countryside accordingly come second. On such matters we are consistent.) They picnic on exquisitely packaged food from a portable icebox by a polluted stream and go on to spend the night at a park which is a menace to public health and morals. Just before dozing off on an air mattress, beneath a nylon tent, amid the stench of decaying refuse, they may reflect vaguely on the curious unevenness of their blessings. Is this, indeed, the American genius? ~ John Kenneth Galbraith

But, after one quick trace of his tongue between her lips, he abruptly pulled away and stepped back from her. She was leaning into him so hard he had to put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
Catherine's eyes flew open. Releasing her shoulders, he pointed past her to the books he'd set on the desk.
She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again. As she followed Jim, she caught a glimpse of his profile when he picked up the books and slate. There was a smug grin on his face. He was toying with her, teaching her a lesson - that two could play at heating things up and abruptly cooling them down.
Indignation and amusement competed in her as she took her seat beside him and he handed her the paper he'd written. She hadn't set him any homework. He'd done it on his own, printed a brief description of their picnic in short sentences or single words. It was
almost like a poem without rhyme. "Fish swim water. Sky. Trees. Leaves. Eat food. Drink."
She smiled at him. "Very good."
He touched his lips, puckering them in
a kiss, and tapped the signing book.
"Kiss," she said and looked up the sign for it. "Fingers touching thumbs as both
hands come together," the text said. Her cheeks flushed as she read, "trembling slightly to indicate the degree of passion."
Catherine made the movement as she repeated the word aloud. "Kiss."
Jim copied the movement, shaping his lips like hers. He pointed to the slate and offered her the ch ~ Bonnie Dee

The notion that somehow or another they'll (Iran) put it in a picnic basket and hand it to some terrorist group is merely an argument that may be convincing to some people who don't know anything about nuclear weapons. I don't find that argument very credible, I'm not sure that people who make it even believe in it. But it's a good argument to make if you have no other argument to make. The fact of the matter is, Iran has been around for 3000 years, and that is not a symptom of a suicidal instinct. ~ Zbigniew Brzezinski

Clare," said a voice behind me. Not Nate's, but just as familiar.
"I'll get going," Nate said, backing up. "If you see the dumbass, tell him I'm mad at him for standing me up."
I turned around.
"The dumbass?" Justin asked.
"Yes, you're not the only one in town. Who knew?"
He smiled. Every time I tried to hurt him, he just smiled. I'd have to try harder.
"You look beautiful tonight," he said, looking me up and down. "You wore that dress on the picnic we took in the spring. Remember, it was the first warm day of the season . . ." His voice trailed off.
"I'd love to wax nostalgic, Justin, but I've got work to do. ~ Kim Harrington

We fell silent. We just looked at each other, sitting cross-legged on the picnic table. As in my meditations, I had no awareness of time passing, only a sense of the air between us electrified with eyes. ~ Jerry Spinelli

- I'm a normal kid, I was raised by television.

The secret to great barbeque: only Oscar knows it. Life should be so simple as enjoying ribs, farting, crapping, pissing, fucking and drinking, and maybe smoking too, but anything other than that is too complicated, life should be simple. It is not.

- Work? You would go to work even if there's a chance your job's imaginary?

Imaginary or not, the questions Max poses remain as relevant for Frank, Sam, and Oscar as they are for us.

A slight hangover won't be best friends with any kind of daylight and while this one wasn't particularly hazardous, they wouldn't be having any of it.

"...the lunatic is on the grass."

Surely if you see a bunch of people having a picnic in a park that would turn your head wouldn't it? How normal a picnic really is? When was the last time you saw one happening? Not in a movie, in real life.

If a man's hat falls to the ground, said man is expected to pick it up. That's the premise.

I'm not some pissy little kid who stopped believing in God because some priests rape kids. I don't believe in God because I can't be sure of its
existence.

I'm not some pissy little kid who stopped believing in God because the church raped kids. I don't believe in God because I can't be sure of its existence.

Nothing is wrong.

You don't take another man's hat, another man's ride, or another man's woman. ~ Santiago Rodriguez

I know ... that's why you're down here and not enjoying some picnic in a golden meadow amongst the harps and puffy clouds.
Lucifer from Angela's Coven ~ Bruce Jenvey

Heavily and hypnotically,with her soul flattening itself back like the ears of a hissing cat,Kizzy leaned in and drank of Jack Husk's full,moist mouth,and his red,red lips were hungry against hers,drinking her in return.Their eyes closed.Fingers clutched at collars and hair,at the picnic blanket,at the grass.And as they sank down,pinning their shadows beneath them,the horizon tipped on its side,and slowly,thickly,hour by hour,the day spilled out and ebbed away.
It was Kizzy's first kiss, and maybe it was her last, and it was delicious. ~ Laini Taylor

Well, while you were in the bathroom, I sat down at this picnic table here in Bumblefug, Kentucky, and noticed that someone had carved that GOD HATES FAG, which, aside from being a grammatical nightmare, is absolutely ridiculous. So I'm changing it to 'God Hates Baguettes.' It's tough to disagree with that. Everybody hates baguettes. ~ John Green

From beyond the grave,
Hannah says that although living in the world of plurality and natality is no picnic, if we want to avoid Auschwitz or the Gulag or Stonewall or Pol Pot or Attica or ISIS, we as a species have no choice but to embrace it and endure it.

In other words, there is no single answer, no single bullet of understanding to guide us, just a glorious neverending mess. The neverending mess of true human freedom. ~ Ken Krimstein

Why are some of us, he wondered, unable to love success or power or great beauty? Because we feel unworthy of them, because we feel more at home with failure? He didn't believe that was the reason. Perhaps one wanted the right balance, just as Christ had, the legendary figure whom he would have liked to believe in. 'Come unto me all ye that travail are and heavy laden.' Young as the girl was at that August picnic she was heavily laden with her timidity and shame. Perhaps he had merely wanted her to feel that she was loved by someone and so he began to love her himself. It wasn't pity, any more than it had been pity when he fell in love with Sarah pregnant by another man. He was there to right the balance. That was all. ~ Graham Greene

When you eat, I want you to think of God, of the holiness of hands that feed us, of the provision we are given every time we eat. When you eat bread and you drink wine, I want you to think about the body and the blood every time, not just when the bread and wine show up in church, but when they show up anywhere - on a picnic table or a hardwood floor or a beach. ~ Shauna Niequist

It is impossible for a Westerner to imagine the deadening torpor of a protected life under house arrest. Eventually, one is grateful for the smallest outing outdoors
a lovely picnic in a burqa, being allowed to watch the men and boys fly kites or swim. ~ Phyllis Chesler

The central ceremony of Ritual Witchcraft was the so-called "Sabbath" - a word of unknown origin having no relation to its Hebrew homonym. Sabbaths were celebrated four times a year - on Candlemass Day, February 2nd, on Rood Mass Day, May 1st, on Lammas Day, August 1st, and on the eve of All Hallows, October 31st. These were great festivals, often attended by hundreds of devotees, who came from considerable distances. Between Sabbaths there were weekly "Esbats" from small congregations in the village where the ancient religion was still practiced. At all high Sabbaths the devil himself was invariably present, in the person of some man who had inherited, or otherwise acquired, the honor of being the incarnation of the two-faced god of the Dianic cult. The worshipers paid homage to the god by kissing his reverse face - a mask worn, beneath an animal's tail, on the devil's backside. There was then, for some at least of the female devotees, a ritual copulation with the god, who was equipped for this purpose with an artificial phallus of horn or metal. This ceremony was followed by a picnic (for the Sabbaths were celebrated out of doors, near sacred trees or stones), by dancing and finally by a promiscuous sexual orgy that had, no doubt, originally been a magical operation for increasing the fertility of the animals on which primitive hunters and herdsmen depend for their livelihood. The prevailing atmosphere at the Sabbaths was one of good fellowship and mindless, animal joy. Whe ~ Aldous Huxley

A young man who plays his part in society by looking on in green spectacles, and listening with a sickly smile, may be a prodigy of intellect and a mine of virtue, but he is hardly, perhaps, the right sort of man to have at a picnic. ~ Wilkie Collins

Whenever we went on a trip, picnic, or business trip, I was always with my dad, and I would just always be in contact with cosmonauts, and I thought it would be always normal to be with them. ~ Roman Romanenko

The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above. ~ Cyril Connolly