Prongs Of A Fork Quotes

If your boss is getting you down, look at him through the prongs of a fork and imagine him in jail. ~ David Brent

For as long as he could remember, Lexie had a habit of buying herself rabbit food and then proceeding to eat most of her companions' side dishes, never aware of her wandering fork. He usually ordered extra of the things she liked for that reason - she had no idea he didn't actually care for chocolate cake. ~ Tamara Morgan

Why are you making that face?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked up at him, caught off guard. I raised my eyebrows, trying to play dumb. "What face?"

It didn't work.

With a fork hanging out of his mouth, he narrowed his dark eyes just the slightest bit. "That one." He gestured toward me with his chin.

I shrugged in an 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression.

"Is there something you want to say?"

There were a hundred things I wanted to tell him on a regular basis, but I knew him too well. He didn't really care if there was something I wanted to say or not. He didn't care if my opinion was different from his or if I thought he should do something differently. He was just reminding me who the boss was.

AKA not me.

Asswipe.

"Me?" I blinked. "Nope."

He gave me a lazy glare before his eyes lowered to focus on the hand I had hidden on the other side of the kitchen island. "Then quit flipping me off. I'm not changing my mind about the signing," he said in a deceptively casual voice.

I pressed my lips together as I dropped my hand. He was a goddamn witch. I swear on my life, he was a freaking witch. A wizard. An oracle. A person with a third eye. Every single time I had ever flipped him off, he'd been aware of it. I didn't think I was that obvious about it either. ~ Mariana Zapata

A young English couple was visiting with me one summer after I had been composting humanure for about six years. One evening, as dinner was being prepared, the couple suddenly understood the horrible reality of their situation: the food they were about to eat was recycled human shit. When this fact abruptly dawned upon them, it seemed to set off an instinctive alarm, possibly inherited directly from Queen Victoria. "We don't want to eat shit!" they informed me, rather distressed (that's an exact quote), as if in preparing dinner I had simply set a steaming turd on a plate in front of them with a knife, fork and napkin. ~ Joseph Jenkins

When I put a bicycle wheel on a stool, the fork down, there was no idea of a 'ready-made' or anything else. It was just a distraction. I didn't have any special reason to do it, or any intention of showing it or describing anything. ~ Marcel Duchamp

At a certain fork in the road of automatization, Europeans chose to have more time, and they work far less than we do and get much longer vacations. We chose to have more stuff, the stuff sold to us through those beckoning adjectives-bigger, better, faster: Jet Skis, extra cars, second homes, motor homes, towering slab TVs, if not the time to enjoy them or to enjoy less commodified pleasures. ~ Rebecca Solnit

I believe there's something you'll need, Sentinel." Ethan slid from his chair, dropped to one knee on the carpet. My mind had to race to keep up, but my heart pounded madly. Ethan looked up at me, grinned. "That thing, of course, is this." He held up a small dessert fork. "You dropped your fork, Sentinel." My blood pounded in my ears. I stood up, swatted his arms with slaps. "You are a jerk." He roared with laughter. "Ah, Sentinel. The look on your face." He doubled over with laughter. "Such terror." I kept swatting. "At the thought of marrying you, you pretentious ass." He roared again, then picked me up and carried me to the bed. "My pretentions are well earned, Sentinel." "You have got to stop doing that." "I can't. It's hilarious." Only a man would think fake proposals were so funny. ~ Chloe Neill

I'd feed you the cake just to watch your lips wrap around the fork. Then I'd watch your beautiful throat muscles work swallowing the sticky sweetness, fantasizin' about smearin' chocolate frosting down your neck so I could lick it off. Slowly. And when I finished feedin' you, I'd press my mouth to yours for a thorough taste of you and the cake. ~ Lorelei James

My mum was crazy. And her mum was crazy. And her mum's mum was crazy. Is it my turn? Am I going to live the rest of my life giggling at raindrops, wearing paper slippers? When I go to dinner with friends should I not use a fork 'cause I just might snap? Hey, you guys look great. How's the baby? ~ Christopher Titus

Life is not about fulfilling a destiny. Your life has no destiny but what you make of it. And this is what I want to make of it. Barracus also told me to live the life that only I can live. He told me to have the courage to take up that calling. He was asking me to choose my destiny. Prophecy is not only about destiny, but the balance of free will. Becoming a Confessor is my calling. But it's not pre-ordained. It's a chance, a fork in the road of my life. I have to have the courage to take it on of my free will. In that way, the balance of prophecy and free will is the magic of the future. ~ Terry Goodkind

Will set his fork down and began cheerfully, in the manner of Edward Lear's Book of Nonsense:
"There was once a lass from New York
Who found herself hungry in York.
But the bread was like rocks
The parsnips shaped like -" ~ Cassandra Clare

I want that big cock in my mouth so I can remind you just how hard I can make you come."

Fuck . . . this woman.

"You think I forgot?" To myself I add, No way in hell, Bruce. I lean back and watch her face. "But a reminder wouldn't be unwelcome."

My taunt spurs her on. "You're also going to want pussy for dessert, so you better save room."

And I'm officially done. I drop my fork on the plate with a clang. "You're killin' me with that dirty mouth of yours."

"I may not be able to keep your stomach full, but I can keep your balls empty." Her lips turn up in a catlike smile. "So, what are you waiting for? ~ Meghan March

Because of this false idea, they devised an aesthetic belief in making the exterior of an object a reflection of the practical functions of the interior and of the constructive idea. Yet these analyses of utility and necessity that, according to their beliefs, should be the basis for the construction of any object created by humanity become immediately absurd once we analyze all the object being manufactured today. A fork or a bed cannot come to be considered necessary for humanity's life and health, and yet retain a relative value.
They are 'learned necessities.' Modern human beings are suffocating under necessities like televisions, refrigerators, etc. And in the process making it impossible to live their real lives. Obviously we are not against modern technology, but we are against any notion of the absolute necessity of objects, to the point even of doubting their real utility.'
Asger Jorn ~ Tom McDonough

Risking a glance at the dignified young man beside her- what was his name?- Mr. Arthurson, Arterton?- Pandora decided to try her hand at some small talk.
"It was very fine weather today, wasn't it?" she said.
He set down his flatware and dabbed at both corners of his mouth with his napkin before replying. "Yes, quite fine."
Encouraged, Pandora asked, "What kind of clouds do you like better- cumulus or stratocumulus?"
He regarded her with a slight frown. After a long pause, he asked, "What is the difference?"
"Well, cumulus are the fluffier, rounder clouds, like this heap of potatoes on my plate." Using her fork, Pandora spread, swirled, and dabbed the potatoes. "Stratocumulus are flatter and can form lines or waves- like this- and can either form a large mass or break into smaller pieces."
He was expressionless as he watched her. "I prefer flat clouds that look like a blanket."
"Altostratus?" Pandora asked in surprise, setting down her fork. "But those are the boring clouds. Why do you like them?"
"They usually mean it's going to rain. I like rain."
This showed promise of actually turning into a conversation. "I like to walk in the rain, too," Pandora exclaimed.
"No, I don't like to walk in it. I like to stay in the house." After casting a disapproving glance at her plate, the man returned his attention to eating.
Chastened, Pandora let out a noiseless sigh. Picking up her fork, she tried to inconspicuously push her potat ~ Lisa Kleypas

As the brother put the carving knife aside, he said, "Stuffing?"

"Am I breathing?"

Phury shoved a spoon into the bird and piled high. "Mashed?"

"Do you have gravy?"

"Am I breathing?"

V cracked a smile. "Roger that. And affirmative on the gravy."

When a plate was put in front of him, he glanced up. "No veggies? Not that I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"Vegetable matter is a waste of porcelain space." Phury pushed a knife and fork across the butcher block. "Ask yourself, would I sacrifice the surface area of mashed or stuffing for peas?"

"I love you. ~ J.R. Ward

Chance encounters, the desire to watch, a visit from an unexpected stranger -- all of these things fall within a realm of normalcy. There is always a moment in stories like these, a fork in the road, when you wonder which path will be chosen. Will it end quietly, without incident, or will it move on to the next level? Here lies the difference between reality and imagination. ~ K. Kiker

It is quite amazing how hard the subconscious works when it is made to understand that this life is not a rehearsal, there is no safety net and no assurance of any final closure. It is also quite appalling to realize how catatonic the imagination can become when we hedge our bets, opt for the safer direction at every fork in the path. ~ John Burdett

"We hold these truths to be sacred and undeniable" in a draft of the Declaration of Independence changes it instead into an assertion of rationality. The scientific mind of Franklin drew on the scientific determinism of Isaac Newton and the analytic empiricism of David Hume and Gottfried Leibniz. In what became known as "Hume's Fork" the latters' theory distinguished between synthetic truths that describe matters of fact, and analytic truths that are self-evident by virtue of reason and definition. ~ Benjamin Franklin

That done, a second list began to sketch itself from memory. Food, water, containers, blankets...

I set three piles aside, starting with the blankets, then took what pillowcases I could find. They always made useful bags for carrying things when backpacks weren't available. One small pot for boiling, one small pan for cooking or additional self-defense. Knives, always good. One fork and a spoon for each of us. More than that, and they'd clatter inside our bags, keeping us from moving silently. No batteries. One flashlight that seemed to be working for now, even if the beam wasn't strong. The real coup would have been canned food or toilet paper, but those were truly one-in-a-million finds.

"Did you forget to tell us that you're taking us camping?" I'm all four roughing it as long as that entails air-conditioning and a nice view."

...

"Sorry," I muttered, forcing myself onto my feet. "Old habits. ~ Alexandra Bracken

Augustin stood there looking down at him and cursed him speaking slowly clearly bitterly and contemptuously and cursing as steadily as though he were dumping manure on a field lifting it with a dung fork out of a wagon. ~ Ernest Hemingway,

Even two steps back, I could feel the heat of his anger. If I'd had some bread, I could have stuck it on a fork and toasted it. Least that way I'd have got something to eat. ~ G.R. Matthews

If the first job one has in a given profession acts as a tuning fork for the career that follows, Frederick Thomas was attuned from the start to a pitch of the highest quality. ~ Vladimir Alexandrov

Isabel is a very talented photographer," she says. "Indeed, I am! I like to take photographs of babies nestling in oversized teacups." I spear a pea with my fork and hold it up. "Or sometimes I dress them in little green pea costumes and arrange them as if they're peering out of gigantic pods. ~ Lauren Fox

We run down the right fork, Manchee at our heels, the night and a dusty road stretching out in front of us, an army and a disaster behind us, me and Viola, running side by side. ~ Patrick Ness

You got someone else courting you?"
"No." The fork she'd been scrubbing slid from her hand, returning to the murky depths. "But then, I wasn't sure I had you courting me, either. I seem to recall you expressing a number of objections to my suitability in the past. ~ Karen Witemeyer

Here is what I have always thought: that people, when they eat, are very dear. The eager lips, the flapping jaws, the trembling release of control-the guilty glances at one's companions or at strangers. The focus, the great focus of eating. The pleasure in it. I remember-when I went out more-I remember watching people in restaurants. People who ate alone, lost in the pleasure of it, O the pleasure of it. Digging for food in the bottoms of their bowls, guarding their fork, bringing the food to their mouths. Staring off into some middle distance while chewing. Thinking of things known only to them. To watch others eat is a thing of joy to me. & it is the only time I can forgive myself for what I have become. ~ Liz Moore

Don't you have a class this morning, Georgie?"
Day mumbled something that sounded like
"Ancient History of the Near East and Greece."
"Poof!" scoffed Everhart, flourishing his fork,
"Come with me and see the Near East. ~ Jack Kerouac

There are major CEOs who do not know how to hold a knife and fork properly, but I don't worry about that as much as the lack of kindness. ~ Letitia Baldrige

I hoisted the lid off the Spode vegetable dish and, from the depths of its hand-painted butterflies and raspberries, spooned out a generous helping of peas. Using my knife as a ruler and my fork as a prod, I marshaled the peas so that they formed meticulous rows and columns across my plate: rank upon rank of little green spheres, spaced with a precision that would have delighted the heart of the most exacting Swiss watchmaker. Then, beginning at the bottom left, I speared the first pea with my fork and ate it. ~ Alan Bradley

Slight and ridiculous as the incident was, it made him appear such a little fiend, and withal such a keen and knowing one, that the old woman felt too much afraid of him to utter a single word, and suffered herself to be led with extraordinary politeness to the breakfast-table. Here he by no means diminished the impression he had just produced, for he ate hard eggs, shell and all, devoured gigantic prawns with the heads and tails on, chewed tobacco and water-cresses at the same time and with extraordinary greediness, drank boiling tea without winking, bit his fork and spoon till they bent again, and in short performed so many horrifying and uncommon acts that the women were nearly frightened out of their wits, and began to doubt if he were really a human creature. ~ Charles Dickens

At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."
... My mother taught Prim and me to eat properly, so yes, I can handle a fork and knife. But I hate Effie Trinket's comment so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with my fingers. Then I wipe my hands on the tablecloth. This makes her purse her lips tightly together. ~ Suzanne Collins

Have you thought about retiring early?" "I've thought about it. I would lose a fair amount of my pension if I did. Besides, what would I do with myself?" "You could work for me." "Work ... as a ranch hand?" She laughed, genuinely amused by the image of herself in a cowboy hat cutting cattle that popped into her head. "I can't even walk in the snow without help." He glared at her. "You're a fantastic rider." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you truly offering me a job?" He stopped shoveling, rested on the hay fork, gave her a lopsided grin. "I would if it would keep you around." Something about that felt more romantic to her than a dozen red roses. "Jack West, you are a charming man." "Me?" He shook his head, got back to shoveling. "I think you need to look that word up in the dictionary, angel. ~ Pamela Clare

Not a fork...not a spoon...a fpoon.
what will you Germans think of next? ~ Key Pelle

Harry flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his wand.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he yelled.

And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. He screwed up his eyes, trying to see what it was. It looked like a horse. It was galloping silently away from him, across the black surface of the lake. He saw it lower its head and charge at the swarming dementors. . . . Now it was galloping around and around the black shapes on the ground, and the dementors were falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness. . . . They were gone.

The Patronus turned. It was cantering back toward Harry across the still surface of the water. It wasn't a horse. It wasn't a unicorn, either. It was a stag. It was shining brightly as the moon above. . . it was coming back to him. . . .

It stopped on the bank. Its hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at Harry with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its antlered head. And Harry realized. . . "Prongs," he whispered.

But as his trembling fingertips stretched toward the creature, it vanished. ~ J.K. Rowling

Are there moments when I see unrequited crushes or ex-boyfriends slow dancing with their dates and kind of want to stab myself in the spleen with a salad fork? Yeah, sure. ~ Sloane Crosley

We swam in sunshine and in rain; we swam in the morning, when the sea was sluggish as soup, we swam at night, the water flowing over our arms like undulations of black satin; one afternoon we stayed in the water during a thunderstorm, and a fork of lightning struck the surface of the sea so closer to us we heard the crackle of it and smelt the burnt air. ~ John Banville

When I came out into society I was 15. I already knew then that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do what I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and observe. Not to what people told me, which naturally was of no interest to me, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practiced detachment. I learned how to look cheerful while under the table I stuck a fork onto the back of my hand. I became a virtuoso of deceit. I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear, philosophers to find out what to think, and novelist to see what I could get away with, and in the end it all came down to one wonderfully simple principle: win or die. ~ Pierre Choderlos De Laclos

No doubt she was wondering how to fight him off. That made him feel like some sordid roué, thinking of nothing but his own pleasure. But as little as he'd been in polite company, even Ash knew better than to issue a clarification. "No, Miss Lowell," Ash could imagine himself saying, "I would never force myself on you. I mean to seduce you into willingness. That's all." That would get him a fork stabbed through his hand, by the black look she gave her pudding.
Thank God the knives had been removed along with the beef. ~ Courtney Milan

Aunt May, my sweet Aunt May, who taught me how to knit, who bought me a piece of candy every time we went to the store, jabbed a cocktail fork at my eye. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Lionel was filled with awful remorse. He asked where had Thomas been last seen, and the boy told him he was headed for the church. Lionel nodded and went home to fetch his shotgun. Throughout the crisis he had done no violence, preferring to preach the sanity of pacifism to the flock. This was different. This was a requirement of the father to the son. He prayed over the shotgun while Darla wailed with the children in the living room. He got in his truck and drove to the church. -- From "The South Fork Penance ~ L. Joseph Shosty

The sad fact is that the vast majority of drunks stay drunks. There's a small minority of us who reach that fork in the road where one side says 'live' and the other says 'drink'. ~ John Larroquette

Are you Italian?" Nico asked, putting
down his drink.

I looked up at him. "A quarter, and how
did you know that? I don't look it."

"You kind of do, plus you use a spoon like
Gina, that's the waitress, and she's half Italian."

I shrugged, having picked up the habit
from my nonna.

"What else are you?" he asked.

"I'm also a quarter Māori, part
French, Welsh, Danish, and English."

His eyes twinkled at me. "Add a few more
countries in there and you'll be a one-woman United Nations."

I smiled at that and lifted the pasta to
my mouth. Gina returned with Nico's plate of food, causing me to lower the fork
momentarily, making me wonder whether I should wait for him, but Gina started
asking him questions about university, so I took a bite. I shivered at the
delicious taste of garlic, the chef having put the perfect amount in, just how
my nonna would've made it.

The waitress disappeared as Nico picked up
his fork, twirling the spaghetti onto it without the aid of a spoon. "Looks
like you got the best parts out of all of those nationalities," he said.

I blushed at the compliment, always
embarrassed when people said nice things about my looks. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied, popping the
spaghetti into his mouth, his unusual eyes once more twinkling at me, so bright
that I understood why his adop ~ Marita A. Hansen

Eat. You need to eat."

Everyone stared at their plates as I picked up the fork I hadn't even realized I'd dropped. I dared a peek at Aiden as I twirled my fork around the noodles. He was watching, always watching.

Deacon offered me a pair of chopsticks. "You shouldn't be using a fork."

I shot him a bland look. "Do I look like I know how to use chopsticks?"

He grinned. "Poser."

"Punk," I retorted.

His eyes rolled. "It's not that hard. Here, let me show you."

Deacon's impromptu chopsticks lesson and my absolute failure at mastering them eased the sudden awkward tension around the table. Laughing, I gave up when Aiden finally ordered his brother to let me eat in peace. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

We took a right at the fork, heading farther north. The charred houses continued. To the right, a large sign nailed to an old telephone post shouted DANGER in huge red letters. Underneath in crisp black letters was written:
IM-1: Infectious Magic Area
Do Not Enter
Authorized Personnel Only
A second smaller sign under the first one, written on a piece of plastic with permanent marker, read:
Keep out, stupid.
"We aren't going to keep out, are we?" Ascanio asked.
"No."
"Awesome. ~ Ilona Andrews

Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!" Snape said, hitting the map with his wand.
As though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on the surface of the map.
"Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business."
Snape froze. Harry stared, dumbstruck, at the message. But the map didn't stop there. More writing was appearing beneath the first.
"Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git."
It would have been very funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. And there was more...
"Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor."
Harry closed his eyes in horror. When he'd opened them, the map had had its last word.
"Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball."
(286 & 287) ~ J.K. Rowling

There you are," the man said. A small plate and a fork were in his hands. Irritated, the Jinni said, "Yes, here I am, enjoying a moment of solitude. ~ Helene Wecker

Chuck seemed deep in thought. "Well, they found a dead Griever, right?" "Yeah," Newt replied. "Thanks for that bit of news." Chuck absently tapped his fork against the table for a few seconds. "Well, then who killed the stupid thing?" Excellent question, Thomas thought. He waited for Newt to answer, but nothing came. He obviously didn't have a clue. ~ James Dashner

Now," Clary said. "I don't want to wait. Do you?"
He didn't reply, just got up off the floor and picked his shirt. He looked at Clary, and almost smiled. "If we're going to the Silent City, you might want to get dressed. I mean, I appreciate the bra-and-panties look, but I don't know if the Silent Brothers will. There are only a few of them left, and I don't want them to die of excitement."
Clary got up off the bed and threw a pillow at him, mostly out of relief. She reached for her clothes and began to pull her shirt on. Just before it went over her head, she caught sight of the knife lying on the bedspread, gleaming like a fork of silvery flame. ~ Cassandra Clare