Schlarbaum Chestnut Quotes

#1. I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland, and my relationship with the piano has been going on for about 38 years. - Author: Cyrus Chestnut

#2. One of those was occupied by a dwarf. Clean-shaved and pink-cheeked, with a mop of chestnut hair, a heavy brow, and a squashed nose, he perched on a high stool with a wooden spoon in hand, contemplating a bowl of purplish gruel with red-rimmed eyes. Ugly little bastard, Tyrion thought. The - Author: George R R Martin

#3. Weave for the mighty chestnut
A tributary crown
Of autumn leaves, the brightest then
When autumn leaves are brown
Hang up his bridle on the wall,
His saddle on the tree,
Till time shall bring some racing king
Worthy to wear as he! - Author: William Nack

#4. In Chestnut Hill money didn't talk, but it drank, and played a lot of golf. - Author: Alistair McHarg

#5. One thing I love about making an ensemble film is that you can have ten people come away from it with ten different messages. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#6. I remember when we were in rehearsals and we were going through it, because we rehearsed before we went to Toronto, and it's more of the same. She and I had to deal with a lot of stuff in this movie and we really have to take ourselves there. It actually started in rehearsals, and just revisiting that piece of it all. Just the way Monica is and what she says and the way she looks at me, it really affects me throughout rehearsals and throughout the scenes. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#7. My grown man crush is Morris Chestnut. He's just timeless! - Author: Zendaya

#8. Once my father told me: When a Jew prays, he is asking God a question that has no end.

Darkness fell. Rain fell.

I never asked: What question?

And now it's too late. Because I lost you, Tateh. One day, in the spring of 1938, on a rainy day that gave way to a break in the clouds, I lost you. You'd gone out to collect specimens for a theory you were hatching about rainfall, instinct, and butterflies. And then you were gone. We found you lying under a tree, your face splashed with mud. We knew you were free then, unbound by disappointing results. And we buried you in the cemetery where your father was buried, and his father, under the shade of the chestnut tree. Three years later, I lost Mameh. The last time I saw her she was wearing her yellow apron. She was stuffing things in a suitcase, the house was a wreck. She told me to go into the woods. She'd packed me food, and told me to wear my coat, even though it was July. "Go," she said. I was too old to listen, but like a child I listened. She told me she'd follow the next day. We chose a spot we both knew in the woods. The giant walnut tree you used to like, Tateh, because you said it had human qualities. I didn't bother to say goodbye. I chose to believe what was easier. I waited. But. She never came.
Since then I've lived with the guilt of understanding too late that she thought she would have been a burden to me. I lost Fitzy. He was studying in Vilna, Tateh - someone who knew someone tol - Author: Nicole Krauss

#9. Relax, princess. If your prince arrives, I'll vacate. Just keeping you company. Besides, he should know better than to leave a beautiful girl waiting on him; someone else might swoop in and steal his prize."
This man is insufferable. "I'm neither a princess nor a prize, nor a girl if you want to be specific about it."
"I notice you didn't mind my calling you beautiful." The waitress comes over and asks what he would like. I begin to tell her he isn't staying, but he talks right over me. "The three-wine flight and a slice of the chestnut cream cake, please." Damn his eyes! That was the dessert I was most interested in: layers of chestnut cream, apricot glaze, and dark chocolate ganache. - Author: Stacey Ballis

#10. To me the work is so much more interesting, the parts that don't require you just to take your shirt off. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#11. How long, Klara wondered now, how long after the mortar set did the joy remain? When one embraces a moment of rapture from the past, either by trying to reclaim it or by refusing to let it go, how can its brightness not tarnish, turn grey with longing and sorrow, until the wild spell of the remembered interlude is lost altogether and the memory of sadness claims its rightful place in the mind? And what is it we expect from the sun-drenched past? There is no formula for re-entry, nothing we can do to enable reconstruction. The features of an absent loved one's face are erased one by one, the timbre of the voice drowned by the noise of the world. Fondly recalled landscapes are savagely altered; we lose them tree by tree. Even the chestnut tree outside Klara's window would die a slow, rotting death until it would fall one night in a summer storm when everything in Klara wanted it to remain standing, blossoming in spring, leafy in summer, the only access, she secretly believed, to the window of her former self. - Author: Jane Urquhart

#12. This industry is very make-believe and you caught in a false sense of what reality is. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#13. Another tug and a yank at my chestnut curls and she snarls at me, "You are so much like her."
This is something my mother often says and never explains. Though it is a great mystery to me it is also a blessing, for she always hurries from the room after saying it. - Author: Gwenn Wright

#14. You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky-soft within, and a sweet kernel, if one can only get at it. Love will make you show your heart some day, and then the rough burr will fall off. - Author: Louisa May Alcott

#15. Showtime has given new, young filmmakers - black, white, across the board - an opportunity to make films, as well as actors who want to cross over into directing. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#16. Anyhow, it is a definite colour: I am glad I have red hair. There is it is in the mirror, it makes itself seen, it shines. I am still lucky if my forehead was surmounted by one of those neutral heads of hair which are neither chestnut not blond, my face would be lost in vagueness, it would make me dizzy. - Author: Jean-Paul Sartre

#17. You know I don't know a chestnut from a conker.'
[ ... ] 'A Chestnut is a conker - Author: Eloisa James

#18. I'm an R&B and Hip-Hop type guy. When I work out, which I do at least four or five times a week, I love to get the latest Hip-Hop because it really pumps me up and inspires me to get that workout on. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#19. He watched her watch him, a little surprised that she didn't seem distracted by the noisy procession.
She held her hands clasped at her waist, her expression so serene that he felt his own tension begin to slip away. As they drew closer to the chapel, her features became clearer. He was still too far away to tell the color of her eyes, yet they looked hauntingly familiar. Where had he seen those eyes before?
They were her only remarkable feature. Her hair was a plain, dark chestnut color, the slope of her nose not as dainty as he preferred, and her cheekbones too high and sharp to flatter the roundness of her chin. He stared openly, trying to summon a word to describe her. Few would call her pleasing or even pretty. Those terms were too earthy to describe a face such as hers. He stared harder.
Exquisite.
That word came very close. "Breathtaking" was a more apt description. He wondered that all in the bailey didn't gape at her, dumbfounded by such perfection. Not that he would know if others stared or not. He couldn't take his eyes from her. No matter how common or mismatched her features, they somehow combined to create the face of an angel. - Author: Elizabeth Elliott

#20. Instructions for Dad.

I don't want to go into a fridge at an undertaker's. I want you to keep me at home until the funeral. Please can someone sit with me in case I got lonely? I promise not to scare you.
I want to be buried in my butterfly dress, my lilac bra and knicker set and my black zip boots (all still in the suitcase that I packed for Sicily). I also want to wear the bracelet Adam gave me.
Don't put make-up on me. It looks stupid on dead people.
I do NOT want to be cremated. Cremations pollute the atmosphere with dioxins,k hydrochloric acid, hydrofluoric acid, sulphur dioxide and carbon dioxide. They also have those spooky curtains in crematoriums.
I want a biodegradable willow coffin and a woodland burial. The people at the Natural Death Centre helped me pick a site not for from where we live, and they'll help you with all the arrangements.
I want a native tree planted on or near my grave. I'd like an oak, but I don't mind a sweet chestnut or even a willow. I want a wooden plaque with my name on. I want wild plants and flowers growing on my grave.
I want the service to be simple. Tell Zoey to bring Lauren (if she's born by then). Invite Philippa and her husband Andy (if he wants to come), also James from the hospital (though he might be busy).
I don't want anyone who doesn't know my saying anything about me. THe Natural Death Centre people will stay with you, but should also stay out of it. I want the people I love to ge - Author: Jenny Downham

#21. As though one's life were a series of galleries in which all the portraits of any one period had a marked family likeness, the same (so to speak) tonality - this early Swann abounding in leisure, fragrant with the scent of the great chestnut-tree, of baskets of raspberries and of a sprig of tarragon. - Author: Marcel Proust

#22. Ravenwood ran a hand through his wavy chestnut hair, upsetting the careful work of his valet.

Or not. Given the popularity of the "frightened owl" hairstyle today, Amelia couldn't fathom much effort being involved at all. - Author: Erica Ridley

#23. You can become really pigeon-holed in this industry. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#24. And I think from a male perspective, we have men talking about their feelings and it being okay. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#25. An editorial in the Los Angeles Times [1923] wistfully asked, 'Will eating chestnuts by crackling log fires become one of the lost arts preserved by a devoted people only in poetry and romance? - Author: Susan Freinkel

#26. Some people make a career out of doing one thing, but I wanted to diversify my body of work. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#27. The Arcadians were chestnut-eaters. - Author: Alcaeus

#28. Where is he? Bridgerton!" he bellowed.
Three chestnut heads swiveled in his direction. Simon stomped across the grass, murder in his eyes.
"I meant the idiot Bridgerton."
"That, I believe," Anthony said mildly, tilting his chin toward Colin, "would refer to you. - Author: Julia Quinn

#29. He loved the colors of her, pink and mauve and ivory, all washed in light. The glistening tumble of her hair held the colors of autumn: chestnut, maple, russet, umber. - Author: Lisa Kleypas

#30. You start making movies and people start seeing when you go to places, and all of a sudden you are getting clothes for free and all of a sudden you are getting food for free. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#31. In the morning I walked down the Boulevard to the rue Soufflot for coffee and brioche. It was a fine morning. The horse-chestnut trees in the Luxembourg gardens were in bloom. There was the pleasant early-morning feeling of a hot day. I read the papers with the coffee and then smoked a cigarette. The flower-women were coming up from the market and arranging their daily stock. Students went by going up to the law school, or down to the Sorbonne. The Boulevard was busy with trams and people going to work. - Author: Ernest Hemingway,

#32. I want viewers to relate to me on a different level, not just a sexual level. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#33. Until recently, I believed all horses were alike. They've been giant, four-footed animals with ugly dispositions and alarmingly large teeth for so long that it's a bit startling to notice how different they are from each other. Mara's mare, for instance, is a chestnut bay except for a wide white blaze down her nose that makes her seem perpetually surprised. My huge plodding mount is a dark brown near to black creature, with the most unruly mane I've ever seen. Her shaggy forelock covers her right eye and reaches almost to her mouth.
Mara's mare head-butts her in the chest. Grinning, Mara plants a kiss between her wide, dumb eyes, then murmurs something.
"Have you named her?" I ask.
"Yes! Her name is Jasmine."
I grimace. "But jasmine is such a sweet, pretty flower."
Mara laughs. "Have you named yours?"
"Her name is Horse."
She rolls her eyes. "If you want to get along with your mount you have to learn each others' languages. That means starting with a good name."
"All right." I pretend to consider. "What about Imbecile? Or Poops A Lot? - Author: Rae Carson

#34. I did a film which was considered an independent movie with Dustin Hoffman and Andy Garcia called Confidence, and that's the type of film I was willing to take a chance on that because of the caliber of people involved with the film. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#35. Andrew followed the direction of her elegant hand and was surprised to see that there was, indeed, a woman in the garden below. "Yes?" He turned toward Vivien and found she was holding out a spyglass for him. "Look a little closer, you could hardly see any detail of her from all the way up here." He tilted his head in increasing confusion. "Vivien - " "Please," she insisted, her tone firm.

With a grunt, Andrew took the glass from her hand and peered through the viewer to the young woman below. As he focused on her face, his breath caught. She was utterly lovely. Chestnut locks framed a face with high cheekbones and full lips, not to mention china-blue eyes that lit up with delight as she paused to sniff this flower or that. Her clothing was well-worn, but when she twisted to observe her surroundings, it accentuated soft curves. Andrew shifted as a most unfamiliar feeling began to stir his loins. Desire, hot and powerful, pumped through his veins, and he lowered the spyglass in shock. He hadn't had such a strong reaction to a woman in years.

"I assume you like what you see," Vivien said softly. Andrew clenched his teeth. There was no hiding the swelling of his cock through the tight breeches he wore, and Vivien was too aware of such things not to notice. "She is, obviously, very pretty," he said coolly as he handed the glass back to Vivien and turned away. He tried to think of anything, anyone, that might force the inconvenient blood upward. "She is look - Author: Jess Michaels

#36. A lot of times, women don't get the male perspective in regards to a relationship, what men go through when they're not really dealing well. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#37. A few flat clouds folded themselves like crepes over fillings of apricot sky. Pompadours of supper-time smoke billowed from chimneys, separating into girlish pigtails as the breeze combed them out, above the slate rooftops. Chestnut blossoms, weary from having been admired all day, wore faint smiles of anticipation. - Author: Tom Robbins

#38. If the day comes when our descendants can venture with wonder into chestnut forests, we will have gained back more than a perfect tree. We will have gained a new reason for hope. - Author: Susan Freinkel

#39. Knowledge about the process being modeled starts fairly low, then increases as understanding is obtained and tapers off to a high value at the end. - Author: Harold Chestnut

#40. You go from movies where you are wearing nice clothes and you're trying to smell good to a movie where you are in water and you are wet all day, and you are dealing with that elements, it gets rough, but it was definitely something I wanted to try. - Author: Morris Chestnut

#41. But out under the Moon, Chestnut Ridge and Cheat behind them, and Monongahela to cross, into an Overture of meadow to the Horizon, low-lands become to them a dream whilst under a Spell, the way it gives back the Light, the way it withholds its Shadows, - who might not come to believe in an Eternal West? In a Momentum that bears all away? "Men are remov'd by it, and women, from where they were, - as if surrender'd to a great current of Westering. You will hear of gold cities, marble cities, men that fly, women that fight, fantastickal creatures never dream'd in Europe, - something always to take and draw you that way, - Author: Thomas Pynchon

#42. I am not responsible for the successful working of the machinery of society. I am not the son of the engineer. I perceive that, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a plant cannot live according to nature, it dies; and so a man. - Author: Henry David Thoreau

#43. It is a sunny fall afternoon and I'm engaged in one of my favorite pastimes - picking chestnuts. I'm playing alone under the spreading, leafy, protective tree. My mother is sitting on a bench nearby, rocking the buggy in which my sister is asleep. The city, beyond the lacy wall of trees, is humming with gentle noises. The sun has just passed its highest point and is warming me with intense, oblique rays. I pick up a reddish brown chestnut, and suddenly, through its warm skin, I feel the beat as if of a heart. But the beat is also in everything around me, and everything pulsates and shimmers as if it were coursing with the blood of life. Stooping under the tree, I'm holding life in my hand, and I am in the center of a harmonious, vibrating transparency. For that moment, I know everything there is to know. I have stumbled into the very center of plenitude, and I hold myself still with fulfillment, before the knowledge of my knowledge escapes me. - Author: Eva Hoffman

#44. When I turned to climb the third wave, I saw at my feet a small leaf, perhaps an inch long, pointed, withered to bright chestnut but still smooth. It was supported above the soil in the grey points of short grasses which did not bend beneath its weightlessness. It was curved in all three planes. Fibrous veins displayed its structure. It was quite still. And as I watched its stillness spread; first to me. I wanted not to move by a hair's breadth. Lest the bond between it and me should break. The stillness spread to the grass around us. It encompassed the hill. The beech wood became attendant on it. The whole valley slowly filled with it. The leaf, and I its participant, had drawn the mileswide landscape into an attentive, breathless synthesis ... there was no movement, no sound and no distinction or identifying of parts in all that had been there united. For there was no 'I' that gazed ... through that tiny gateway I became one with what was boundless. - Author: Geoffrey Vickers

#45. Lincoln characterized Stephen Douglas's argument as "a specious and fantastic arrangement of words, by which a man can prove a horse chestnut to be a chestnut horse. - Author: Abraham Lincoln

#46. Gawd, he thought furiously, he hadn't expected it to be like this. Just a lousy walk down the yard to give a carrot to the gangly chestnut. Guilt and fear and treachery. They bypassed his sneering mind and erupted through his nerves instead. - Author: Dick Francis

#47. I could not help reflecting that the bullet which had struck the chestnut [horse] had certainly passed within a foot of my head. So at any rate I had been 'under fire.' That was something. - Author: Winston Churchill

#48. Superfluity was the only relationship I could establish between these trees, these hedges, these paths. Vainly I strove to compute the number of the chestnut trees, or their distance from the Velleda, or their height as compared with that of the plane trees; each of them escaped from the pattern I made for it, overflowed from it or withdrew. And I too among them, vile, languorous, obscene, chewing the cud of my thoughts, I too was superfluous. [I is you or I or anyone.] Luckily I did not feel it, I only understood it, but I felt uncomfortable because I was afraid of feeling it. . . . I thought vaguely of doing away with myself, to do away with at least one of these superfluous existences. But my death – my corpse, my blood poured out on this gravel, among these plants, in this smiling garden – would have been superfluous as well. I was superfluous to all eternity. - Author: Jean-Paul Sartre

#49. His hair, at first glance, appears merely dark, but upon closer inspection is actually many strands of chestnut brown, gold, and black. He wears it long, for a guy, not because doing
so is "in," but because he's too busy with his many interests to remember to get it cut regularly. His eyes seem dark at first glance, as well, but are actually a kaleidoscope of
russets and mahoganies, flecked here and there with ruby and gold, like twin lakes during an Indian summer, into which you feel as if you could dive and swim forever. Nose: aquiline. Mouth: imminently kissable. Neck: aromatic - an intoxicating blend of Tide from his shirt collar, Gillette shaving foam, and Ivory soap, which together spell: my
boyfriend.
B–
Better. I would have liked more description on what exactly about his mouth you find so imminently kissable.
- C. Martinez - Author: Meg Cabot