K Dash Quotes

Most hatred is based on fear, one way or another. Yeah. I wrapped myself in anger, with a dash of hate, and at the bottom of it all was an icy center of pure terror.

She was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms. “I never thought to look in here!” she whispered excitedly. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.” “Light?” said Ron.

You know that old cliché about millions of deaths being a statistic while the loss of just one life is a tragedy? If that's true, what is it when you lose something that never even had the chance to be born? I've had lots of relationships in my time, platonic and otherwise, but the ones I think about most are those that never quite made it to term. The dashing first date who didn't call you back. The lady on the train you had that amazing conversation but never saw again. The cool neighbor kid you met the first time a week before he moved away. I guess I'm just haunted by all that potential energy. One moment, the universe presents you with this amazing opportunity for new possibilities...and then...

It's okay," he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it." "No," said Ron, "I shouldn't've --" "Forget it," Harry said. Ron grinned nervously at him. and Harry grinned back. Hermoine burst into tears. "There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told her, bewildered. "You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

Jiggery pokery!” said Harry in a fierce voice. “Hocus pocus — squiggly wiggly —” “MUUUUUUM!” howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. “MUUUUM! He’s doing you know what!

It hurts, the pain, but ask yourself this, is love worth destroying yourself over? You have an amazing amount of love in your life.” He gestured at us. “It’s enough. If Dash truly loves you, then it only makes your life fuller, but if he doesn’t, it doesn’t make your life less rich.

I have an idea.” Leo rose slowly to his feet. “Yeah? Will I like it?” Alex backed away. “Oh, I think so. It involves cuffs….” Leo grinned. “My kind of idea.” Alex’s eyes sparkled. “And you, chained to the bed.” Another step back toward the door. Leo stilled. “Just to clarify something. Where do you feature in this plan?” “I’ll be the one riding your dick,” Alex replied hoarsely. “After my tongue has had its wicked way with your arse, of course.” Fuck. The air was alive with sexual electricity. Leo was as hard as steel. “Get the cuffs from the toy box.” Alex grinned. “They’re already waiting on the bed.” And with that he took off, dashing up the stairs, laughing. Leo wasn’t far behind.

We’re supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions--” “What?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s untied voices echoed up and down the passage. “Yeah,” said Neville. “That’s how I got this one,” he pointed at a particularly deep dash in his cheek, “I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect.

He probably looks debonair and dashing when all I see is a smiling turd.

Forget it,” Harry said. Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back. Hermione burst into tears. “There’s nothing to cry about!” Harry told her, bewildered. “You two are so stupid!” she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling. “Barking mad,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Harry, c’mon, they’ll be putting up your scores. 

Right you are, Headmistress!’ wheezed Filch, who as a Squib could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.

All you need is a pinch of Grace,” I whisper, sprinkling it on the pie. “And a dash of Hope,” she follows, tossing more on top. “To make life sweeter.” I turn and press a kiss to her cheek. “And help love grow,” she whispers, kissin’ my cheek back, her tears mixin’ with my own.

We’re supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions--” “What?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s untied voices echoed up and down the passage. “Yeah,” said Neville. “That’s how I got this one,” he pointed at a particularly deep dash in his cheek, “I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect. “Alecto, Amycus’s sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drove wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being reestablished. I got this one,” he indicated another slash to his face, “for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got.” “Blimey, Neville,” said Ron, “there’s a time and a place for getting a smart mouth.” “You didn’t hear her,” said Neville. “You wouldn’t have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry.” “But they’ve used you as a knife sharpener,” said Ron, wincing slightly as they passed a lamp and Neville’s injuries were thrown into even greater relief. Neville shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.” Harry did not know what was worse, the things that Neville was saying or the matter-of-fact tone in which he said them.

I have an idea.” Leo rose slowly to his feet. “Yeah? Will I like it?” Alex backed away. “Oh, I think so. It involves cuffs….” Leo grinned. “My kind of idea.” Alex’s eyes sparkled. “And you, chained to the bed.” Another step back toward the door. Leo stilled. “Just to clarify something. Where do you feature in this plan?” “I’ll be the one riding your dick,” Alex replied hoarsely. “After my tongue has had its wicked way with your arse, of course.” Fuck. The air was alive with sexual electricity. Leo was as hard as steel. “Get the cuffs from the toy box.” Alex grinned. “They’re already waiting on the bed.” And with that he took off, dashing up the stairs, laughing. Leo wasn’t far behind.

He narrowed his eyes at me, pushed out of the booth and stomped over to the cash desk where Ash had returned and was playing a game on his mobile phone. "Sorry, sir," he echoed, dead-pan, and then added: "She is the owner." He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "And she's righ' crazy, so I wouldn't mess with her. She stabbed someone with a plastic fork just last week." "A--a plastic fork?" the man said, looking over at me nervously. "Yeah, and you would not believe the mess. A carving knife woulda made cleaner work of it." The man slapped a few coins on the counter near the cash and, clutching the remains of his paper, dashed out the door. "Thanks, Ash," I said, absently. "No probs," he said. "Chasing zombies on my phone--fair inspirational, aye?

Hey, Noah, I see you’re getting back into shape. There is a race north of Atlanta that I just heard about. Look it up. I don’t know if you can do it, but if you can, I’d love to do it with you,” he said. I told him I would check it out and call him back. I looked it up online and found out it was a Warrior Dash 5K. People dress up to run the course full of easy obstacles and a lot of mud. It looked really fun. It was even a Scottish event, and the Galloways are Scottish. I called Jerry back immediately. I was all in on this! “This is awesome. Let’s do it! And if we do it, let’s grow full beards and wear kilts. I’ll find the kilts.” To date, this was the only time Jerry’s wife let him grow a beard. We spent three months growing our beards and then showed up at this race in our kilts along with twenty thousand other people.

Like, where's he really from?" Eden crumples the napkin in her fist, her skin prickling. "Excuse me?" "Oh, you know what I mean. Is he Korean or Japanese?" A flicker of annoyance makes Eden work her jaw. "What's it matter?" "He just looks so much like that guy from that K-pop group." She snaps her fingers, straining her two brain cells for a name. "Taehung? Or Mingyu? I guess it would be alright if he's Chinese, too, but..." "You need to piss off," Eden snaps, slowly rising from her seat. "Right now." "What's your problem?" "Look, I'm going to give you the benefit of a doubt here and say that you're clearly too sauced to be thinking straight, but what you're saying is... Yeah, just ew." "I just want to know more about him." "Then how about asking for his name first?" "You're making this weird." "You handled that all on your own when you asked where he was really from.

Open the Garage Door, Hal Talking gadgets are great at taking my orders. The trick is remembering that I'm still human ILLUSTRATION BY TOMASZ WALENTA FOR TIME; GETTY IMAGES (3) Joel Stein | 820 words Soon, no one will type. I know this because in science-fiction movies people communicate with devices by talking, which is the natural means of communication for all human beings throughout history other than my lovely wife Cassandra's extended family. Being a rare person who is aware of technological change and yet still somehow chooses to work for a newsmagazine, I felt it was my responsibility to test your future for you by amassing voice-controlled gadgets. I went to my deck, turned on my Lynx SmartGrill and said, "SmartGrill, cook scallops." It announced when it finished heating, directed me to place the scallops on the grill, told me when to flip them, informed me when to remove them and, I'm sure, annoyed my neighbors. I ordered the scallops by speaking to my Amazon Dash, a handheld stick that made a list of groceries to be delivered by AmazonFresh. I dictated emails on my iPhone while driving and told Siri to text Cassandra that I loved her since I knew she might eventually see that first paragraph. Talking into my LG Watch Urbane made me seem so powerful--allowing me, for instance, to control the temperature on my Nest thermostat just by giving an order to my wrist--that I immediately wanted to use it for evil, like making my house a tiny bit cooler than Cassandra likes. When the actress Lauren Weedman came by for a Memorial Day barbecue, I said to my watch, "O.K. Google, show me pictures of Lauren Weedman," knowing that her 5-year-old son was in front of us and that every image search of every actress always includes shots of her naked. Even though she was fully clothed in the photos that appeared, I later looked up a bunch of other actresses to make sure the watch worked, and it totally did. But my favorite thing to talk to is Amazon Echo, a tower-shaped speaker that is a much more useful,

they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it. “Seats a hundred thousand,” said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry’s face. “Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they’ve suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again . . . bless them,” he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards. “Prime seats!” said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. “Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go.” The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple.

Because avoiding the things that hurt us doesn’t fix us,” I told her. “There’s only so long you can hide from life. Don’t worry about being enough for Prince Dash. Worry about being enough for you. In the end, that’s what counts. He or someone else will love you more for that.

Might be a caution,’ said Mr Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. ‘Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone?’ ‘I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,’ said Mr Diggory, ‘but they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any casualties.’ ‘All right, I’m off,’ Mr Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again. Mr Diggory’s head looked around at Mrs Weasley.

Bring up your favorite search engine, and type in g-e-n-e-a-l-o-g-y (without the dashes), and have fun.

Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside. ‘You look troubled, young Potter,’ said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet. ‘So do you,’ said Harry. ‘Ah,’ Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, ‘a matter of no importance … it’s not as though I really wanted to join … thought I’d apply, but apparently I “don’t fulfil requirements”.’ In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. ‘But you would think, wouldn’t you,’ he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, ‘that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?

hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle-Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they’ve suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again … Bless them,’ he added fondly, leading the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards. ‘Prime seats!’ said the Ministry

K’Dash’s personal guard, the Russian blue twins.

The time has arrived for the meal to begin, so you dash to your chair with a flair and a grin. And the hot giblet gravy brings loud “oohs” and “ahs,” but the sight of the turkey draws a round of applause. Then all heads are lowered, as you join in a prayer, giving thanks for your blessings and the gifts waiting there. And with grace at an end, you whisper, “Amen.

1 cup mayonnaise 1 teaspoon chopped Chives 1 teaspoon Tarragon 1 teaspoon Chervil 1 chopped gherkin 1 teaspoon capers dash cayenne 1 chopped olive prepared mustard to taste (optional) wine vinegar to taste Mix all ingredients except vinegar, then put that in slowly until the proper tartness is obtained. Approximately 1 tablespoon will be necessary.

quest. But they were all looking at me like I was crazy or something. If only I could show them my screen… I thought to myself. “The last archer skill is fall back,” said Jakey. “This skill allows the archer to retreat swiftly from danger. It’s basically a quick backward dash that makes the archer invincible during the movement.” “Another useful skill,” said PM4K. “I think this is my favorite class.” “It’s definitely a fun class. I had to think long and hard about which

Someone told me once that it’s not about the birth date and the death date, it’s about the dash in the middle.

I've had a lot of relationships in my time, platonic or otherwise, but the ones I think about most are those that never quite made it to term. The dashing first date who didn't call you back. The lady on the train you had that amazing conversation with but never saw again. The cool neighbor kid you met the first time a week before he moved away. I guess I'm haunted by all that potential energy.

O.K., let's go." And again, cheers rang through Southwick House. Then the commanders rushed from their chairs and dashed outside to get to their command posts. Within thirty seconds the mess room was empty, except for Eisenhower, The outflow of the others and his sudden isolation were symbolic. A minute earlier he had been the most powerful man in the world. Upon his word the fate of thousands of men depended, and the future of great nations. The moment he uttered the word, however, he was powerless. For the next two or three days, there was almost nothing he could do that would in any way change anything. The invasion could not be stopped, not by him, not by anyone. A captain leading his company onto Omaha, or a platoon sergeant at Utah, would for the immediate future play a greater role than Eisenhower. He could now only sit and wait.

Runaways are the foundation for what air scent dogs do – it’s a chain of behavior we start with puppies from day one. In short, the handler holds the dog while another person runs away and hides a short distance away. The dog is released with a “go find” command, locates the subject, returns to the handler, and does a trained final response (TFR) such as a bark, jump, or tug to communicate that he has found a subject. “Show me!” shouts the handler, who then sprints after the dog, who has already whirled and is now dashing madly back to the lost person. Upon arrival, the dog’s favorite toy magically appears, a big party ensues, and the handler and training subject yip and yell to excite and reward the K9.

I'll tell you what, you fellows," said the sprawling gentleman, confidentially, while Evan's agonized ears heard behind him the first paces of the pursuit, "if you really are, as you say, in a hurry, I know what it is to be in a hurry--Lord, what a hurry I was in when we all came out of Cartwright's rooms--if you really are in a hurry"--and he seemed to steady his voice into a sort of solemnity--"if you are in a hurry, there's nothing like a good yacht for a man in a hurry." "No doubt you're right," said MacIan, and dashed past him in despair. The head of the pursuing host was just showing over the top of the hill behind him. Turnbull had already ducked under the intoxicated gentleman's elbow and fled far in front. "No, but look here," said Mr. Wilkinson, enthusiastically running after MacIan and catching him by the sleeve of his coat. "If you want to hurry you should take a yacht, and if"--he said, with a burst of rationality, like one leaping to a further point in logic--"if you want a yacht--you can have mine.

Triple hell no, with a dash of eat a dick for flavor. I

that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived for the match riding dragons. He was flying at breakneck speed, trying to avoid a spurt of flames from Malfoy’s steed’s mouth, when he realized he had forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air and woke with a start. It was a few seconds before Harry remembered that the match hadn’t taken place yet, that he was safe in bed, and that the Slytherin team definitely wouldn’t be allowed to play on dragons. He was feeling very thirsty. Quietly as he could, he got out of his four-poster and went to pour himself some water from the silver jug beneath the window. The grounds were still and quiet. No breath of wind disturbed the treetops in the Forbidden Forest; the Whomping Willow was motionless and innocent-looking. It looked as though the conditions for the match would be perfect. Harry set down his goblet and was about to turn back to his bed when something caught his eye. An animal of some kind was prowling across the silvery lawn. Harry dashed to his bedside table, snatched up his glasses, and put them on, then hurried back to the window. It couldn’t be the Grim — not now — not right before the match — He peered out at the grounds again and, after a minute’s frantic searching, spotted it. It was skirting the edge of the forest now. . . . It wasn’t the Grim at all . . . it was a cat. . . . Harry clutched the window ledge in relief as he recognized the bottlebrush

A guy like Tracy could probably get elected chief of police on the basis of his dashing reflection in the fun-house mirror. In the comic business they call that the power of make believe. In our nation’s capital, they call it politics.

Why’re you staring at the hedge?’ he said suspiciously. ‘I’m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire,’ said Harry. Dudley stumbled backwards at once, a look of panic on his fat face. ‘You c-can’t – Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic – he said he’ll chuck you out of the house – and you haven’t got anywhere else to go – you haven’t got any friends to take you –’ ‘Jiggery pokery!’ said Harry in a fierce voice. ‘Hocus pocus … squiggly wiggly …’ ‘MUUUUUUM!’ howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back towards the house. ‘MUUUUM! He’s doing you know what!’ Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn’t really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn’t eat again until he’d finished.