A Yearbook Quotes

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It is better to be respected than it is to be popular. Popularity ends on yearbook day, but respect lasts forever.
John Bytheway
Your hand fits in mine Like it's made just for me But bear this in mind It was meant to be And I'm joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks And it all makes sense to me
Zayn Malik (Take Me Home Yearbook)
There are two kinds of people in this world: those who know where their high school yearbook is and those who do not.
Sloane Crosley (I Was Told There'd Be Cake: Essays)
I've tried to ask myself Should I see someone else? I wish I knew the answer.
Niall Horan (Take Me Home Yearbook)
I look at the field, and I think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that these are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody's dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think that their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are. I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me.
Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower)
Popularity ends on yearbook day-Respect stays forever.
John Bytheway (You're Gonna Make It)
Suddenly, it's all too much. Bryn and the bump watch. Vanessa with my high school yearbook. The idea that nothing's sacred. Everything's fodder. That my life belongs to anyone but me.
Gayle Forman (Where She Went (If I Stay, #2))
The wonderful thing about a yearbook photo is that everyone shares the moment with you . . . forever.
Jay Asher (Thirteen Reasons Why)
Is it? Because that picture of me was taken by my old school's yearbook club, and they put it in the section titled 'STUDENT FAILSAUCES! XD. What's an XD? A sideways laughing face of horrendous proportions. Don't change the subject.
Sara Wolf (Lovely Vicious (Lovely Vicious, #1))
Never quit, but sometimes do quit, ’cause you simply might not be that good at some shit.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
I am tortured too. I am tortured by belly fat and magazine covers about how to please everyone but myself. I am tortured by sheep who click on anything that will guarantee a ten-pound loss in one week. Sheep who will get on their knees if it means someone will like them more. I am tortured by my inability to want to hang out with desperate sheep. I am tortured by goddamned yearbooks full of bullshit. I met you when. I’ll miss the times. I’ll keep in touch. Best friends forever. Is this okay? Are you all right? Are you tortured too?
A.S. King (Glory O Brien's History of the Future)
oh, my God," I whispered. "But how did they get my photo? Alex tapped his mouth with his thumb. "That ...book with everyone's picture in it, that you have in high school." "Yearbook," I said. Was he trying to be funny? But of course he was right; that's exactly where it was from.
L.A. Weatherly
My mom shows me her old yearbooks, and there are tons of people in there she doesn't talk to anymore. Old boyfriends, best friends… What do you think happened to them?" "Maybe they drifted apart." "That's stupid. You don't drift, not if someone matters to you." "So maybe they didn't matter, not really." "Anna?" "Yeah?" "I'd never do that. Leave you." "I know. Me either.
Abigail Haas (Dangerous Girls)
I had taken the photograph from afar (distance being the basic glitch in our relationship), using my Nikon and zoom lens while hiding behind a fake marble pillar. I was hiding because if he knew I'd been secretly photographing him for all these months he would think I was immature, neurotic and obsessive. I'm not. I'm an artist. Artists are always misunderstood.(Thwonk)
Joan Bauer
I also feared boredom and mediocrity much more than I feared failure. For me, great is better than terrible, and terrible is better than mediocre, because terrible at least gives life flavor. The high school yearbook quote my friends chose for me was from Thoreau: “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
Ray Dalio (Principles: Life and Work)
Emira realized that Briar probably didn't know how to say good-bye because she never had to do it before. But whether she said good-bye or not, Briar was about to become a person who existed without Emira. She'd go to sleepovers with girls she met at school, and she'd have certain words that she'd always forget how to spell. She'd be a person who sometimes said things like, "Seriously?" or "That's so funny" and she'd ask a friend if this was her water or theirs. Briar would say good-bye in yearbook signatures and through heartbroken tears and through emails and over the phone. But she'd never say good-bye to Emira, which made it seem that Emira would never be completely free from her. For the rest of her life and for zero dollars an hour, Emira would always be Briar's sitter.
Kiley Reid (Such a Fun Age)
In my high school yearbook I was voted third runner-up for “Most Casual.” I never figured out if that meant most casual in dress or in overall manner. In any case, I didn’t come in first. I guess the two ahead of me wanted it less.
Amy Poehler (Yes Please)
If you’re not scared, then it’s not courage.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
I had learned how to leave a place behind without leaving a piece of myself along with it, but more important, I had taught myself how to be detached. I never joined teams or clubs, and I doubted my picture appeared in a single yearbook. I was, in a way, a ghost: no one could prove I had ever existed once I physically left a location.
Mara Purnhagen (Past Midnight (Past Midnight, #1))
I, um, I read what you wrote in my yearbook. In my defense, it was tomorrow, and I thought you hated me. But I’m in love with you, Neil McNair -Neil Perlman- and I think maybe I’ve been in love with you for a long time. It just took my brain a while to catch up to my heart. I don’t know how I missed it, but you are pretty fucking great.
Rachel Lynn Solomon (Today Tonight Tomorrow)
Bookaholics are the ones who start to feel uncomfortable and uneasy in another person’s house, and suddenly realize there are no bookshelves or magazines lying around. People who only own a telephone book and their high school yearbooks scare us.
Robert Lee Hadden
You go through life thinking there's so much you need. Your favorite jeans and sweater. The jacket with the faux-fur lining to keep you warm. Your phone and your music and your favorite books. Mascara. Irish breakfast tea and cappuccinos from Trouble Coffee. You need your yearbooks, every stiffly posed school-dance photo, the notes your friends slipped into your locker. You need the camera you got for your sixteenth birthday and the flowers you dried. You need your notebooks full of the things you learned and don't want to forget. You need your bedspread, white with black diamonds. You need your pillow - it fits the way you sleep. You need magazines promising self-improvement. You need your running shoes and your sandals and your boots. Your grade report from the semester you got straight As. Your prom dress, your shiny earrings, your pendants on delicate chains. You need your underwear, your light-colored bras and your black ones. The dream catcher hanging above your bed. The dozens and dozens of shells in glass jars... You think you need all of it. Until you leave with only your phone, your wallet, and a picture of your mother.
Nina LaCour (We Are Okay)
That the end of childhood is when you realize adults don’t really know what they’re doing.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Perseus Jackson, I do expect you to refrain from causing any more trouble. " "Trouble?" I demanded. Dionysus snapped his fingers. A newspaper appeared on the table-the front page of today's New York Post, There was my yearbook picture from Meriwether Prep. It was hard for me to make out the headline, but I had a pretty good guess what it said. Something like: ...Perseus Jackson, I do expect you to refrain from causing any more trouble. " "Trouble?" I demanded. Dionysus snapped his fingers. A newspaper appeared on the table-the front page of today's New York Post, There was my yearbook picture from Meriwether Prep. It was hard for me to make out the headline, but I had a pretty good guess what it said. Something like: Thirteen- Year-Old Lunatic Torches Gymnasium.
Rick Riordan (The Sea of Monsters (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #2))
I taught Leah how to tell where we were in the Campo by using her sense of smell. The south side was glazed with the smell of slain fish and no amount of water or broom-work could ever eliminate the tincture of ammonia scenting that part of the piazza. The fish had written their names in those stones. But so had the young lambs and the coffee beans and torn arugula and the glistening tiers of citrus and the bread baking that produced a golden brown perfume from the great ovens. I whispered to Leah that a sense of smell was better than a yearbook for imprinting the delicate graffiti of time in the memory.
Pat Conroy (Beach Music)
In ’97, we were fifteen and our counselors were seventeen, which, again, is like entrusting a kitten to a ferret.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Remind yourself it’s better to be lonely than hurt. It’s better to be alone than in a room full of people who can turn on you.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
For myself I would desire a combination of old romance and modern machinery.
Flora Thompson (The Peverel Papers: A Yearbook Of The Countryside)
The wonderful thing about a yearbook photo is that everyone shares the moment with you ... Forever
Jay Asher
I was not a cute teenager. I was not graceful, bubbly, or precocious. I did not cheerlead, work on the yearbook, organize spirit rallies, or plan dance-offs between opposing gangs of sexy brooding outsiders.
Aisha Tyler (Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation)
Who was she in high school? Little Miss Nobody. She could have embroidered it on her sweaters, tattooed it across her forehead. And in small letters: i am shit, i am anonymous, step on me. please. She wasn't voted Most Humorous in her high school yearbook or Best Dancer or Most Likely to Succeed, and she wasn't in the band or Spanish Club and when her ten year reunion rolled around nobody would recognize her or have a single memory to share.
T. Coraghessan Boyle (Drop City)
Stevens, who knew that mouth could do more thana rgue? You're a true blue friend, a red-hot lady and all that other good yearbook shit. You've got a big heart and I've got an even bigger...you know. So we're both winners. KG
Robin Wasserman (Greed (Seven Deadly Sins, #7))
Bubby: All my friends are dying! The bastards! Don't they know I want to play mah-jongg?!
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Just keep telling the truth, Paige,” he said. “I know it’s hurting, but it’s working.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
That's the thing about choices. They're an act of knowledge, of faith, of love. It's how we make them that sets us apart, because every single day, worlds are colliding, and our choices shape so much more than just our own story. And if we want to change this world for the better, then we must be the best possible version of ourselves, because who we are in each moment is a gift to the universe. This is what the present is: when the sum of one person's past meets a world's collective future.
Sarah Ayoub (The Yearbook Committee)
In our yearbook, there is a picture of me and Miah - sitting in Central Park - Miah has his lips poked out and is about to kiss me on my cheek. And I'm looking straight into the camera laughing. Two and half years have passed, and still, this is how I remember us. This is how I will always remember us. And I know when I look at that picture, when I think back to those few months with Miah, that I did not miss the moment.
Jacqueline Woodson (If You Come Softly)
Because [my grandparents] grew up in the Depression, they would steal EVERYTHING. Every time we went to McDonald's, they would empty the napkin dispenser and put them in a giant box that my grandfather kept in his van. If we were out at dinner and you heard my Bubby say, "Oh, this is a nice plate," you knew the next time you ate at their place, you'd be eating off that plate, because she straight jacked that shit. Knives, forks, you name it, they swiped it.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Sometimes it only takes one person to tell you a different story. A person you love and respect.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
It hadn’t felt safe. Then I told my story, and now I did.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Sweet is highly overrated." So is responsible, loyal, and every other adjective you'd find scrawled in my yearbook.
Jeanne Ryan (Nerve)
Make your yearbook picture memorable because, as my science teacher says, “Your grandkids have to laugh at something.
Maya Van Wagenen (Popular: Vintage Wisdom for a Modern Geek)
We need shoes, sunblock, exercise, toilet paper—and weed.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Well, the weird thing about people,” polly said, “it’s, so very often, they’d rather feel important than feel happy.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Flora hadn't signed my yearbook. When I got it back from the cheerleaders, I skimmed over the last few pages and saw that every one of them signed except for her. I was disappointed but I wasn't surprised. We were too much of everything to be summed up in a few sentences. -Sean Foster
rainbowbrook (Kissing Is the Easy Part)
Maybe that’s why Jews are Jewish. It’s more vague and casts a wider net than other religions. “I’m a Hindu.” “I’m a Muslim.” “I’m Jew…ish.” Less commitment is involved when “ish” is in the mix.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Jody had watched other classmates, including many in college prep, enter such a life with an impatient fatalism. They got pregnant or arrested or simply dropped out. Some boys, more defiant, filled the junkyards with crushed metal. Crosses garlanded with flowers and keepsakes marked roadsides where they'd died. You could see it coming in the smirking yearbook photos they'd left behind.
Ron Rash (Nothing Gold Can Stay: Stories)
I had been kissed once by someone I liked. His name was Ray and he was Indian. He had an accent and was dark. I wasn't supposed to like him. Clarissa called his large eyes, with their half closed lids, "freak-a-delic," but he was nice and smart and helped me cheat on my algebra exam while pretending he hadn't. He kissed me by my locker the day before we turned in our photos for the yearbook. When the yearbook came out at the end of the summer, I saw that under his picture he had answered the standard "My heart belongs to" with "Susie Salmon." I guess he had had plans. I remember his lips were chapped.
Alice Sebold (The Lovely Bones)
Then let’s do this.” He opened the door and hopped out. “Just, if things get to be too much around here, remember your safe word.” Park smiled and followed him toward the front door. “Right. What was it again?” “‘Safe word.’” “Ah. Nice, easy, and just a little bit subversive.” “My yearbook quote.” “What, easy or—
Charlie Adhara (The Wolf at Bay (Big Bad Wolf, #2))
In my high school yearbook there is a note from a girl who wrote, 'I like you even though you are very mean.' I do not remember the girl who wrote this note. I do not remember being mean to her, or to anyone, for that matter. I do remember that I was feral in high school, socially awkward, emotionally closed off, completely lost. Or maybe I don't want to remember being mean because I've changed in the twenty years between then and now. Around my junior year, I went from being quiet and withdrawn to being mean, where mean was saying exactly what I thought and making sarcastic comments relentlessly. Sincerity was dead to me.
Roxane Gay (Bad Feminist)
They also have an amazing seafood tower. I love a seafood tower and think more food should be served in tower formation. Sometimes pizzas get a little platform, but they’re really not living up to their potential.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
I missed him desperately, even though he’d said he hated me, even though his anger—the rampage at his house, the X through his yearbook page, the cruel way he withdrew from everyone—scared me. I didn’t care if he wasn’t my boyfriend, or even my friend. He was my Jonah. I felt more alone without him now than I’d ever felt before I met him. My life had a hole in it.
Natalie Standiford (How to Say Goodbye in Robot)
Eventually he begins to practice his new signature in the margins of the paper. He tries it in various styles, his hand unaccustomed to the angles of the N, the dotting of the two i's. He wonders how many times he has written his old name, at the top of how many tests and quizzes, how many homework assignments, how many yearbook inscriptions to friends. How many times does a person write his name in a lifetime - a million? Two million?
Jhumpa Lahiri (The Namesake)
...and David Wallace blinks in the midst of idly scanning class photos from his 1980 Aurora West H.S. yearbook and seeing my photo and trying, through the tiny little keyhole of himself, to imagine what all must have happened to lead up to my death in the fiery single-car accident he'd read about in 1991...
David Foster Wallace (Oblivion: Stories)
Once I ate a weed lollipop at the Golden Globes and got so high, I had to leave early.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
There’s nothing more fun than reading a terrible review of your movie in USA Today on your phone as you walk into an interview with a journalist from USA Today.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Whatever Disneyland is for kids who like cartoons is what Burning Man is to adults who like hallucinogens.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
My dad is from Newark, New Jersey. He somehow manages to be simultaneously bald and always in dire need of a haircut.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Will you finally sign my yearbook now?” he asks when we quiet down. “I have to have a Rowan Roth autograph for when you get famous.
Rachel Lynn Solomon (Today Tonight Tomorrow)
If you don’t say anything bad about other people, it is less likely that they will say bad things about you.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
There was a smell, a musty one that made you feel smarter and the need to talk quietly.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Then I think about Photoshopping a picture of Wolf and me together in the yearbook: Best Couple.In your face, mysterious ponytailed wench.
Alecia Whitaker (The Queen of Kentucky)
I’ll pray for good semen. And I’ll get all of my friends to pray for good semen.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
The pimple is perfect.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
You deserve good sperm. You’ve waited a long time.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Gina. You were my dream. You’ve always been my dream. Don’t you see? You were always more important to me than baseball – than anything.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
What kind of work do you do,” I asked. “Promise you won’t laugh?” “Promise.” “I’m a proctologist.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed a little. “An ass doctor?
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
Do you remember the time, Mike,” Jeremy laughed, “that you put a banana down your pants and walked up to the Palma-nator. It looked like you had one hell of a hard-on.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
I was just thinking that he might be willing. It’s not like he needs his semen.
Buffy Andrews
The sight washed over me like a damn wave that you never see coming until it’s too late and you’re face down eating sand.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
Popularity ends on Yearbook day, but respect lasts forever.
John Bytheway
But sir, I'm seventeen," I reply bluntly. "I'm genetically programmed to want to make statements.
Sarah Ayoub (The Yearbook Committee)
Please, God, please, don't let me be normal! (high school yearbook)
Sigourney Alexandra Weaver
I’d been playing a game that was impossible to win. For a prize that didn’t exist.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
People always believe they're nice in their own heads, that's what makes it so scary when you look at the state of the world.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Your Lexicon is exceedingly impressive." "Listen back to that last sentence, you literary show-off." "I have no idea what you mean.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Their strong appearances of disinterest were unnerving in contrast with the old CCTS yearbook pictures of African American children involved in debating, drama, literacy clubs, and so forth.
Vanessa Siddle Walker (Their Highest Potential: An African American School Community in the Segregated South)
As I drove out the wrought iron gates I had entered, I noticed for the first time how intricate and beautiful they were. They were forged by hand so many years ago and had stood the test of time.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
Yes, I prosecute bastards like him, make them pay for what they did to innocent victims who can’t fight for themselves. And every time I win a case, I not only win for the victim, but also for me.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
I asked Hillary why she had chosen Yale Law School over Harvard. She laughed and said, "Harvard didn't want me." I said I was sorry that Harvard turned her down. She replied, "No, I received letters of acceptance from both schools." She explained that a boyfriend had then invited her to the Harvard Law School Christmas Dance, at which several Harvard Law School professors were in attendance. She asked one for advice about which law school to attend. The professor looked at her and said, "We have about as many woen as we need here. You should go to Yale. The teaching there is more suited to women." I asked who the professor was, and she told me she couldn't remember his name but that she thought it started with a B. A few days later, we met the Clintons at a party. I came prepared with yearbook photos of all the professors from that year whose name began with B. She immediately identified the culprit. He was the same professor who had given my A student a D, because she didn't "think like a lawyer." It turned out, of course, that it was this professor -- and not the two (and no doubt more) brilliant women he was prejudiced against - who didn't think like a lawyer. Lawyers are supposed to act on the evidence, rather than on their prejudgments. The sexist professor ultimately became a judge on the International Court of Justice. I told Hillary that it was too bad I wasn't at that Christmas dance, because I would have urged her to come to Harvard. She laughed, turned to her husband, and said, "But then I wouldn't have met him... and he wouldn't have become President.
Alan M. Dershowitz
Carmack was of the moment. His ruling force was focus. Time existed for him not in some promising future or sentimental past but in the present condition, the intricate web ol problems and solutions, imagination and code. He kept nothing from the past–no pictures, no records, no games, no computer disks. He didn’t even save copies of his first games, Wraith and Shadowforge. There was no yearbook to remind of his time at Shadowforge. There was no yearbook to remind of his time at school, no magazine copies of his early publications. He kept nothing but what he needed at the time. His bedroom consisted of a lamp, a pillow, a blanket, and a stack of books. There was no mattress. All he brought with him from home was a cat named Mitzi (a gift from his stepfamily) with a mean streak and a reckless bladder.
David Kushner (Masters of Doom: How Two Guys Created an Empire and Transformed Pop Culture)
Artoo. Maybe you didn’t do everything on that list, but you did a lot. You were president of three clubs, editor of the yearbook, copresident of student council...’ The smirk returns as he adds: ‘...salutatorian.
Rachel Lynn Solomon (Today Tonight Tomorrow)
I’ve thought about starting a business where I sell prosthetic foreskins to Jews so they can feel what it would have been like to have non-Jew junk. It would be called Gentile Genitals and it would make a fortune.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Baby girl, this is your mother. I know I’ve given you explicit instructions to trace this into your yearbook, but they’re my words. That means this is from me, my heart, and my love for you. There’s so many things I want to say to you, things I want you to hear, to know, but let’s start with the reason I’m having you put these words in your senior yearbook. First of all, this book is everything. It may be pictures, some names of people you won’t remember in five years, ten years, or longer, but this book is more important than you can imagine. It’s the first book that’s the culmination of your first chapter in life. You will have many. So many! But this book is the physical manifestation of your first part in life. Keep it. Treasure it. Whether you enjoyed school or not, it’s done. It’s in your past. These were the times you were a part of society from a child to who you are now, a young adult woman. When you leave for college, you’re continuing your education, but you’re moving onto your next chapter in life. The beginning of adulthood. This yearbook is your bridge. Keep this as a memento forever. It sums up who you grew up with. It houses images of the buildings where your mind first began to learn things, where you first began to dream, to set goals, to yearn for the road ahead. It’s so bittersweet, but those memories were your foundation to set you up for who you will become in the future. Whether they brought pain or happiness, it’s important not to forget. From here, you will go on and you will learn the growing pains of becoming an adult. You will refine your dreams. You will set new limits. Change your mind. You will hurt. You will laugh. You will cry, but the most important is that you will grow. Always, always grow, honey. Challenge yourself. Put yourself in uncomfortable situations (BUT BE SAFE!) and push yourself not to think about yourself, your friends, your family, but to think about the world. Think about others. Understand others, and if you can’t understand, then learn more about them. It’s so very important. Once you have the key to understanding why someone else hurts or dreams or survives, then you have ultimate knowledge. You have empathy. Oh, honey. As I’m writing this, I can see you on the couch reading a book. You are so very beautiful, but you are so very humble. You don’t see your beauty, and I want you to see your beauty. Not just physical, but your inner kindness and soul. It’s blinding to me. That’s how truly stunning you are. Never let anyone dim your light. Here are some words I want you to know as you go through the rest of your life: Live. Learn. Love. Laugh. And, honey, know. Just know that I am with you always.
Tijan (Enemies)
I go up to my room to change out of my dress. Sitting on the bed is my yearbook. I flip to the back of the book, and there it is, Peter’s message to me. Only, it’s not a message, it’s a contract. Lara Jean and Peter’s Amended Contract Peter will write a letter to Lara Jean once a week. A real handwritten letter, not an e-mail. Lara Jean will call Peter once a day. Preferably the last call of the night, before she goes to bed. Lara Jean will put up a picture of Peter’s choosing on her wall. Peter will keep the scrapbook out on his desk so any interested parties will see that he is taken. Peter and Lara Jean will always tell each other the truth, even when it’s hard. Peter will love Lara Jean with all his heart, always.
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
And she has been there. I know because her senior high school yearbook, the one with no Daytons, is gone from the bureau where i had left it. She's seen my things scattered about. She knows I'm still here. But she didn't wait Part of me doesn't want to give up, and makes excuses. "She'll be back =," it says. "She just didn't want to run into Aunt Ida. Now that she knows you're here..." But she knew it. Where else would I be? I have to face it: I'm not as important as some package she needs from Seattle. My presence won't bring her back.
Michael Dorris (Yellow Raft in Blue Water)
It seemed impossible, so I began seeking information. I talked with my mother. I went to visit my former first grade teacher. I started looking at a few yearbooks and reading old newspapers. I talked informally with some CCTS graduates. The comments were remarkably similar.
Vanessa Siddle Walker (Their Highest Potential: An African American School Community in the Segregated South)
The street lamps and illuminated signs were all extinguished, and on impulse everybody looked into the sky. The frogs and crickets fell quiet to the count of five before they began to sing again. The smaller stars were spread across the darkness in a fine white powder, and the brighter ones pierced the air like nail points. In Andrew Brady’s yearbook she wrote: The thing I will always remember about you is the time we were watching the film strip in Miss Applebome’s class, and the lights were out, and you sat behind me scratching my back with your fingers.
Kevin Brockmeier (The View from the Seventh Layer)
That night, after all the guests have gone, after the chairs have been stacked back up, and the leftovers put in the fridge, I go up to my room to change out of my dress. Sitting on the bed is my yearbook. I flip to the back of the book, and there it is, Peter’s message to me. Only, it’s not a message, it’s a contract. Lara Jean and Peter’s Amended Contract Peter will write a letter to Lara Jean once a week. A real handwritten letter, not an e-mail. Lara Jean will call Peter once a day. Preferably the last call of the night, before she goes to bed. Lara Jean will put up a picture of Peter’s choosing on her wall. Peter will keep the scrapbook out on his desk so any interested parties will see that he is taken. Peter and Lara Jean will always tell each other the truth, even when it’s hard. Peter will love Lara Jean with all his heart, always.
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
YO MAMA SO OLD... Yo mama so old the back of her head looks like a raisin. Yo mama so old her social security number is 1. Yo mama so old when she was a child rainbows were still in black and white. Yo mama so old when she was in school there was no history class. Yo mama so old she has a picture of Moses in her yearbook. Yo mama so old she was a crossing guard when Moses parted the red sea. Yo mama so old she was a waitress at the Last Supper. Yo mama so old she has an autographed bible. Yo mama so old she knew Mr. Clean when he had an afro. Yo mama so old she knew Gandalf before he had a beard.
Jess Franken (The 100 Best Yo Mama Jokes)
My plans for the future are to serve more and better, to worry less about the things that are unimportant, to let my wife and children know how much I love them, to openly support whatever I can see is good, to appreciate and to encourage everyone in the best way possible, and, in short, to do more of what makes life meaningful.
Norris B. Finlayson (Tree Farm Days)
One day comes after another and another and pretty soon you realize that yesterday was pretty damn long ago and that everything you had hoped for is never going to happen. You can’t control it any more than you can control that big wave from getting stronger before it nails you. All you can do is prepare and hope that when it hits, you’ll survive.
Buffy Andrews (Gina and Mike (Yearbook, #1))
Other than involving yourself with ungrateful vegetable matter, colour, vigour and fascination can be imparted into a small outdoor space by several other methods. In the 18th century, the inclusion of a hermit on one's estate was regarded as the epitome of country house style. There is absolutely no reason why today's dandy should not avail himself of the same privilege. It's a straightforward enough matter to entice a hopelessly drunk vagrant back to your premises using the simple lure of an opened bottle of wine. Once there, dress him in a bed sheet, wreathe his head in foliage and invite him to take up residence in an old barrel with the promise of unlimited alcohol, tobacco and scraps from your table in return for a sterling display of relentless solitude. Such a move not only provides the disadvantaged with ideal employment opportunities, but also enhances your reputation for stylish romanticism. Watch your friends gape in wonderment at the picturesque spectacle as your hermit sporadically peers out the top of the barrel and matters a few enigmatic words of wisdom.
Vic Darkwood Gustav Temple (The Chap Almanac: An Esoterick Yearbook For The Decadent Gentleman)
I have always noticed in high school yearbooks the similarity of all the graduate write-ups—how, after only a few pages, the identities of all the unsullied young faces blur, how one person melts into another and another: Susan likes to eat at Wendy’s; Donald was on the basketball team; Norman is vain about his varsity sweater; Gillian broke her arm on Spring Retreat; Brian is a car nut; Sue wants to live in Hawaii; Don wants to make a million and be a ski bum; Noreen wants to live in Europe; Gordon wants to be a radio deejay in Australia. At what point in our lives do we stop blurring? When do we become crisp individuals? What must we do in order to end these fuzzy identities—to clarify just who it is we really are?
Douglas Coupland (Girlfriend in a Coma)
...I began pulling out old pictures and yearbooks from our Los Angeles high schools and UC Berkeley. Suddenly there we were, thousands of trim-haired, neatly-dressed, conservative-looking youngsters, with perky, forced smiles, encased in identical inch by inch-and-a-quarter boxes for our children to snicker at. Only they did not snicker. “Mom, this isn’t the 60s, is it?
Elise Frances Miller (A Time to Cast Away Stones)
Vodka at night. Pickle juice in the morning (the best thing for a hangover). Throwing some kettlebells around between this hangover and the next one. A Russian’s day well spent. The ‘kettlebell’ or girya is a cast iron weight which looks like a basketball with a suitcase handle. It is an old Russian toy. As the 1986 Soviet Weightlifting Yearbook put it, “It is hard to find a sport that has deeper roots in the
Pavel Tsatsouline (The Russian Kettlebell Challenge: Xtreme Fitness for Hard Living Comrades)
Martin Heidegger’s challenge to Husserl came in the opening lines of a book, Sein und Zeit (Being and Time), which he published in Husserl’s own phenomenological Yearbook series in 1927. The first page contained an innocuous-seeming quotation from Plato’s dialogue The Sophist: For manifestly you have long been aware of what you mean when you use the expression ‘being’. We, however, who used to think we understood it, have now become perplexed.
Sarah Bakewell (At the Existentialist Café: Freedom, Being, and Apricot Cocktails with Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Albert Camus, Martin Heidegger, Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Others)
Late afternoon light filters in through his pale curtains, and it casts the room in a dreamy kind of filter. If I were going to name it, I would call it “summer in the suburbs.” Peter looks beautiful in this light. He looks beautiful in any light, but especially this one. I take a picture of him in my mind, just like this. Any annoyance I felt over him forgetting my yearbook melts away when he snuggles closer to me, rests his head on my chest, and says, “I can feel your heart beating.” I start playing with his hair, which I know he likes. It’s so soft for a boy. I love the smell of his detergent, his soap, everything. He looks up at me and traces the bow of my lip. “I like this part the best,” he says. Then he moves up and brushes his lips against mine, teasing me. He bites on my bottom lip playfully. I like all his different kinds of kisses, but maybe this kind best. Then he’s kissing me with urgency, like he is utterly consumed, his hands in my hair, and I think, no, these are the best. Between kisses he asks me, “How come you only ever want to hook up when we’re at my house?” “I--I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it before.” It’s true we only ever make out at Peter’s house. It feels weird to be romantic in the same bed I’ve slept in since I was a little girl. But when I’m in Peter’s bed, or in his car, I forget all about that and I’m just lost in the moment.
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
Before World War II, there was no such thing as organic food. All food was organic. Food was just food—plants, grains, meats, and dairy that we could all recognize or grow. There were no long lists of ingredients on packages that you couldn’t pronounce, much less have any idea what they did to your body or the environment. In 1938, the USDA’s Yearbook of Agriculture was called Soils and Men, and it remains a handbook of organic farming today, but back then that was the norm.
Nora Pouillon (My Organic Life: How a Pioneering Chef Helped Shape the Way We Eat Today)
I must quote from Dr. Faustus, with which the tragedy ends: "Often he talked of eternal grace, the poor man, and I don't know if it will be enough. But an understanding heart, believe me, is enough for everything." Let us understand these words correctly. They are not proud or arrogant; on the contrary they are desperately modest. We really do not know any longer whether grace is enough, precisely because we are as we are and are beginning to see ourselves as we are. But at a time of overwhelming crisis, the questionable nature of grace, or rather our knowledge that we are unworthy of grace, compels us to understand and love mankind, the fallible mankind that we ourselves are. Behind this abysmal crisis, the archetype of the Eternal Feminine as earth and as Sophia would seem to be discernible; it is no accident that these words are spoken by Frau Schweigestill, the mother. That is to say, it is precisely in chaos, in hell, that the New makes its appearance. Did not Kwanyin descend into hell rather than spend her time with the serene music makers in heaven?
Erich Neumann (Man and Time: Papers from the Eranos Yearbooks)
I tell him I’d better get going, because Margot’s coming home from Scotland tonight, and I want to stock the fridge with all her favorite foods. Peter’s face falls. “You don’t want to hang out a little longer? I can take you to the store.” “I still have to clean up the upstairs, too,” I say, standing up. He tugs on my shirt and tries to pull me back onto the bed. “Come on, five more minutes.” I lie back down next to him and he cuddles in close, but I’m still thinking about the yearbook. I’ve been working on his scrapbook for months; the least he can do is write me a nice yearbook message. “This is good practice for college,” he murmurs, pulling me toward him, wrapping his arms around me. “The beds are small at UVA. How big are the beds at UNC?” My back to him, I say, “I don’t know. I didn’t get to see the dorms.” He tucks his head in the space between my neck and shoulder. “That was a trick question,” he says, and I can feel him smile against my neck. “To check and see if you visited a random UNC guy’s dorm room with Chris. Congrats, you passed the test.” I can’t help but laugh.
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
...girl reached across her desk and pulled the computer keyboard over. “What’s his name?” she said. “Crowley,” Julianna said, surprised. “Christopher Wayne Crowley.” “I shouldn’t do this.” The girl looked back up at Genevieve and laughed. “But fuck it, right?” Genevieve's disappearance from the state fair had been news for about a day. Okay, maybe for a couple of weeks. She was beautiful—the Daily Oklahoman ran her picture with every story, a photo of her from the previous year’s U. S. Grant High School yearbook. Genevieve had thought the photo...
Lou Berney (The Long and Faraway Gone)
With only three days left of school, yearbooks arrive. There are several blank pages in the back for signatures, but everybody knows the place of honor is the back cover. Of course I’ve saved mine for Peter. I never want to forget how special this year was. My yearbook quote is “I have spread my dreams under your feet; /Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” I had a very hard time choosing between that and “Without you, today’s emotions would be the scurf of yesterday’s.” Peter was like, “I know that’s from Amélie, but what the hell is a scurf?” and honestly, he had a point. Peter let me write his. “Surprise me,” he said. As we walk through the cafeteria doors, someone holds the door for us, and Peter says, “Cheers.” Peter’s taken to saying cheers instead of thanks, which I know he learned from Ravi. It makes me smile every time. For the past month or so, the cafeteria’s been half-empty at lunch. Most of the seniors have been eating off-campus, but Peter likes the lunches his mom packs and I like our cafeteria’s french fries. But because the student council’s passing out our yearbooks today, it’s a full house. I pick up my copy and run back to the lunch table with it. I flip to his page first. There is Peter, smiling in a tuxedo. And there is his quote: “You’re welcome.” --Peter Kavinsky. Peter’s brow furrows when he sees it. “What does that even mean?” “It means, here I am, so handsome and lovely to look at.” I spread my arms out benevolently, like I am the pope. “You’re welcome.” Darrell busts out laughing, and so does Gabe, who spreads his arms out too. “You’re welcome,” they keep saying to each other. Peter shakes his head at all of us. “You guys are nuts.” Leaning forward, I kiss him on the lips. “And you love it!
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
Riley shook her head. “I married Brad after I got my Associate's degree in culinary arts. I worked in the Bakery at the same grocery store as Brad, and now I'm a stay at home mom.” She paused. “If you remember my senior yearbook, I was voted most likely to be the best mom.” “Oh, you have time yet.” Stella joked and Riley backhanded her in the ribs. “You're an awesome mom. Be glad you haven't proven anyone wrong. It's not all it's cracked up to be.” She paused. “That same yearbook said I'd be in prison with a wife named Roberta.” ~Conversation between Riley and Stella, "Sugar and Spies: Spy Sisters Book 1
Rebekah Martin
The genesis of my interest in being a writer can be traced to fourth grade when we listened to a radio production of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew and I asked the teacher if I could rewrite it for our class to present. Nothing like going head-to-head with the Bard, right? I can still visualise the pages I filled creating this first "great" literary endeavor. Encouraged by teachers (and one doting grandmother), I went on to write reams of yearbook copy in high school and college and, then, to teach high school English. My "real" writing career didn't begin until I turned from education to the full-time pursuit of storytelling.
Laura Abbot
Do you want some help?"said Liam, rising. "No, thanks." She smiled at him, the man without a past with whom she was falling in love, and shook her head. He could help her later, she thought, when she brought down the larger boxes, big box with the theater programs and school yearbooks, and the little leather case that held the fans and the sketches and the pieces of needlework. But first, she would go alone to bring down the letters it would be the last time she would have Grandma Jo to herself. "Thanks, but I want to do this on my own." "Independent family, aren't they?" Liam grumbled to Matthew, sitting down again. "You don't know the half," said Matthew.
Gabrielle Donnelly (The Little Women Letters)
There aren't many classrooms in the school basement. Most of the space is for storage and utilities. As far as student use goes, the darkroom is down there, along with yearbook and the school paper. Places that either don't require much light or are used by students so happy to be there that they don't care. The only illumination comes from the fluorescents overhead and what filters in from the hallway through the glass upper half of the doors. It usually takes me about ten minutes in French to lose my focus completely. This time,it took less.We were learning the past imperfect tense, which, as well as being completely incomprehensible in practice, in theory describes a state where every action was either left incomplete, unfulfilled, or repeated over and over.
Melissa Jensen (The Fine Art of Truth or Dare)
don’t have any real deep insight into Kanye and his current state of being or mindset other than to say I really love his music and my interactions with him have been lovely. But I’m sure a lot of people have said the same about a lot of people who have made incredibly shitty comments. I recently read about a phenomenon where everyone assumes their actions are based on love and the actions of those they disagree with are based on hate. I don’t think Kanye is hateful. I think he is grasping and struggling to make his way through life, and as painless as his experience seems like it should be, there’s no pain more painful than your own pain, and that goes for everyone, even Kanye. That said, I really wish he would shut the fuck up about all this political bullshit. That doesn’t help anything.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
began to walk home, very quickly. A car full of high-school girls screeched around the corner. They were the girls who ran all the clubs and won all the elections in Allison’s high-school class: little Lisa Leavitt; Pam McCormick, with her dark ponytail, and Ginger Herbert, who had won the Beauty Revue; Sissy Arnold, who wasn’t as pretty as the rest of them but just as popular. Their faces—like movie starlets’, universally worshiped in the lower grades—smiled from practically every page of the yearbook. There they were, triumphant, on the yellowed, floodlit turf of the football field—in cheerleader uniform, in majorette spangles, gloved and gowned for homecoming; convulsed with laughter on a carnival ride (Favorites) or tumbling elated in the back of a September haywagon (Sweethearts)—and despite the range of costume, athletic to casual to formal wear, they were like dolls whose smiles and hair-dos never changed.
Donna Tartt (The Little Friend)
I wish I had asked myself when I was younger. My path was so tracked that in my 8th-grade yearbook, one of my friends predicted— accurately— that four years later I would enter Stanford as a sophomore. And after a conventionally successful undergraduate career, I enrolled at Stanford Law School, where I competed even harder for the standard badges of success. The highest prize in a law student’s world is unambiguous: out of tens of thousands of graduates each year, only a few dozen get a Supreme Court clerkship. After clerking on a federal appeals court for a year, I was invited to interview for clerkships with Justices Kennedy and Scalia. My meetings with the Justices went well. I was so close to winning this last competition. If only I got the clerkship, I thought, I would be set for life. But I didn’t. At the time, I was devastated. In 2004, after I had built and sold PayPal, I ran into an old friend from law school who had helped me prepare my failed clerkship applications. We hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. His first question wasn’t “How are you doing?” or “Can you believe it’s been so long?” Instead, he grinned and asked: “So, Peter, aren’t you glad you didn’t get that clerkship?” With the benefit of hindsight, we both knew that winning that ultimate competition would have changed my life for the worse. Had I actually clerked on the Supreme Court, I probably would have spent my entire career taking depositions or drafting other people’s business deals instead of creating anything new. It’s hard to say how much would be different, but the opportunity costs were enormous. All Rhodes Scholars had a great future in their past. the best paths are new and untried. will this business still be around a decade from now? business is like chess. Grandmaster José Raúl Capablanca put it well: to succeed, “you must study the endgame before everything else. The few who knew what might be learned, Foolish enough to put their whole heart on show, And reveal their feelings to the crowd below, Mankind has always crucified and burned. Above all, don’t overestimate your own power as an individual. Founders are important not because they are the only ones whose work has value, but rather because a great founder can bring out the best work from everybody at his company. That we need individual founders in all their peculiarity does not mean that we are called to worship Ayn Randian “prime movers” who claim to be independent of everybody around them. In this respect, Rand was a merely half-great writer: her villains were real, but her heroes were fake. There is no Galt’s Gulch. There is no secession from society. To believe yourself invested with divine self-sufficiency is not the mark of a strong individual, but of a person who has mistaken the crowd’s worship—or jeering—for the truth. The single greatest danger for a founder is to become so certain of his own myth that he loses his mind. But an equally insidious danger for every business is to lose all sense of myth and mistake disenchantment for wisdom.
Peter Thiel (Zero to One: Notes on Startups, or How to Build the Future)
She remembers standing at her locker, hearing the whispers. Whispers about her. And about Luke. She remembers turning and seeing Dani and Lynn with a group of girls they knew from Yearbook. She remembers not understanding right away. And then Dani stared her down, eyes narrowed to slits. When Hallelujah dropped her gaze, she heard Lynn’s peal of laughter. “So anyway,” Lynn went on, “Luke said . . .” She remembers the note, in English class. “You knew I liked him.” Dani’s clean cursive. Hallelujah stared at her friend’s back. Dani didn’t turn around. And she didn’t respond to calls or emails in the weeks that followed. By winter break, Dani was dating Luke. The rumors about Hallelujah had circulated and changed and circulated again. Still, on the first day of the new semester, she mustered up the courage to say something. To warn her former friend about who Luke really was. Dani laughed in her face. Called her jealous. Luke dumped Dani in February. Dani and Lynn still refused to speak to Hallelujah. It was like they’d never been friends at all.
Kathryn Holmes
Using the Worst-Case Scenario Technique Another way to correct inaccurate expectations is to imagine what would happen if the worst possible scenario occurred. Pretend that everything has gone wrong at once. Picture all the details and then exaggerate them. As you visualize the worst situation possible, you may start to laugh. The scene will seem so ridiculous that you realize there is not the slightest chance that it will take place. Lupe used the worst-case scenario technique after deciding that she really wanted to join the yearbook committee. The students in the group met after school once a week, and Lupe felt anxious about attending her first meeting. She was certain she would clamp up when people spoke to her. The morning before the meeting, she relaxed and imagined the worst things that could happen. She pictured herself saying something and everyone ignoring her. She pictured her face getting so red that it looked like she was going to explode. Then she imagined people laughing at her, saying she didn’t belong. This exercise helped Lupe realize that her fears were unfounded. That afternoon, after a little pep talk and a few deep breaths, Lupe walked into the meeting. She was relieved that people were genuinely happy to have her there. She felt proud that she was able to be involved in a situation that she would have previously avoided.
Heather Moehn (Social Anxiety)
Where will you go if you don’t get into NYU?” he asks. “Where else?” I say. “Ole Miss, with Lucy and Morgan.” “Then Ole Miss is my backup too. Here’s the thing, Jem. I’m going wherever you’re going--whether it’s New York or Oxford. I’m not missing my chance this time.” “Why?” The word just tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “You’re going to be some kind of college superstar, whether it’s the SEC or the Ivy league. You’ll probably win a freaking Heisman.” “And you just might win an Oscar,” he counters. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Please.” “Why not? God, Jemma, you don’t even see it. How strong and smart and tenacious you are. Everything you do, you do well. I’ve never seen you put your mind to something and not come out on top. You win that trophy at cheer camp every single summer--what’s it called, the superstar award? Only three people at the whole camp get it or something like that, right?” “How’d you know about that?” “Miss Shelby told my mom. I think they put it in the yearbook, too, don’t they?” “Maybe,” I say with a shrug. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a cheerleading trophy. “And how long did it take you to win your first shooting tournament after your dad bought you that gun? Six months, tops? From what I hear, you’re the best shot in all of Magnolia Branch.” “Okay, that’s true,” I say, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. He reaches for my hand. “And then there’s those dresses you make, like the one you wore to homecoming. You take something old and make it new--turn it into something special. My mom says you and Lucy could make a fortune selling ’em, and I bet she’s right. Don’t you see? You’re not just good at the stuff you do--you’re the best. That’s just the way you are. So I have no doubt that you’re going to be some award-winning filmmaker if you put your mind to it.” My heart swells unexpectedly. “You really think that?” He nods, his dark eyes shining. “I really do.” “Tell me again why we’ve hated each other all these years?” “Because we’re both stubborn as mules?” he offers. I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’d say that about covers it.
Kristi Cook (Magnolia (Magnolia Branch, #1))
Mostly Gaylord deals with insurance scamming. He takes a car off a lot and the insurance company pays.” “That’s still stealing.” “I guess, but it’s an insurance company, and everyone hates those people.” “I don’t hate them.” “Well, you’re weird,” Lula said. “Do you like the car?” “I love the car.” “There you go. And by the way, you might want to put a dab of concealer on your nose.” Kranski’s Bar was on the corner of Mayberry Street and Ash. This was a neighborhood very similar to the Burg, but the houses were a little larger, the cars were newer, the kitchen appliances were probably stainless. I parked in the small lot beside the tavern, and Lula and I sashayed into the dim interior. Bertie was working behind the bar that stretched across the back of the room. A bunch of high-top tables were scattered around the front of the room. Two women sat at one of the tables, eating nachos and drinking martinis. At one end of the bar four men were drinking beer and watching the overhead television. I spotted Kenny Morris at the other end. He was alone, nursing what looked like whiskey. Bertie caught my eye, tilted his head toward Kenny, and I nodded back. “I guess that’s the guy you’re looking for,” Lula said. “You want to tag-team him?” “No. I just want to talk to him. I’ll go it alone.” Lula hoisted herself onto a barstool by the four men, and I approached Kenny. “Anyone sitting here?” I asked him. “No,” he said. “No one ever sits there.” “Why not?” “The television is at the other end.” “But you’re here.” “Yeah, I’m not into the team television thing.” He looked a lot like his yearbook photograph. His hair was a little longer. He was slim. Medium height. Pleasant looking. Wearing jeans and a blue dress shirt with the top button open and the sleeves rolled. He was staring at my nose with an intensity usually displayed by dermatologists during a skin cancer exam. I couldn’t blame him. I’d smeared some makeup on it, but even in the dark bar it was emitting a red glow. “It’s a condition,” I said. “It comes and goes. It’s not contagious or anything. Do you come in here often?” “Couple times a week.
Janet Evanovich (Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum, #23))
This is even more astounding to me, given that Mary herself was part of the community of Nazareth, which was full of ordinary people who held bad theology, who gossiped too much, who let political disagreements become wedges between them, and who suffered from the first-century version of taking an ancient promise ("For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord...") out of context and slapping it on every yearbook photo and Instagram post. Because even God was born into a dysfunctional family of faith, and God did not wait around for ideal conditions before showing up. We don't like to think of God being vulnerable like that, just as we often don't like to think of ourselves being vulnerable like that. We don't like to think about god needing anyone, because what good is God for us mortals, for those of us who know we need others, if God is needy too?
Rachel Held Evans (Wholehearted Faith)
In the Homestead High yearbook, 1972
Walter Isaacson (Steve Jobs)
The greatest and the most oppressive empire on earth is the Anglo-American empire. By that is meant the British Empire, of which the United States of America forms a part. It has been the commercial Jews of the British-American empire that have built up and carried on Big Business as a means of exploiting and oppressing the peoples of many nations. This fact particularly applies to the cities of London and New York, the stronghold of Big Business. This fact is so manifest in America that there is a proverb concerning the city of New York which says: 'The Jews own it, the Irish Catholics rule it, and the Americans pay the bills.
Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society (1934 Yearbook of Jehovah's Witnesses)
I didn't know if the beginning of my story was in a promising private school and a yearbook full of hope and my ending was in here, in this ruined space, letting it all go. But I was determined to accept it, perhaps debate it, and then move on to a new story. I did want things. I wanted to express myself, I wanted to get out of my dead-end job, I wanted to feel loved, I wanted to love myself. I wanted to know that this what not the end. I couldn't start a new story until I gave words to the "why?" of it, even if it hurt, even if it felt too messy, even if it wasn't the story I set out to tell. It was my story and it was all I had. I dusted myself off and left the basement.
R Eric Thomas
If only you would apply yourself.” My teachers in high school told me that so often that they decided to really drill it in by writing it in my yearbook, over and over. I was a bad student. Still am. Busywork was the bane of my existence—those little homework assignments that felt like a waste of time, that required organizational skills like Writing Down Your Assignment and Not Losing Your Handout. These were difficult tasks for me. My locker was a pile of loose papers that got more and more crinkly as the weeks went on until it looked like the inside of a recycling bin. I discovered that if you ignore something long enough, it really does go away. Literally. The papers would disintegrate. I would pass just enough tests and do enough begging to eke by with a D. Sometimes.
Andrew Peterson (Adorning the Dark: Thoughts on Community, Calling, and the Mystery of Making)
The end of childhood is when you realise that adults have no idea what the hell they're doing
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
So many people behave like they think a cinema orchestra is following them around to give them backing music, that they're the superstar of the universe...and the people who believe this way, they're the people who tend to hurt others the most. They think they're the hero of their own story, but, actually, in the pursuit of being so important, they're often the villain of everyone else's.
Holly Bourne (The Yearbook)
Cadoc does not have feelings for me. You’ll see. We’ll graduate, he’ll marry Gwyneth, and I will just be some face in the yearbook that will be completely forgotten.” “You’re not a footnote, sweetie,” she said, smiling at me the way one might if she were appeasing a child, “you’re Style.” I stared at her, certain I was hearing wrong. “Please stop comparing my life to Taylor Swift songs” “Oh please, that’s like the highest compliment I could pay you. It means your life is actually interesting, epic, like a love song.” “My life is small, and boring. I’m not worthy of being compared to Taylor Swift. I’m…. Jack Johnson.” “Ha! Whatever you say, Queenie.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to bed.” “You do that. I give it two years.” “Two years?” “Before you and Jasper become Last Kiss. If anyone is a footnote, he’s a footnote.” Royals and Rebels 2: Love and War only on Dreame
Cambria Covell
And then I think of Mom. I think of her going through my yearbook, inadvertently reminding me how I’ll never be as pretty as the other girls at school, how pretty she was when she was my age, how I’ll never be as pretty as her, and I suddenly want to be anywhere other than my own house.
Akemi Dawn Bowman (Starfish)
I stare at the mirror, running my fingers around my round face and my wide nose and wondering if Mom really does think she could have done better than Dad—better than Asian—and if she does, does she think she could have done better than me? It hurts. It hurts hearing her vocalize my fear—that people might not look at me the way they look at her. And it hurts to think she looks down on Dad, and maybe down on me, and Taro, and Shoji. Closing my eyes, I think of all the faces in my sketchbook. The ones I’ve drawn since Hiroshi told me beauty isn’t just one thing. They’re all different and special and unique. I don’t look at them the way Mom looks at the faces in a yearbook. Because it wouldn’t be fair. It feels cruel, like I’m saying one type of face is better than another. Like I’m saying one kind of heritage is better than another. It’s an ugly thing to do. I’d rather have an ugly face than an ugly heart. I let my hands drop to my sides and shake my head at the mirror. And I decide, right there and then, that I don’t care if I’m not someone’s idea of pretty. I don’t care if my name might disappoint someone, or if my face might disappoint someone’s parents. Because that says so much more about them than it does about me. Who cares what anyone else thinks? Who cares what Mom thinks, when she’s immature enough to keep a last name she hates just to maintain an imaginary war with Serena? I love my last name. And maybe I’m even learning to love my face. That can be enough. It has to be. It will be.
Akemi Dawn Bowman (Starfish)
When I was younger, Bubby and Zaidy just didn't seem that into me. I got the impression they liked my older sister, Danya, more than me, mostly because their words and actions made it wildly clear that they did.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
We had pooled around fifty bucks. We all had different ways of scrounging cash. In Canada, it was slightly easier because of the one- and two-dollar coins, or 'loonies' and 'two-nies,' which are not doing Canada any favors when it comes to being taken seriously.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
As public schools in the United States began desegregating and students of different skin tones were photographed for yearbooks in the same frame, the technical fixes that could be employed when a Black child was photographed alone were not useful. In particular, Black parents, objecting to the fact that their children’s facial features were rendered blurry, demanded higher-quality images.20 But the photographic industry did not fully take notice until companies that manufactured brown products like chocolate and wooden furniture began complaining that photographs did not depict their goods with enough subtlety, showcasing the varieties of chocolate and of grains in wood.
Ruha Benjamin (Race After Technology: Abolitionist Tools for the New Jim Code)
How tall is he?” my female friends would ask, often before any other questions.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Nudists are weird. My friend went to a nudist colony and came back with a newfound appreciation for clothes.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
The only problem with being a mohel is that you get used to the ceremony. Last night, I found myself going through a half-hour service before I could cut a carrot for my salad.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
I used to work in Winnipeg, but I had to move to Vancouver. You see, there’s not a lot of work for a mohel who shivers uncontrollably. (This is a VERY Canadian joke.)
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
Gustavo Solivellas dice: "La vida debe ser comprendida hacia atrás. Pero debe ser vivida hacia adelante" (Kierkegaard)
Kierkegaard Research Centre (Kierkegaard Studies: Yearbook 2002)
You can take my life,” I yelped, dodging his hands, “you can take my freedom, but you’ll never take this goddamn yearbook from me, Gus.
Emily Henry (Beach Read)
There were more meetings here of the reunion committee and this kept him busy, especially the assembling of mock yearbooks made up of the classmates’ autobiographies that Gloria had accumulated via e-mail. Bev did household chores
Ruth Doan MacDougall (The Husband Bench: or Bev's Book (The Snowy Series 4))
All those grainy photos lined up in rows like they were in some sort of tragic yearbook. Graduating to nowhere.
Chevy Stevens (Dark Roads)
If, however, you are writing a book because you want to share your story, and you value a connection with readers above all else, then great fortune may await – it just may not be a financial one.
Bloomsbury Publishing (Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook 2022 (Writers' and Artists'))
The ten-year reunion had been an odd experience. I’d gone mostly out of curiosity, but had found the evening awkward and anticlimactic. Most people had turned out to be exactly who I’d expected them to be. Our class had produced no celebrities or mega successes. Everyone had extremely mundane and commonplace jobs, except for Donal Larkin’s twin sister Shannon, who’d joined the State Department. There had been a lot of strained small talk with people who didn’t remember me, as well as a few uncomfortable conversations with people I’d forgotten who remembered me well. One woman whose name and face rang no bell whatsoever had proudly produced her yearbook to show off the heartfelt note I’d written to her. There on the page, in my own handwriting, was a lengthy message I had no memory of writing, extolling our meaningful and abiding friendship. The whole experience had been unsettling. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to repeating it, but I supposed since I was on the reunion committee now I had no choice but to attend the thirty-year.
Susannah Nix (Mad About Ewe (Common Threads #1))
I dyed my Jew-fro bright green, which kind of faded and turned a pukey yellow color, so I basically made my big entrance into Point Grey looking like a giant fucking clown.
Seth Rogen (Yearbook)
I'm just crazy because I choose to be." - Marist High School yearbook, 1990
Patrick Michael Mooney
Did I get my picture in the yearbook under "Most Likely to Commit Suicide"?
Jerry Stahl (Perv - A Love Story)
A barometric low hung over the Atlantic. It moved eastward toward a high-pressure area over Russia without as yet showing any inclination to bypass this high in a northerly direction. The isotherms and isotheres were functioning as they should. The air temperature was appropriate relative to the annual mean temperature and to the aperiodic monthly fluctuations of the temperature. The rising and setting of the sun, the moon, the phases of the moon, of Venus, of the rings of Saturn, and many other significant phenomena were all in accordance with the forecasts in the astronomical yearbooks. The water vapor in the air was at its maximal state of tension, while the humidity was minimal. In a word that characterizes the facts fairly accurately, even if it is a bit old-fashioned: It was a fine day in August 1913.
Robert Musil (The Man Without Qualities)
You're Right, I Believe You
William A Kolbe
I reset the alarm, let myself out, and went to my car. I dumped the yearbooks and files onto the passenger seat, but didn’t drive away. I thought about the gun. Amy might have had second thoughts. She might have decided it was too loud or too smelly or just wasn’t fun. Maybe having a gun around the house made her feel less safe, so she got rid of it. There were plenty of innocent reasons her gun was missing, but guesses weren’t facts. I
Robert Crais (The Promise (Elvis Cole, #16; Joe Pike, #5; Scott James & Maggie, #2))
If you’ve already worked in some capacity or done any internships, your contacts are everybody you’ve met in your work plus all your personal contacts. If you haven’t been employed yet, you still have plenty of contacts. “Take out your college yearbook,” says Wein. “Who sat next to you in class? Who do you know that’s gone into the field you’re interested in? You don’t have to know them well to put them on the list.” You’d also include any contacts your parents have, friends of your parents, people you met on family vacations, even kids you knew in summer camp.
Kate White (I Shouldn't Be Telling You This: Success Secrets Every Gutsy Girl Should Know)
Los Altos house with the garage where Apple was born In the Homestead High yearbook, 1972
Walter Isaacson (Steve Jobs)
Looking back later, acquaintances marveled at the feat of this awkward, skinny kid the yearbook called “a rather quiet chap about campus,” dour and brooding, who couldn’t even win a girlfriend, who attracted enemies, who seemed, a schoolmate recalled, “the man least likely to succeed in politics.” They hadn’t learned what Nixon was learning. Being hated by the right people was no impediment to political success. The unpolished, after all, were everywhere in the majority.
Rick Perlstein (Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America)
Got you,” he heard someone murmur, looking over to see one of his team members—Nate Carson, a former Air Force pararescue jumper or “PJ”, as they were known—aim his index finger at the frozen image on the laptop screen, pantomiming getting off a shot. And so they had, or at least were as close to it as they had been in months, the big man thought as he laid down the yearbook, pushing his way past Carson as he made his way to the door of the tent. Their best intelligence on Hassan's location since their abortive raid in late March, having come through just the previous day. And now all they awaited was the all-clear from Washington. For the politicians to make up their mind, as ever. The desert heat of the Sinai struck him full in the face as he stepped through the flap. Dry, choking heat—impressive even by the standards of east Texas, where he'd spent the majority of his childhood, before leaving home at the age of 18 to join the Corps. Seemed like he'd been spending his life in the desert ever since, as the Marines—and now the Agency—sent him to one desolate waste after another. North Camp was located some twenty kilometers south of the Mediterranean and not far from the border with Israel—a six hundred plus-acre compound that served as a forward operating base for the Multinational Force & Observers, the international peacekeeping force based in the Sinai ever since the Camp David Accords of '78. And now, for their team—through some special dispensation obtained by the Agency's seventh floor. All of it so far above his pay grade as to be beyond his concern.
Stephen England (Quicksand (Shadow Warriors #4))
While we all grow and mature and change from that awkward little worm we were in high school, it is still a pretty consistent indicator of who we become as adult butterflies. High school sets a tone for how the next decade of your life plays out, good or bad. It is the first set of steps in your journey. If you want to know who you were as a person during this hormonal time, refer to your yearbook. You will find a theme and you will see a pattern. Most definitely, you will notice these themes and patterns carried on into your twenties and so on. Take those signatures serious.
Jennie Hoffer (Smile Like A Saint, Curse Like A Sailor: A Guide To Being One Classy Bitch)
My path was so tracked that in my 8th-grade yearbook, one of my friends predicted—accurately—that four years later I would enter Stanford as a sophomore. And after a conventionally successful undergraduate career, I enrolled at Stanford Law School, where I competed even harder for the standard badges of success. The highest prize in a law student’s world is unambiguous: out of tens of thousands of graduates each year, only a few dozen get a Supreme Court clerkship. After clerking on a federal appeals court for a year, I was invited to interview for clerkships with Justices Kennedy and Scalia. My meetings with the Justices went well. I was so close to winning this last competition. If only I got the clerkship, I thought, I would be set for life. But I didn’t. At the time, I was devastated. In 2004, after I had built and sold PayPal, I ran into an old friend from law school who had helped me prepare my failed clerkship applications. We hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. His first question wasn’t “How are you doing?” or “Can you believe it’s been so long?” Instead, he grinned and asked: “So, Peter, aren’t you glad you didn’t get that clerkship?” With the benefit of hindsight, we both knew that winning that ultimate competition would have changed my life for the worse. Had I actually clerked on the Supreme Court, I probably would have spent my entire career taking depositions or drafting other people’s business deals instead of creating anything new. It’s hard to say how much would be different, but the opportunity costs were enormous. All Rhodes Scholars had a great future in their past.
Peter Thiel (Zero to One: Notes on Startups, or How to Build the Future)
There were the signed, spiral-bound Spirit-in-the-Woods yearbooks from three summers in a row and the aerial photograph of everyone at camp the second summer. In it, Ethan's feet were planted on Jule's head, and Jule's feet were planted on Goodman's head, and so on and so on. And didn't it always go like that-body parts not quite lining up the way you wanted them to, all of it a little bit off, as if the world itself were an animated sequence of longing and envy and self-hatred and grandiosity and failure and success, a strange and endless cartoon loop that you couldn't stop watching, because, despite all you knew by now, it was still so interesting.
Meg Wolitzer
Brennan credited his time in the army with shaping his deep suspicion of government. While he was fighting at the front, his draft board sent a letter to his home stating he would be fined and imprisoned if he did not turn up for his physical. “Just goes to show how much the government knows about what’s going on,” he said. On April 4, 1919, Walter Brennan was one of six thousand returning troops that Governor Calvin Coolidge saluted as their ship docked. Six days later, while the demobbed Brennan was marching in a Swampscott parade, he spotted Ruth Wells, the daughter Lynn’s local sheriff, crossing the street. Walter’s and Ruth’s families knew one another, but Walter, three years older than Ruth, had not paid that much attention to her until he went away to war and began writing letters to her. When Ruth was six, she broke a bottle belonging to Walter’s mother, and nine-year-old Walter teased her to tears by telling her, “she’d get it when they got home.” During the war, she attended Simmons College, graduating in 1919 from a three-year program in secretarial studies, having taken courses not only in shorthand, typing, business practices, commercial law, and economics, but also in English, History, French, and German. Her yearbook entry in The Microcosm gives the impression of a lively and sociable personality with interests in the theater, parties, and dances. She was not one to sulk or spend much time worrying. “He kind of discovered you,” Ralph Edwards said to Ruth. “Oh, I did that,” she explained. “We were invited by Walter’s mother to dinner, my mother and my two sisters . . . Walter
Carl Rollyson (A Real American Character: The Life of Walter Brennan (Hollywood Legends Series))
Stop reading the Bible like a yearbook and start reading it like the autobiography of God.
Heather Zempel (Amazed and Confused: When God's Actions Collide With Our Expectations (InScribed Collection))
When my mom picked me up, I had her drive me to the LA Police Academy. I had heard they sold a license-plate frame that supposedly was cop-friendly—a cop who saw it might not pull you over for a traffic infraction. In the store I noticed a stack of books: the LAPD yearbook. I said I wanted one “as a gift for my uncle, who’s with the LAPD.” It cost $75 but it was amazing, like finding the Holy Grail: it had the picture of every LAPD officer, even the undercover guys assigned to organized crime.
Anonymous
Yo mama is so old… she knew Burger King while he was still a prince. Yo mama is so old… her first pet was a T-Rex! Yo mama is so old… she took her driving test on a dinosaur! Yo mama is so old… her birth certificate says expired on it. Yo mama is so old… she dated George Washington! Yo mama is so old… she has an autographed Bible! Yo mama is so old… that her bus pass is in hieroglyphics! Yo mama is so old… her birth certificate is in Roman numerals. Yo mama is so old… she used to babysit Adam and Eve! Yo mama is so old… her memory is in black and white! Yo mama is so old… she was wearing a Jesus starter jacket! Yo mama is so old… she farts dust! Yo mama is so old… she knew the Great Wall of China when it was only good! Yo mama is so old… she ran track with dinosaurs. Yo mama is so old… she has a picture of Moses in her yearbook. Yo mama is so old… that when she was in school there was no history class. Yo mama is so old… her social security number is 1! Yo mama is so old… she knew the Dead Sea when it started getting sick! Yo mama is so old… she helped serve the Last Supper! Yo mama is so old… I told her to act her own age, and she died. Yo mama is so old… she knew Mr. Clean when he had a head full of hair! Yo mama is so old… I took a picture of her and it came out black and white!
Johnny B. Laughing (Yo Mama Jokes Bible: 350+ Funny & Hilarious Yo Mama Jokes)
dedicated to you. You bring up names of hometown friends, people who you see all the time, and I have to search the yearbook to remember. You were definitely Most Likely to Never Leave town. Your mammoth success in your chosen career came as no surprise to me since you were always determined to do so much more with your life despite the pitfalls that were placed in your path. Your kindness and loving
Catherine Bybee (Staying For Good (Most Likely To, #2))
When photographs were first invented, people thought of them like paintings. There was nothing else to compare them to. Thus, subjects in photos copied subjects in paintings. And since people sitting for portraits couldn’t hold a smile for the many hours the painting took, they adopted a serious look. Subjects in photos adopted the same look. What finally got them to change? Business, profit, and marketing, of course. In the mid-twentieth century, Kodak, the film and camera company, was frustrated by the limited number of pictures people were taking and devised a strategy to get them to take more. Kodak’s advertising began associating photos with happiness. The goal was to get people in the habit of taking a picture whenever they wanted to show others what a good time they were having. All those smiling yearbook photos are a result of that successful campaign (as are most of the photos you see on Facebook and Instagram today).
Seth Stephens-Davidowitz (Everybody Lies: Big Data, New Data, and What the Internet Can Tell Us About Who We Really Are)
Along the way I’ve realized that most of the hard work during my last couple seasons has been claiming authority over my own life. This is not a group decision. We’re not voting for “most this” or “most that” in our yearbooks. This is actually my life, and it doesn’t matter a bit if it would be lovely for someone else to live. What does matter: does it feel congruent with how God made me and called me? Some of us are made to be faster, and some slower, some of us louder, and some quieter. Some of us are made to build things and nurture things. Some of us are made to write songs and grants and novels, all different things. And I’m finding that one of the greatest delights in life is walking away from what someone told you you should be in favor of walking toward what you truly love, in your own heart, in your own secret soul. I thought I needed to be fast and efficient, sparkly and shiny, battle-ready and inexhaustible. There was, I will be honest with you, a lot of pressure from all sorts of places. I could be those things and so I was, and then lots of people told me I had a responsibility to do more and more and more. For a long time, I listened to them. But what I’ve learned the hard way is you don’t answer to a wide swath of people and their opinions, even if they’re good people, with good opinions. You were made by hand with great love by the God of the universe, and he planted deep inside of you a set of loves and dreams and idiosyncrasies, and you can ignore them as long as you want, but they will at some point start yelling. Worse than that, if you ignore them long enough, they will go silent, and that’s the real tragedy.
Shauna Niequist (Present Over Perfect: Leaving Behind Frantic for a Simpler, More Soulful Way of Living)
school yearbook, they were
Dennis Ortman (Transcending Post-Infidelity Stress Disorder: The Six Stages of Healing)
As I travel around the financial services industry today, the most interesting trend I see is the one toward relationship consolidation. Now that Glass-Steagall has been repealed, and all financial services providers can provide just about all financial services, there's a tendency - particularly as people get older - to want to tie everything up... to develop a plan, which implies having a planner. A planner, not a whole bunch of 'em... You've got basically two options. One is that you can sit here and wait for a major investment firm, which handles your client's investment portfolio while you handle the insurance, to bring their developing financial and estate planning capabilities to your client's door. And to take over the whole relationship. In this case, you have chosen to be the Consolidatee. A better option is for you to be the Consolidator. That is, you go out and consolidate the clients' financial lives pursuant to a really great plan - the kind you pride yourselves on. And of course that would involve your taking over management of the investment portfolio. Let's start with the classic Ibbotson data [Stocks, Bonds, Bills and Inflation Yearbook, Ibbotson Associates]. In the only terms that matter to the long-term investor - the real rate of return - he [the stockholder] got paid more like three times what the bondholder did. Why would an efficient market, over more than three quarters of a centry, pay the holders of one asset class anything like three times what it paid the holders of the other major asset class? Most people would say: risk. Is it really risk that's driving the premium returns, or is it volatility? It's volatility.... I invite you to look carefully at these dirty dozen disasters: the twelve bear markets of roughly 20% or more in the S&P 500 since the end of WWII. For the record, the average decline took about thirteen months from peak to trough, and carried the index down just about 30%. And since there've been twelve of these "disasters" in the roughly sixty years since war's end, we can fairly say that, on average, the stock market in this country has gone down about 30% about one year in five.... So while the market was going up nearly forty times - not counting dividends, remember - what do we feel was the major risk to the long-term investor? Panic. 'The secret to making money in stocks is not getting scared out of them' Peter Lynch.
Nick Murray (The Value Added Wholesaler In The Twenty First Century)
Who was I? I played so many roles: daughter, friend, babysitter, runner, girlfriend. I'd been proud when I was elected team captain, but now I wondered who my teammates had thought they'd voted for. And who my classmates had thought they'd elected Homecoming Queen. Sam had said that I was someone who smiled at people in the hallways. In my birthday card just a month ago, Vee had thanked me for always being there to listen. My junior yearbook had been full of notes using words like nice and sweet. But if that was who I was, how had people turned on me so quickly? Take away the people around me and who was I? Just another smiling face? There had to be more.
I.W. Gregorio
Table 1.2 Markets Occasionally Crush Concentrated Portfolios Source: Ibbotson Associates. Stocks, Bonds, Bills, and Inflation 2004 Yearbook (Chicago: Ibbotson Associates, 2004).
David F. Swensen (Unconventional Success: A Fundamental Approach to Personal Investment)
The [Madeira] School is still all girls and still thriving, and I am forever grateful for my time there and what it taught me. Not least of which is how to hold on tight and fake it during those trying stretches when functioning—and finishing—are not necessarily assured. To that end, I will repeat the line from my own senior yearbook page, not from Miss Madeira, but from Andrew Jackson: “You are uneasy; you’ve never sailed with me before, I see.
Julia Reed (South Toward Home: Adventures and Misadventures in my Native Land)
Emira realized that Briar probably didn’t know how to say good-bye because she’d never had to do it before. But whether she said good-bye or not, Briar was about to become a person who existed without Emira. She’d go to sleepovers with girls she met at school, and she’d have certain words that she’d always forget how to spell. She’d be a person who sometimes said things like, “Seriously?” or “That’s so funny,” and she’d ask a friend if this was her water or theirs. Briar would say good-bye in yearbook signatures and through heartbroken tears and through emails and over the phone. But she’d never say good-bye to Emira, which made it seem that Emira would never be completely free from her. For the rest of her life and for zero dollars an hour, Emira would always be Briar’s sitter.
Kiley Reid (Such a Fun Age)
The 2012 Ibbotson® Stocks, Bonds, Bills, and Inflation® Classic Yearbook, published by Morningstar, Inc., is one of the best sources of up-to-date information regarding the performance of various U.S. capital market investment alternatives. The data cover the period from 1926 to the present.
Roger C. Gibson (Asset Allocation: Balancing Financial Risk)
Noah,” she whispers in reprimand. “You’ve never complained when I’ve tried to undress you before.” Echo readjusts so she can see me, and for the first time since this morning, those eyes dance. “Yes, I have.” “When?” “The last day of school.” “So you’ve complained once.” When I led her to the nook of the abandoned hallway in the basement near my locker. I only meant to sneak in for a kiss during lunch, but things got hot and heavy and well...sue me. “I didn’t buy a yearbook, so I was memory-making.
Katie McGarry (Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits, #1.5))
I open the yearbook and start paging through it as fast as I can. Basketball games, Ping-Pong, Yearbook Club, Drama. I check the cover to make sure it’s not a mistake. It’s like I’m reading about another place entirely. The school in this book has nothing to do with the place where I spend my days, the place where three in ten of us won’t graduate. It doesn’t show the empty air around me as I wait alone in the school yard, the bathrooms I won’t go into, or the dead look I have to keep on my face as I go from class to class.
Meg Medina (Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass)
I had come out of the city, where story-telling is a manufactured science, to the country where story-telling is a by-product of life.
Dana Burnet (The Best American Short Stories Of 1916: And The Yearbook Of The American Short Story (1917))
In the country, a semicircle is the shortest line between two points.
Dana Burnet (The Best American Short Stories Of 1916: And The Yearbook Of The American Short Story (1917))
Looking through the book, I realized that there actually were several kids I didn’t know. Was it possible that I never shared a class with them in all twelve years of school? I scanned the yearbook
Stephen E. Stanley (A Midcoast Murder (A Jessie Ashworth Mystery, #1))
Grimod de La Reynière was the founder of culinary journalism. His articles in newspapers and yearbooks fed restaurants with new ideas. No more was the art of good eating a luxury reserved for the banquet halls of nobility. The one whose fingers were all over this had none: Grimod de La Reynière, grand master of pen and spoon, was born with no hands, and he wrote, cooked, and ate with hooks.
Eduardo Galeano (Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone)
Yo mama is so old… she has a picture of Moses in her yearbook.
Johnny B. Laughing (Yo Mama Jokes Bible: 350+ Funny & Hilarious Yo Mama Jokes)
Throughout the year we worked at maintaining and painting the vessels secured at the Academy waterfront. The school had lifeboats, running boats, sailboats, a wooden-hulled “Submarine Chaser” and the “Training Ship.” During the years that I was at the Academy, most of these ships and boats, being holdovers from World War II, were hardly new. They were in constant need of maintenance and repair, which, of course, fell to us midshipmen. Most of the other academies had the funding to hire a permanent maintenance staff, but not us. At MMA we took pride in what we did and we were the ones who took care of almost everything. Every winter, for all the years that I was at Maine Maritime Academy, we sailed from Castine, Maine, to the warm waters of the Caribbean in January. In The Tricks End, our yearbook, the Caribbean was called our third home. It gave us something to look forward to, and it gave us the practical, seagoing training we needed to become officers in the United States Maritime Service.
Hank Bracker
Book 1 Item#4   Yearbooks   Whenever I find yearbooks for one or two dollars I always pick them up. Many people want to revisit their high school or college
D.R. Farmer (Thrifit Store Profits: 10 Common Items That Sell For Huge Profit On Ebay and Amazon (Thrift Store Profits))
published a Spanish–English paper for Fremont High School’s neighboring community as well as the school newspaper and yearbook.
Gregory A. Smith (Place- and Community-Based Education in Schools)
Carl discreetly turned his head to the left and then the right to make sure Mom wasn’t within hearing range. “I tried to stick it in er ass once and she didn’t speak to me for a week,” he nearly whispered before belting out a slur of loose chuckles. “And gettin’ ‘er to do ya on top? Forget about it!” In ways, I morphed into Carl’s description of the ideal woman. Like Mom, physical beauty was my ultimate priority. I spent hours on end stripped naked, posing in front of my full length bedroom mirror at every angle so that each wrinkle, roll, and pinch of fat could receive sharp scrutiny before I strived for complete self annihilation. I made it a habit of studying every Teen magazine model and the skinniest cheerleaders in my middle school yearbook. I observed their arms, legs, and hips. I held their images against mine with a goal for my bones to protrude further and calves spread further apart when standing straight. However, I saw the way Carl bent his head down and lowered his voice when he spoke about Mom, as if it was our job to keep a feisty, barking puppy believing that it was our guard dog. “Ure mom can’t help she got half ure I-Q,” Carl would chuckle.
Maggie Georgiana Young (Just Another Number)
Brothers,” he continues, “are lifelong. And though you take that field tonight, you have also taken that field before, just as you will tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. That field is your home—your battlefield—and those other men are intruders. They don’t respect it. They’re trespassing—unwanted guests..“I can assure you they didn’t,” my father says. Again, the room chants, “Hoorah!” I hold my breath because this next part, more than anything that led up to it, is what I’ve been waiting for. I check the camera, my father still centered in my frame and his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. Our team has won the first two games of the year, but he knows that two is not ten. A loss, at this point, will be unforgiveable. “What’s that word on your backs?” His question echoes, and the answer is swift. “Honor, sir!” they all shout in unison. They always do. It’s more than memorization, and it’s always made me sit in awe of how it all plays out. “Honor! That’s right. There are no individuals in here. We all have one name. It isn’t the mascot. It isn’t your nickname or some fad that will be forgotten the second the yearbook is printed. It’s a word that means heart, that means drive and ambition, that means giving your all and leaving the best of every goddamned thing you’ve got out there on that field. Turn to your right!” They all do, seated in a circle on the benches, looking at the helmets and heads of their teammates. My dad should have been a preacher, or perhaps a general. He was born to stand before boys and make them believe that for two and a half hours, they are men. “Turn to your left!” All heads shift, the sound swift, but mouths quiet. “Honor. Brotherhood. Tradition.” He pauses, his team still sitting with heads angled and eyes wide on the dark blue sheen of the helmets and sweat-drenched heads next to them. “Again…” he says, and this time they say it with him. “Honor. Brotherhood. Tradition.” “Whose house is this?” my father asks, quiet and waiting for a roar. “Our house!” “Whose house is this?” He’s louder now. “Our house!” “Whose house…” My dad’s face is red and his voice is hoarse by the time he shouts the question painted above the door that the Cornwall Tradition runs through to the field. The final chant back is loud enough that it can be heard through the cinderblock walls. I know, because last week, I filmed the speech from outside. With chests full, egos inflated, voices primed and muscles ready for abuse, this packed room of fifty—the number that always takes the field, even though less than half of them will play—stands, each putting a hand on the back of everyone in front of them.
Ginger Scott (The Hard Count)
My name would be excluded from the address section in the yearbook, a professor would remember everyone's face except mine, and so on. And the countless mistakes in recordkeeping that often occured on paper. Whenever such things happened, I would cry out in my mind: Why me? Why do these things keep happening to me? Why me, of all the people in the world? I get left out. My life gets left out. When you're left out over and over again, you come to feel that you're left behind.
Eunjin Jang (No One Writes Back)
Yo momma is so fat… when a bus hit her she said, “Who threw the pebble?” Yo momma is so fat… when she puts on her yellow rain coat and walks down the street people shout out “taxi”! Yo momma is so fat… she uses the interstate as a slip and slide. Yo momma is so fat… you could use her bellybutton as a wishing well. Yo momma is so fat… the government forced her to wear taillights and blinkers so no one else would get hurt. Yo momma is so fat… she supplies 99% of the world’s gas. Yo momma is so fat… when she goes to Taco Bell, they run for the border! Yo momma is so fat… she rolled out of bed and everybody thought there was an earthquake. Yo momma is so fat… when God said, “Let there be light,” he had to ask her to move out of the way. Yo momma is so fat… she has more chins than a Chinese phone book. Yo momma is so fat… she jumped in the air and got stuck. Yo momma is so fat… she's got to wake up in sections. Yo momma is so skinny… Yo momma is so skinny… she can hang glide with a Dorito! Yo momma is so skinny… she swallowed a meatball and thought she was pregnant. Yo momma is so skinny… she turned sideways and disappeared. Yo momma is so skinny… she hula hoops with a cheerio. Yo momma is so skinny… she has to run around in the shower just to get wet. Yo momma is so skinny… she don’t get wet when it rains. Yo momma is so skinny… her nipples touch. Yo momma is so skinny… she has to wear a belt with her spandex pants. Yo momma is so skinny… she can see through peepholes with both eyes. Yo momma is so skinny… she can dive through a chain-linked fence. Yo momma is so skinny… she uses cotton balls for pillows. Yo momma is so old… Yo momma is so old… she knew the Great Wall of China when it was only good! Yo momma is so old… that her bus pass is in hieroglyphics! Yo momma is so old… she was wearing a Jesus starter jacket! Yo momma is so old… her birth certificate is in Roman numerals. Yo momma is so old… she ran track with dinosaurs. Yo momma is so old… she knew Burger King while he was still a prince. Yo momma is so old… her birth certificate says expired on it. Yo momma is so old… she has a picture of Moses in her yearbook. Yo momma is so old… that when she was in school there was no history class. Yo momma is so old… her social security number is 1! Yo momma is so old… I told her to act her own age, and she died. Yo momma is so short… Yo momma is so short… she does backflips under the bed. Yo momma is so short … she can play handball on the curb. Yo momma is so short… she can use a sock for a sleeping bag. Yo momma is so short… she can tie her shoes while standing up. Yo momma is so short… she can sit on a dime and swing her legs. Yo momma is so short … she has to use a ladder to pick up a dime. Yo momma is so short … she poses for trophies! Yo momma is so short… she has a job as a teller at a piggy bank. Yo momma is so short… she has to use rice to roll her hair up. Yo momma is so short… she uses a toothpick as pool stick. Yo momma is so short… she can surf on a popsicle stick.
Various (151+ Yo Momma Jokes)