America's Sweethearts Quotes

Querida, it's alright," he said. "No one has hurt me in years." "Hey, you're supposed to be my brother," I said, trying to joke. "Brother's don't hold their sisters' hands or call them querida." Seb smiled, his hazel eyes starting to dance. "Yes, they do," he said. "This happens all the time." "Well I guess things are different in Mexico then," I said. "Because in America, no way. And I'm an American." "But you're in Mexico now," he pointed out. "Right. And you're saying here, boys holds hands with their sisters and call them sweetheart." "Oh yes. We're very friendly, we Mexicans.

Look at me, Sarah." She did. "What ever it is, whatever is going on...it can't be that bad. I'm a vampire sweetheart. I drink human blood on a regular basis. What can you possibly have to tell me that could top that?

Yes, he was a good man, but he was also a black man. And when you’re black, being good isn’t always enough.” “No, sweetheart, it isn’t. A black man walks a different line, a tightrope. Sometimes that line is hard to see. That seems to be what happened here.

Raj leaned over from the driver's seat to give her a quick, hard kiss. 'Don't think so hard sweetheart. I'm not dangerous.' He spun the wheel in a tight circle, taking them past the startled valets and out of the parking lot. 'Not to you anyway,' he muttered.

They are beautiful, heart-rendingly beautiful, those wilds, with a quality of wide-eyed, unsung, innocent surrender that my lacquered, toy-bright Swiss villages and exhaustively lauded Alps no longer possess. Innumerable lovers have clipped and kissed on the trim turf of old-world mountainsides, on the innerspring moss, by a handy, hygienic rill, on rustic benches under the initialed oaks, and in so many cabanes in so so many beech forests. But in the Wilds of America the open-air lover will not find it easy to indulge in the most ancient of all crimes and pastimes. Poisonous plants burn his sweetheart's buttocks, nameless insects sting his; sharp items of the forest floor prick his knees, insects hers; and all around there abides a sustained rustle of potential snakes--que dis-je,of semi-extinct dragons!--while the crablike seeds of ferocious flowers cling, in a hideous green crust, to gartered black sock and sloppy white sock alike.

Some days I feel more comfortable using sexuality in my work, and then some days I feel like being a little more reserved. I think that’s why I’m in the middle of this whole conversation of, what is she? Is she a good girl or is she a bad girl? I think that I’m both. I don’t need to be either. I don’t need to be a pop princess who is America’s sweetheart or the next rebellious, wild, young thing. I don’t need to pick or choose. I can show skin and swear like a sailor but also be a good role model. I think that I’m a good person. I don’t think cursing makes you a bad person. I don’t think showing skin or kissing boys makes you a bad person. I don’t think that expressing sexuality makes you a bad person at all. I don’t think that’s bad… I think it’s great!

America I love you you’re like a sweetheart to me

The words "I love you" are always at some level a quotation. All language is generalising, including words like "this," "here," "unique," "right now," and "my utterly special little sweetheart." The word "individual" originally mean "indivisible," meaning that to be a person was to be a part of a greater whole. There could never be simply one person, any more than there could simply be one letter or one number.

But when you get older, you learn the shittiest, most ironic life lesson: “perfection” is not a guarantee for happiness. This was never clearer to me than back when I read the shocking news that Sandra Bullock’s husband cheated on her. What?! How? Sandy is America’s sweetheart. She’s gorgeous, down to earth, legitimately funny, and genuinely talented. Her husband looked like some guy you’d see at the hot dog stand outside of Costco. And yet HE cheated on HER??

We now know that most soldiers—on all sides—were exposed to propaganda, including sexual propaganda. White (positive) propaganda encouraged soldiers to stay clean, strong, and to return home as healthy and honorable as when they left (despite the reality that some fighters did have sex abroad, amid the ever-present possibility of death). On the other hand, black (negative) propaganda was counterfeit information, made to look like helpful warnings from the soldier’s country, seemingly obligated to reveal information about promiscuity at home. Such propaganda often claimed that wives and sweethearts were being unfaithful.

During World War II seeking ways to demoralize enemy troops, the Axis and the Allies alike slandered their enemy’s wives and sweethearts “back home” as sexually promiscuous. After the war Kinsey repeated this libel against American wives and sweethearts. It worked.

I’m America’s Sweetheart,

ELLE (4:16 P.M.):favorite movie ELLE (4:16 P.M.):go DARCY (4:19 P.M.):Just one? That’s too difficult. ELLE (4:20 P.M.):fine ELLE (4:20 P.M.):action comedy rom-com and idk drama? DARCY (4:25 P.M.):Comedy would be History of the World Part One. Action . . . God, I don’t know. The Mummy, maybe? Rom-com . . . America’s Sweethearts. Drama would have to be Dead Poets Society. ELLE (4:26 P.M.):the mummy?!? ELLE (4:26 P.M.):i credit that movie for my bisexual awakening She waited, watching the little dots dance up and down, up and down . . . DARCY (4:28 P.M.):Oh? ELLE (4:29 P.M.):yeah ELLE (4:30 P.M.):did I want to be evelyn or did i want to ride off into the sunset with her? ELLE (4:30 P.M.):both obviously

The driver's gentility, despite the fact that he could have, could still, string me up without the world flinching? That toothless smile that could easily accompany either mirth or murderousness, depending on the eyes? This is what Black folks mean when we say we prefer the Southern White person's honest racism to the Northern liberal's subterfuge. It is not physically more benign, or more dependable. But it is transparent in the way it terrorizes. You never forget to have your shoulders hitched up a little and taut, even (and especially) when they call you 'sweetheart.' Cold comfort.

This area of the country was supposed to be more enlightened, better educated. But it was socially backwards, the type of backwards one thinks of when they hear “backwater Alabama,” but with money, which, in many ways, made it worse. People here still often married their high school sweethearts, which Bob found horrifying, and assuredly explained the divorce rate. He imagined Sarah had married her high school sweetheart, or someone she knew from high school. They projected Leave It to Beaver lives, but were off banging the neighbor. The 1950s never left here, which immediately explained Sarah. It was “small town”-minded America in expensive houses and it did a job on people’s psyches.

America’s Sweetheart, it’s time to dust off your crown. We have a feeling you’ll be putting it on again real soon. And, girl, we’d say you earned it.

As America’s first movie sweetheart, Pickford was savvy enough to leave her name off the executive producer and director credits in order to play to the public’s perception of her as a sweet, innocent young girl, but industry insiders knew that she called all the shots.