Arf Quotes

You may stay. But Jessica, please watch what you say and do. Don't look them in the eyes for long. Speak only when spoken to. Yes, sir; yes, ma'am." "Sit up. Arf," I teased. "What about her?" Jessica cried, pointing in my general direction. "She's more in need of an etiquette lesson than I am." "Yeah," I said, "but I'm the Queen. With a capital fucking Q. Hey, you're looking me in the eyes for too long! Eric, make her stop!

Arf, arf, arf.” I yipped back at it. “Princess,” Victor grumbled behind me. “Please stop barking at the neighbors.” Stone, C. L. (2014-01-19). Drop of Doubt: The Ghost Bird Series: #5 (Kindle Locations 1721-1722). Arcato Publishing. Kindle Edition.

Arf! Arf, arf, arf!" Oh, Jesus, the Antichrist's barking was going to split open his head. "Quiet, Tank," Grace said. "Toby, baby, grab him and put him in the laundry room, please. Anna, good, you're back. Get a phone in case we need to call nine-one-one." "Got it," Anna said, sounding so unusually shaken that Josh did open his eyes. Look at that, Antichrist number two was worried about him. Nice change.

But at the best, it is a dull, animal happiness, the content of the full belly. The dominant note of their lives is materialistic. They are stupid and heavy, without imagination. The Abyss seems to exude a stupefying atmosphere of torpor, which wraps about them and deadens them. Religion passes them by. The Unseen holds for them neither terror nor delight. They are unaware of the Unseen; and the full belly and the evening pipe, with their regular “arf an’ arf,” is all they demand, or dream of demanding, from existence.

Arf. Arf.

Well, my boys,” he said, giving them a good scratching behind the ears, “where do you hail from?” “Arf,” replied the dogs. “Ah,” said the Count. “How lovely.

The little shit was standing on it like he owned it, wet, sandy paws and all. “Arf, arf!

It was a brilliant train of pure cool logic; I welcomed the return of my giant brain and mentally patted myself on the head. Good boy, Dexter. Arf arf.

Yeah, ignore me." Aaro pawed through the bags until he found one with stenciled hearts on it. "By the way, you never did tell me your size. Hope nothing binds or pinches your tender pink places, babe." He let the bag fly. It landed on Lily's lap. She shrank back as if it were a venomous snake. Fuck-me-please panties spilled out. A tangle of satin, lace and silk. Red, black, peach, flesh-tone. Bruno growled expletives in a Calabrese dialect as he shoved underwear into the bag. It was his standard tension reliever. None of the people he insulted knew he was commenting on their grandmother's predilection for sex with sheep. "I am not wearing that slutty, disgusting stuff." Lily's voice was haughty. "Certainly not after you're pawed it. Dog." "Arf, arf." Aaro's tone was more cheerful than it had been so far any time this morning. "I love it when she spits bile.

He woke up alone. Lilah had rocked his world once, twice... he leaned over the bed to county empty condom wrappers.. three times, and then she'd Walked off before dawn. That was usually his role. "My own fault," he told the mutt, who was sitting on his chest. "I was easy." "Arf," the dog said in complete agreement, and licked Brady's chin. "You're one to judge," Brady said in disgust. "If someone even thinks about petting you, you drop and expose your kibble and bits. No soldier worth his salt does that. "You're like a damn dog." "Arf." "Okay, good point," he said, shaking his head. "You are a dog. And so, apparently, am I.

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!" Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay ? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay... When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo! With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. Elephints a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay... But that's all shove be'ind me - long ago an' fur away An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else." No! you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells, An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay... I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand? Beefy face an' grubby 'and - Law! wot do they understand? I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay... Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! O the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay !

You look very animalistic digging like that, I told him. Like a wee doggie who can’t reach his bone. Sand erupted as Tyrrik blurred up the dune to stand before me. I pursed my lips, trying to hold back the smile as I waited. He leaned over me, his onyx gaze studying my face. I felt his inhale as he took in my scent just as I was soaking in his pine and smoke smell. “You want to rethink that statement?” he asked, his voice low and menacing. My heart skipped a beat at the sound, but I stood on my toes and reached up, using a finger on each hand to press down the tops of his ears so they stuck out. “Nope,” I replied, raising my eyebrows as I shook my head. “Just like a wee doggie.” I inched closer to him and said, “Arf.

She laughed. “Oh, I like it. Don’t we, boys?” All three men made appreciative sounds. I had the feeling they’d have sat up and begged if she’d told them to. Arf, arf. Gag me with a spoon.

1914 Sonbaharının başında, Türkiye savaşa girmek üzere hazırlık yaparken; Ermeni devrimci grupları Transkafkasya'da büyük bir kargaşa ve istekle oluşmaya başladı. Birkaç hafta önce Erzurum'daki genel toplantıda alınan kararların aksine, A.R.F. (Ermeni Devrimci Federasyonu) bu grupların oluşmasında aktif rol alıyor; gelecekte Türkiye'ye karşı alınacak askerî hamleleri tasarlıyordu.

Teacher: "Bark, Amy." Amy: "Arf! Arf! Arf!

Teacher: "Amy, what do you call the outside of a tree?" Student: "No idea, Miss Smith." Teacher: "Bark, Amy." Amy: "Arf! Arf! Arf!

Arf!” “No, Precious, don’t do that,” she whispered. “We don’t want Giovanni to know you’re here.” “Arf! Arf!

The dog began to lick Natalie’s fingers and she giggled. “Precious, that tickles. Don’t do that. And shoo! Giovanni is coming and I look like death!” “Precious?” yelled Giovanni. “Arf!

Arf Arf Arf

On the previous day, four Armenian witnesses told the Congressmen how the Bolsheviks had overthrown the Armenian First Republic in 1920. All of them were affiliated with the ARF, and two, Reuben Darbinian and General Dro Kanayan, had served in the government of the First Republic. The Armenian testimonies also appear to have been choreographed with the aim of throwing all possible blame on the Bolsheviks and suppressing the role of other culprits in the fate of the Armenians—in this case, the Turks. So Beglar Navassardian, executive secretary of the still-extant American Committee for the Independence of Armenia (and son of the ARF leader in Egypt), gave a brief excursion through the history of Armenia that surely would have caused apoplexy in his predecessors in that committee in the 1920s.     Navassardian barely mentioned the 1915 Genocide in his testimony. He managed only to say, “Finally during the First World War, the Armenian people made the final and supreme sacrifice. They firmly and squarely sided with the Allies, gave volunteer forces under the Allied Command in the Middle East, on the eastern front and elsewhere. For a people whose numbers had been decimated to less than 4 million, they gave a participation of 250,000, fighting against the Axis Powers.”34     General Dro spoke through an interpreter. The awkward issue of his wartime collaboration with Nazi Germany was not mentioned. The general reminisced about a luncheon in 1921 hosted for him by Stalin, whom he described as an old comrade from the revolution of 1905, at which promises were made and then broken. Dro, a veteran of the Russian-Ottoman war, also conspicuously failed to mention Turkey or 1915. He only spoke about atrocities committed by the Bolsheviks, who, he said, “took over Armenia with a brutality and persecution characteristic of the Middle Ages.”35     A certain kind of Armenia—one that had lost its independence, bravely fighting Soviet Russia—was required by the Cold War American political imagination. Concluding the hearings, the chairman, Representative Michael Feighan, praised General Dro, saying, “Our committee appreciates very much this first-hand testimony from you who have fought so vigorously for the freedom and independence of Armenia.”36

Lipsea p treaptă la scară, de ani de zile, dar el mergea perfect. N-a observat lipsa treptei decât la început. Peste câteva luni, când treapta ar fi fost pusă la loc, i s-ar fi părut la fel de nelalocul ei, ca și-un mort care s-ar apuca să-nvie după 2-3 luni și s=ar întoarce printre ai lui acasă, tocmai când bieții oameni gustă dulcea convalecență a uitării și când își fac socotelile cu un tacâm mai puțin. Și mergea de ani pe scara cu-o treaptă lipsă, lipsa devenind măsură și element al variației in monotonie. Scara cu toate treptele ar fi devenit o scară banală. I-ar fi trebuit iar o perioadă de acomodare, arf i avut anxietăți, ceva s-ar fi tulburat în echilibrul vieții lui. Într-o zi, cineva a mai scos o treaptă, de pe undeva, din scară. Din curiozitate: ”Așa, ca să vedem ce face” și el s-a-mpiedicat, a căzut și-a murit. Curiosul a zis: ”Cine s-ar fi gândit?!Ceasul rău!”. Toată lumea zicea: ”De, ceasul rău”. Nimănui nu i-a trecut prin minte că două trepte erau prea mult.

Arf,' said Igor. Had he been able to say something other than arf, he would have articulated the opinion that Kierkegaard had been right to proclaim the perspicuity of God and man, and the unaccountability of the correlation between the two. He would also have pointed out that, as Heidegger stated, man is an evanescent being, aware, through the opalescence of his animus, of the certitude of his own death, and therefore, the only way to get up in the morning and face your breakfast cereal with added vitamins and low fat milk, is in full cognisance of le néant, until you've worked the whole thing out for yourself. Still, ever the mute hunchback's place to be considered an idiot.

Arf, arf, arf.” I yipped back at it. “Princess,” Victor grumbled behind me. “Please stop barking at the neighbors.

And what about the ace? More powerful than the king and yet sometimes counting as a mere one? Above the king---wouldn't that be a kind of god? But what God is also the lowest of the low?