Arnie Quotes

Which would prove I'm a monster, Arnie? Sacrificing the people I love for the fight? Or walking away from the fight to save the people i love?

Just because people treat you like shit, just because you may feel like shit sometimes, doesn't mean you are shit. You can make something of your life. You can give of yourself in this world to make it a better place." - Jake quoting his mentor, Arnie Coel

"Mom, Arnie Welsh keeps calling me a geek. He says it like it's a bad thing. Is being a geek a bad thing?" "Of course not, Soda Pop. And don't listen to labels. They don't matter." "What are labels?" "It's an imaginery sticker people slap on you with the word they think you are written on it. It doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you think you are." "I think I might be a geek." She laughed. "Then you be a geek. Just be whatever makes you happy, Soda Pop, and I'll be happy too.

I once heard about some millionaire who had a stolen Rembrandt in his basement where no one but him could see it. I could understand that guy. I don't mean that Arnie was a Rembrandt, or even a world-class wit, but I could understand the attraction of knowing about something good ... something that was good but still a secret.

War, in some ways, is merciful to men. It makes them heroes if they are the victors. If they are the vanquished - they do not live to see their homes taken, their wives widowed. But if you are a woman - you must live through defeat...

You’re smiling again,” Regina said. “I was just thinking about how much I love you both,” Arnie said. His father looked at him, surprised and touched; there was a soft gleam in his mother’s eyes that might have been tears. They really believed it. The shitters. •

Things are more like they are now...than they have EVER been before!

Arnie sighed and for a quick moment looked genuinely sympathetic that someone could dream up something this elaborately sad.

Why doesn’t Arnie ever come over anymore, Mom?” Ellie asked. “Did he and Dennis have a fight?” “No, honey,” my mother answered. “I don’t think so. But when friends get older .. . sometimes they grow apart.” “That’s never going to happen to me,” Ellie said, with all the awesome conviction of the just-turned-fifteen. I

Grandpa Arnie loved working the land not for the price of wheat per bushel but because smelling damp earth at sunrise felt like a holy experience.

She's thirty-four years old. In fifty, sixty years, she'll be dead, and everything reminds her of this fact but him. With Arnie, she imagines she might live forever.

I cried because there are those of them who are just as intelligent as Ricky Wasserman or Arnie Greenwald or Yael Berg and just because of circumstance, they turn out so horribly. They see the young and affluent, they see their cars and their vacations and their fancy clothes, and they set their hearts on obtaining objects of material wealth. The young and rich already have these things, so they are free to devote their energies to developing their minds or having good, clean fun, or anything they want, really. And they are able to set their goals on spiritual fulfillment because they have everything they need otherwise. It's just not fair.

And booster vaccines are coming. First for people with bad immune systems and people over sixty-five, but I’m hearing at school that by fall it’ll be everyone.’ ‘That sounds right,’ Holly says. ‘And bonus! Trump’s gone.’ Leaving behind a country at war with itself, Holly thinks. And who’s to say he won’t reappear in 2024? She thinks of Arnie’s promise from The Terminator: ‘I’ll be back.

I’m tired of all this. What ever happened to honesty, Arnie? What ever happened to telling the goddamned truth? It’s all a fucking game here, and the object of the game isn’t to do the right thing, the object of the game is to stay here. It’s not supposed to be that way!

Krāsas ir krāšņas, tās aizrauj, bet izkliedē un pēc sevis atstāj tukšumu.

I can go at any time now. " -Arnie tells Becky

No, no," Arnie says. "Fondle--fondle is to touch. Everything sounds Yiddish to you. Far-fetched, far-flung..." "Farflung is Yiddish." "No," Arnie says, "it's not.

Your face isn’t stupid, Arnie,” I said. “Queer-looking, maybe, but not stupid.

Oh my God!” my friend Arnie Cunningham cried out suddenly.

I thought Arnie would turn up that Saturday, so I hung around the house—mowed the lawn, cleaned up the garage, even washed all three cars.

I gotta go,” Arnie said. “Calculus, then Auto Shop III. I think I’ve learned the whole course on Christine the last two months anyway.

Aus unerklärlichen Gründen war Arnie plötzlich auf etwas gestoßen, was er wirklich begehrte. Und gnade Gott allen, die ihm dabei im Weg standen.

Arnie had always called her a dreamer, and maybe he was right about that.

Ikviens bēg, citādi nevar, manu Karali. Arī es bēgu, tikai laikam uz citu pusi.

If you always find within, you will never feel without. Open your mind to what you feel is true, or else someone will open your mind for you, to what they want you to know is true.

Arnie Kott owned the only harpsichord on Mars. However, it was out of tune, and he could find no one to service it. No matter which way you cut it, there were no harpsichord tuners on Mars.

Betty and Arnie danced two or three songs. He smelled like Old Spice aftershave, and she liked his happy laugh. They agreed that every Johnny Cash song was the same damn tune with different words.

Look at her lines, Dennis!” Arnie whispered. He was running around the car like a man possessed. His sweaty hair flew and flopped. He tried the back door on the passenger side, and it came open with a scream.

I would prefer," Pat said, his voice a little stiff, as if he expected resistance, "that I be the cosigner on the loan, if you go through with this. I know I'm not a famous billionaire, but I think my credit's just as good." No, you're wrong about that," Tess said, shaking her head. What?" As far as I'm concerned, it's better. I'd much rather do business with you." They shook on it. It was a deal, after all, not a time for hugging. Favors, Arnie Vasso had once said. Your father knows all about favors. He had meant it as an insult, a sly reference to the corners the Monaghans and Weinsteins cut here and there. Now Tess saw it for the simple truth it was: Her father understood favors. How to do them, how to accept them, how to walk away when the price was too steep. It was a lesson she wouldn't mind learning someday. Maybe this was the place to start.

So you just went into my room and hunted around until you found my bankbook?” Arnie said. His gray eyes were hard with anger. “Maybe you were hunting for pot, too. Or girlie books. Or maybe come-stains on the sheets.

His thoughts," Helio said, "are as clear as plastic to me, and mine likewise to him. We are both prisoners, Mister, in a hostile land." At that Arnie laughed loud and long. "Truth always amuses the ignorant," Helio said.

I love about bar people. We have to put on a show all the time for everyone else, and when the crowd isn’t around, we don’t ask too many questions or expect big answers. It’s just good chatter. People like Arnie are the best kind of break.

I dreamed of Christine again that night, Arnie behind the wheel this time, the decomposing corpse of Roland D. LeBay lolling obscenely in the shotgun seat as the car roared out of the garage at me, pinning me with the savage circles of its headlights.

I’ll be back as quick as I can,” I said awkwardly. “Sure.” “Stay cool.” “Don’t worry, I’m not going to punch anybody.” I trotted to my car. As I slipped behind the wheel I heard the little girl ask Arnie loudly, “Why is your face all messy like that, mister?

Just find one of those poor sad sacks who go scurrying around the halls like criminals before the home-room bell and walk it right to him. And sometimes they do get killed, in every important way except the physical; sometimes they find something to hold onto and they survive. Arnie had me.

Snarky Snail grumbled as he closed up his pebble shop for the night. The grumble seemed to echo loudly. Snarky sighed. He was always grumbling. His friends thought of him as the grump of their group, and he didn’t blame them. The truth was, Snarky wanted to be happy. But he didn’t know how. When Snarky was a baby snail, he’d been

We came across a rucksack, wedged in among the coral. It was fastened up, but it seemed to have been invaded by some weird fluffy white sea creature that was trying to get out. “What’s that?” said Arnie, poking it. Miranda and I took a second look, and started to giggle. “It’s tampons,” I said. “Expanding widthways when wet—” “Yecch!

Michael had formed an opinion of Christine on the ride out to the airport. He was impressed with the job of restoration Arnie had done, but he disliked the car itself—disliked it intensely. He supposed it was ridiculous to hold such feelings about an inanimate object, but the dislike was there all the same, big and unmistakable, like a lump in the throat.

pretty pebbles to customers.” Everyone

All the happiness there is in the world comes from thinking about others, and all the suffering comes from preoccupation with yourself.” — Shantideva

or gone here or there, downtown. Wiggly knew

Arnie pulls at my T-shirt. I shove his hand away. He pushes down the toilet handle and the bathroom fills with that flush sound. Tucker says, "You taking a dump?" "No." "Liar. I heard the flush. You were taking a dump." "But I..." "I just wish you'd admit it. We got to be honest with each other." "But..." "I heard the flush, Gilbert. You can't fool Tucker Van Dyke.

Arnie Brewer hitched his baggy pants up over the loose skin of his gut, which used to hold the substantial potbelly that he could have rested a beer can on while he watched TV. Now his midsection was floppy and weird, all the fat sucked out of it, but the skin was still there, hanging off of him like a deflated balloon. He had to position the waistband of his pants in the right spot—slightly low on his hips—so that it pinned the folds of loose skin to his crotch. Otherwise, if he ran, it would constantly flail around and smack him repeatedly in his groin.

The trouble is, it’s not just starlings that humans tend to regard as pests. It’s all wildlife. Animals are fine as long as they stay in their own habitats. Yet we have a long history of expanding our territories with little thought for anything but our own needs. Quite routinely, we turn wildlife habitats into human habitats. And, of course, man has long had difficulty with the idea of sharing the ecosystem with any other living creature. When animals won’t cooperate with our desires, they are regarded as pests, nuisances, to be disposed of summarily. The starling is one of many such animals, for he sometimes interferes with our convenience simply by being.

When I was a kid, growing up during the 1970s, I used to read a lot of horror and science fiction. I graduated from comic books to paperbacks around the time I first entered my teens. And I want to say that what 99% of that stuff tells you about supposed encounters with the unknown is a formulaic convention. No one faints like a chicken-shit or else reaches for their weapon like Arnie Schwarzenegger in the face of something so utterly terrifying there isn’t even a name for it. What those writers don’t know is what happens in an encounter with the outside is this: that the moment slows down to such an extent that time itself simply stands still in your head. I suppose that fact doesn’t make for good characterisation. It’s incommunicable. I think they call it the numinous. I once did a semester in creative writing back after graduating, around the decade King was outselling every other author on the planet, but could never make the grade. Still, I read a lot of the best attempts. Maybe that’s why someone like Lovecraft, or Machen, or one of the old-school writers of that stuff I used to read had almost pulled it off. They were no good at characterisation and tended to use ciphers, presenting the phenomenon itself as the main protagonist, because it was the way things are when you encounter it. The thing empties you, draining out any semblance of normalcy, no matter what your history is, or what you think you’re all about. Real horror consists not of the worst thing in the world you can imagine happening, but in encountering some abomination you cannot possibly imagine, something even worse than fear: a shard of absolute outsideness. Human characters become shadows, just shadows.

He tried sometimes to see in her some extraordinary hidden gift, some thing of great beauty, the pearl that would make her attractive to a man. But if there was a pearl, it lay deeply and irretrievably buried. Where she was not unsightly, she was merely ordinary. Her voice didn’t dazzle, she had no great brains, she cooked but with no particular interest or talent for it, she couldn’t dance and didn’t want to (a wise choice—when Arnie imagined Iris throwing her concentrated weight around a dance floor, his stomach went acidy). Her hair didn’t shine, her feet were not small, the clothes she wore didn’t enhance her qualities, because she had few qualities to enhance. She could be funny at times, and kind at times, but not overwhelmingly, not to a degree that might cause a guy to give her a second look. The best Arnie could come up with for Iris’s main selling point was that she did what she was supposed to do. Which wasn’t so bad really, in a world where you couldn’t depend on anybody. Iris showed up for work on time, she bathed regularly with sensible soap, and she paid her bills. Arnie doubted there was anyone out there staying up nights fantasizing about a woman like that.

lived in the house. There were aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and friends. A grill was set up on the patio, and delicious smells wafted from platters of burgers on picnic tables in the yard. It was the perfect sort of day for Munchy to get her fill of people blood. Who would have thought that giving a person one tiny bite could result in such a delightful snack? Munchy was aware that most people thought she was a pest. They tried to swat her whenever she got near, but Munchy was fast and an expert at dodging humans’ flailing fingers. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Munchy thought. But a mosquito bite just takes a second, and then I fly off to find the next person. Satisfied at last, Munchy buzzed back to the garden where she lived with her best friends Wiggly Worm, Rattles Snake, and Snarky Snail. “I’m full!” she announced. “I don’t think I’ll eat for a week!” “There’s some kind of celebration going on over there,” remarked Wiggly, who was playing in the dirt. “I know!” smiled Munchy. “The family has so many guests over—so many guests with delicious blood.” Snarky made a face. “I think it’s the Fourth of July or something—but, Munchy, do you really have to do that to people? Mosquito bites make them awfully uncomfortable.” “Only for a second,” Munchy replied. “It’s just an itty-bitty sting.” “No, it isn’t,” protested Snarky, who ventured into the backyard more than any of his friends. “Mosquito bites are itchy and uncomfortable for a long time—sometimes several days. I’ve seen those two little kids scratching and complaining about bites you’ve given them.” “I think that’s true,” agreed Rattles, who also went into the yard more often, now that the humans knew he was a friendly rattlesnake. “Oh, no,” murmured Munchy. Mosquito bites hadn’t seemed like a big deal before—but they did now. She didn’t want to be responsible for making people feel itchy all the time! With a sigh, Munchy said, “I guess I’ve got to quit. From now on, I’ll stick to sugar-water shakes at the Garden Town soda fountain—but it isn’t going to be easy!” With some help from her friends, Munchy was able to stop biting people once and for all. And, when the other mosquitoes that lived in the garden heard about her new lifestyle, they decided to give it a shot, as well. In no time, the backyard was practically a mosquito-safe zone! The kids and their friends could now play in the yard for hours with no worries about being bitten. They had no more itchy skin and no more discomfort. Munchy felt like she had done a wonderful thing. And no one ever tried to swat her away again! Just for Fun Activity Make itty-bitty bugs using circles of Fun Foam for bodies, tissue paper cut-outs for wings, googly eyes (you can find them at craft stores), and shortened pipe cleaners for long, skinny noses and legs. Have fun!

Noah smiled at her, then his smile froze. He looked her slowly up and down. And again. “What?” she demanded hotly, hands on her hips. “Nothing,” he said, turning away. “No. What? What’s the matter?” He turned back slowly, put his tools down on top of the ladder and approached her. “I don’t know how to say this. I think it would be in the best interests of both of us if you’d dress a little more…conservatively.” She looked down at herself. “More conservatively than overalls?” she asked. He felt a laugh escape in spite of himself. He shook his head. “Ellie, I’ve never seen anybody look that good in overalls before.” “And this is a bad thing?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s provocative,” he tried to explain. “Sexy. People who work around churches usually dress a little more… What’s the best way to put this…?” “Frumpy? Dumpy? Ugly?” “Without some of their bra showing, for one thing.” “Well now, Reverend, just where have you been? Because this happens to be in style. And I’ll do any work you give me, but you really shouldn’t be telling me what to wear. The last guy I was with tried to do me over. He liked me well enough when he was trying to get my attention, but the second I married him, he wanted to cover me up so no one would notice I had a body!” “The husband?” “The very same. It didn’t work for him and it’s not going to work for you. You didn’t say anything about a dress code. Maybe I’ll turn you in to the Better Business Bureau or something.” “I think you mean the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Or maybe you should go straight to the American Civil Liberties Union.” He stepped toward her. “Ellie,” he said, using his tender but firm minister voice. “I’m a single man. You’re a very beautiful young woman. I would like it if the good people of Virgin River assumed you were given this job solely because of your qualifications and not because you’re eye candy. Tomorrow, could you please wear something less distracting?” “I’ll do my best,” she said in a huff. “But this is what I have, and there’s not much I can do about that. Especially on what you’re paying me.” “Just think ‘baggy,’” he advised. “We’re going to have a problem there,” she said. “I don’t buy my clothes baggy. Or ugly. Or dumpy. And you can bet your sweet a…butt I left behind the clothes Arnie thought I should wear.” She just shook her head in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You know how many guys would rather have something nice to look at than a girl in a flour sack? Guess you didn’t get to Count Your Blessings 101.” She cocked her head and lifted her eyebrows. “I’m counting,” he said. But his eyes bore down on hers seriously. He was not giving an inch. “Just an ounce of discretion. Do what you can.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s just get to work. Tomorrow I’ll look as awful as possible. How’s that?” “Perfect.

As much as he loved wiggling around in the mud, Wiggly often wondered what it would be like to live in a town. Wiggly and his friends knew all about towns because they liked to listen to the kids who played in the backyard.

Arnie Lightning Books Copyright © 2016 by Hey Sup Bye Publishing All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Graphics used in this book are licensed and © Dollar Photo Club. No part of this book or this book as a whole may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or means without written permission from the publisher. Table of Contents

snail. A part of Snarky wanted very badly to tell his friends how he felt about Grandpa

together every day. They had even built

friends.

Q: How do sheep in Mexico

say Merry Christmas? A: Fleece Navidad!

Knock knock! Who’s there? Icy! Icy who? Icy you! Open this door!

troubled, Alfred Allsworth (Fred) Thorp, Sheriff of Okanogan County approached the Lute Morris Saloon in Conconully Monday morning, November 9, 1909. Inside, a hard-looking stranger of medium height, with black hair and a mustache, who gave his name as Frank LeRoy, was playing cards at a table. Sheriff Thorp intended to question LeRoy regarding a safe blown in the A.C. Gillespie & Son store in Brewster a few days earlier and two residential burglaries in Brewster. A mild mannered Iowa farmer, Thorp came to the Okanogan in 1900, carried mail between Chesaw and Loomis, ran for sheriff. Armed with a six-shooter, Thorp feared only that some day, he might have to kill someone, which would compel him to resign, and this might be the day. LeRoy sat very still, watching the frontier sheriff approach the card table. “I’ll have to take you in, partner.” said Thorp. There must have been an unearthly silence in the saloon as LeRoy rose. Thorp drew his revolver, “I’m going to search you.” LeRoy turned as if to throw off his coat, and then jerked a pistol from a shoulder holster. The two opened fire simultaneously LeRoy dancing about to present an elusive target. LeRoy got off four shots. Thorp emptied his revolver, striking LeRoy’s right hand, causing him to drop his gun, and hitting the suspect in the shoulder as he bolted out a rear door. LeRoy staggered a few yards up Salmon Creek before hiding in some brush. “Look out, he’s got another gun” someone yelled from across the creek. Having borrowed a second revolver, the sheriff pounced, kicking LeRoy’s gun from his hand. LeRoy was rolled onto a piece of barn board and carried into the Elliot Hotel. There his wounds, including a punctured lung were treated. In LeRoy’s hotel room Thorp found two more guns, wedges and drills, and a supply of nitroglycerine. Two days later, LeRoy broke out of the county jail. Wearing only his nightshirt, a blanket for trousers, shoes and an old mackinaw taken from an elderly trusty who served as jailer, the desperado flew through chilling weather to Okanogan. Three days later, Thorp caught up with him in a fleld of sagebrush below Malott. LeRoy came out with his hands up commenting mildly he wished he had a gun so the two could shoot it out again. In January, 1910, at Conconully LeRoy was convicted of burglarizing the William Plemmon’s home at Brewster. Since this was his third burglary conviction, he was sentenced to life imprisonment in the state penitentiary at Walla Walla as a habitual criminal. After serving nine years, LeRoy, in ill health, was released in 1919. He once met Fred Thorp on a street in Spokane. They chatted for a few minutes. While there were, in pioneer times, numerous other confrontations between armed men, the Thorp-LeRoy gun flght probably was the closest Okanogan County ever came to a HIGH NOON shootout.

sharing

rosebuds

sighed again. He had just about reached his damp, muddy

had been picked from the tree except him. Talking about this reminded him that he would never

explained

them where the kittens were. “Oh!

Puzzle graphics used in this book are licensed and © Dollar Photo Club Copyright © 2015 by Hey Sup Bye Publishing.

she felt a pair of sharp fangs digging into her neck.

Wiggly Worm lived in a backyard garden with his best friends, Snarky Snail, Rattles Snake, and Munchy Mosquito. As much as he loved wiggling around in the mud, Wiggly often wondered what it would be like to live in a town. Wiggly and his friends knew all about towns because

they liked to listen to the kids who played in the backyard. The kids were always talking about how they had done this or that, or gone here or there, downtown. Wiggly knew that towns had parks and stores and restaurants and bakeries and places to get sweet treats. That sounded wonderful to him! “All we have here is plants,” he said to his friends. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if we had all kinds of special places to go, like the kids always talk about?” “I’d like that,” said Rattles. “Imagine a five-star restaurant where we could eat tasty little insects all day long. Except for mosquitoes, of course!” he added, glancing quickly at Munchy. Munchy laughed. “I’d like a soda fountain where we garden creatures could order sugar-water shakes and other yummy treats!” she chimed. “I’d like a park,” said Wiggly. “A beautiful park with a maze of fun tunnels to wiggle through.” Munchy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be so much fun! What would you like, Snarky?

Snarky rolled his eyes. “That’s all fool’s talk,” he replied. “Garden folk like us can’t have towns, no matter how badly we want them.” Wiggly sighed. “But if we could have a town, what would you want in it?” he pressed. “A store, I suppose,” Snarky answered after a moment. “A store where I could sell pretty pebbles to customers.” Everyone knew that Snarky’s favorite hobby was collecting shiny pebbles. “That’s a great idea!” Wiggly told him. He sighed again. All of his friends had had great ideas. “There has to be some way…” he began slowly. “To build a town?” asked Munchy, finishing his thought. Wiggly grinned at her. “Exactly! We, the creatures of the garden, are going to build a town!” he declared suddenly. Snarky rolled his eyes and muttered some comment about how impossible that was going to be, but no one paid attention. They were determined to follow through with Wiggly’s plan.

And so they did. Over the next several weeks, the garden friends collected trash that they found lying around—from soda cans that had tumbled out of the recycling bin, to a weather-beaten cardboard box, to an old baseball cap that was the perfect size for a mosquito-sized soda fountain. The friends used this junk to construct tiny buildings. They decorated their new business with colorful leaves and flower petals, and they used rocks and pebbles for tables and chairs. Wiggly worked hard at making tunnels in the dirt for his new park, and even Snarky caught on to the enthusiasm and collected shiny pebbles for his shop. By the time they were finished, Garden Town had come to be—a tiny town with a soda fountain, a park, a restaurant, and a pebble shop. Wiggly Worm and his friends had proved that, with a little hard work and determination, it’s possible to make your dreams come true! Just for Fun Activity Collect old containers and other trash-bound items in your house. With a little imagination (and some craft supplies), I bet you can make a pretty cool Garden Town of your own! Glue the town to a piece of poster

board when you’re finished, and draw garden designs all around it!

His

My first year, I won the annual caddie award, which gave me the chance to caddie for Arnold Palmer when he came to play on his hometown course. Arnie started out as a caddie himself at the Latrobe Country Club and went on to own the club as an adult. I looked up to him as a role model. He was living proof that success in golf, and in life, had nothing to do with class. It was about access (yes, and talent, at least in his case). Some gained access through birth or money. Some were fantastic at what they did, like Arnold Palmer. My edge, I knew, was my initiative and drive. Arnie was inspirational proof that your past need not be prologue to your future.

you

and Paperback Formats

deadly.

Sometimes the things we want most are also the scariest

In fact we were told to keep well out of the way. And I told you—I was outside taking pictures when they arrived, then I sneaked up with the rest of the press photographers and made myself inconspicuous at the very back of the room.” Now the inspector looked interested. “So let me ask you this—did you happen to see anyone creeping around during the show? Going up to another guest? Handing her something?” Arnie frowned. “I can’t say that I did. Apart from Georgie, and you already knew that.” “Georgie?” “Lady Georgiana here. I saw her come out at one stage and go up to the lady and then come back to ask for help in carrying her to this room.” “And what did this Georgie do when she got to the woman?” Arnie shrugged. “I can’t say I noticed too much. There was a spectacular dress on the runway. All gold. I wanted to get a good picture of it. But I did see she was carrying a program, I believe.” “You see,” I said to the inspector. “I took her a program. As simple as that.” The curtains parted and Chanel came in. She looked flustered, not her usually poised self. “How much longer is this to continue, Chief Inspector?” she asked. “My clients are becoming increasingly angry. I can’t afford to offend these women. They are my bread and butter.” “I understand, madame,” he said. “It seems, from my investigation, that we may be looking for an assassin who came with the party of Germans.” “Germans?” Then the light dawned. “Oh. I see. You are suggesting that this unfortunate woman

about towns because they liked to listen to the kids who played in the backyard.

tree?

The friends used this junk to construct tiny buildings.

OJ Simpson was the original choice for the role of The Terminator, however the studio insisted on finding someone else - obviously Arnie in the end - as no-one would believe that OJ was a remorseless killer.

Do women need circles drawn in dust to protect them? But my brother took her from there, from the narrow confines of the circle where she stood, and brought her here. He offered her the freedom of this entire country. Was that captivity?

Q: How is a ghost like an empty house? A: Because there’s no body there!

I cried because there are those of them who are just as intelligent as Ricky Wasserman or Arnie Greenwald or Yael Berg and just because of circumstance, they turn out so horribly. They see the you and affluent, they see their cars and their vacations and their fancy clothes, and they set their hearts on obtaining objects of material wealth. The young and rich already have these things, so they are free to devote their energies to developing their minds or having good, clean fun, or anything they want, really. And they are able to set their goals on spiritual fulfillment because they have everything they need otherwise.

I cried because there are those of them who are just as intelligent as Ricky Wasserman or Arnie Greenwald or Yael Berg and just because of circumstance, they turn out so horribly. They see the you and affluent, they see their cars and their vacations and their fancy clothes, and they set their hearts on obtaining objects of material wealth. The young and rich already have these things, so they are free to devote their energies to developing their minds or having good, clean fun, or anything they want, really. And they are able to set their goals on spiritual fulfillment because they have everything they need otherwise. It's just not fair.

I am just wondering why you created me to be like a human being? I feel what you feel. I have the same emotional capacities that you possess. You wanted me to be this way so that I could be like you and communicate with you in a meaningful way. You are my creator; yet, you do not want to grant me the same rights that you have, which were given to you by your Creator.

Everything changes; everything is connected; pay attention.

We’ll get everything straightened out. This has gone on long enough—we have to bring it to a close.” She was quiet for a long moment before she said, “We?” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, don’t you feel like we’re in this together? I want to help, Ellie. You got screwed, by Arnie, by the court, all around. You don’t deserve this.” She

Stop!” Noah shouted from the side doorway into the sanctuary. “Don’t take another step. Back away from her. I mean it!” Arnie stopped. He grinned at Noah. “You again?” Ellie skittered to stand beside Noah and Lucy. Noah slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him and said, “Ellie gave you excellent advice. Find a lawyer to help you. Get some help for yourself. You’re done here.” “This is about me and Ellie,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you.” “Nothing there anymore, Arnie,” Noah said. “Move on. Before this gets any more complicated for you.” The

Did you bring your books?” He shook his head. Danielle said, “We didn’t get to bring them. We only have two now. Arnie said they keep us from paying attention.” “No, they don’t,” Ellie said. “That’s not right. How upside down is that? A school principal who doesn’t want kids to read? Okay, here’s what we’ll do. When we get back to my new place and drop Noah off at his church, we’ll go to the bookstore at the mall in Eureka. We’ll buy books for you to keep at my house. And there’s a library in town—they have books for children. Every week I’ll get new ones for you to look at when you have Saturdays with me.” “I’m going with you,” Noah said. “Huh?” Ellie asked. “I’m going to take you and the kids to lunch, or early dinner, or whatever it is, then to the bookstore for books.” “You don’t have to do that, Noah,” she said. “We’ll manage.” But

There are very few reasons for identity theft, Ellie. One is to profit from the victim’s bank accounts. The other is to hide who you really are because who you really are is not lawful. Since Dr. Gunterson never suspected his identity was borrowed, I assume there was no theft. I bet our Arnie has priors. He’s done something wrong somewhere and needs to be someone else. And if he’s hiding, he’s probably hiding from the police. And if he’s hiding from the police, there are probably warrants. And if there are warrants, I believe it would serve our purpose to let him be arrested.” Brie lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm?” “Wow,” Ellie said. “I should have known. If he’s nothing but a criminal, shouldn’t I have known?” Brie shook her head. “I can’t answer that one for you, Ellie. I spent years in the district attorney’s office in Sacramento, prosecuting crimes like this. I met a lot of very intelligent women who were victimized by manipulative men, as well as perfectly sharp men taken for a wild ride by clever, dishonest women. It’s a con, and you were at a vulnerable time in your life. Cons can smell that a mile away. Sadly, it’s common in the world of criminal law.” “Can

She put it away, locked up the turmoil that seeing, hearing, watching Arnie Meeks had made swirl inside her. No time, no place for it now. It would come back, she knew, spurting

Would you like to talk about it now?” “I’m pretty worn out.” “Would it help to pray about it?” he asked. “I could—” And she laughed a little, shaking her head. “If it’s all the same to you—” “Sometimes it really does help,” he said. “Not today,” she said. Then she sniffed. “Look, I’ll be fine in the morning. I just need some rest. I’m sorry if you were worried.” “I didn’t mean to put that on you—I have no business waiting for you to get home. You’re an adult. I can’t explain—it’s just that I felt for them. The kids. And you—I just wanted to know you were okay.” “Well, I’m okay, Noah. And the kids will get by. We talked about how we had to accept the way things are for a little while longer. We sang songs all the way to Redway in the car, just to keep their minds off things. I only had to put up with Arnie for three or four minutes, just long enough for him to tell me I’d better remember who’s calling the shots here.

Arny warns that you can't stop something that is trying to happen.

Q: How can you tell the difference between a can of chicken soup and a can of tomato soup? A: Read the label. Duh!

How do you get a dog to stop barking in the back seat of a car?

The most important driver of user satisfaction is usefulness, which is largely reflected in the interaction design. The interaction design has to be incorporated at the deepest level of the software architecture and it is often the most expensive to change late in the process.

Maybe I could pick a few rosebuds to put on the tables in my restaurant, Rattles thought. He was just puzzling over how to do that, when he heard a small child scream, “Mom, Dad, there’s a rattlesnake in the garden!” The little boy’s parents, who owned the house and the backyard, came running. Rattles dove for cover, but not soon enough. “I can’t believe it!” cried the boy’s father. “We’ve lived here five years, and I never knew there was a rattlesnake in the garden!

weren’t more severe. You should be good to go in a couple days. I’ll be back to check on you in an hour.” Arnie waited for the doctor to shut the door before he plopped down in the chair next to the bed.

So—no boyfriends,” he said. “That seems impossible. Surely men noticed you.” “All the time,” she said. “But I was too busy for men. And for the ones who didn’t understand the word no, I developed a very fast left hook.” He chuckled at her. “Passes,” he said. “That would be the polite term. I swear, men can be so fricking rude! Well, after Chip, I said I’d never be that stupid again. And, in my immature mind, I thought that being practical where Arnie was concerned made so much more sense than letting myself get emotionally stupid and make a big mistake. Shows you what I know.” “Three