At Middleton Quotes

Let me feel how thy pulses beat.

In the deserted men's restroom at the back of Middleton Community College, Sam Keller knelt on the tile, braced his hands against Keith Jameson's thighs, and broke his mother's heart.

I have loved the stars too well to fear the night. ---Elizabeth Middleton Bonner

Elizabeth Middleton, twenty-nine years old and unmarried, overly educated and excessively rational, knowing right from wrong and fancy from fact, woke in a nest of marten and fox pelts to the sight of an eagle circling overhead, and saw at once that it could not be far to Paradise.

The slowest kiss makes too much haste.

Shut off the door and don't let the light hit you in the ass on your way out.

It occurs to me that cricket is not the true sport in London - gossip is.

We tend to treat labels as real, rather than as representations of reality

Never regret trying anything that makes you happy, even if it doesn't make sense to those around you.

With respect to the acceptance of dissociative disorders, as with most issues in life, it is counterproductive to spend time trying to convince people of things they don't want to know.

You cant ever know anyone completely, can you? I mean, we're ever changing, maturing, growing...Each day we're confronted by new outside influences that have us forever making decisions that take us one or two steps in one direction or the other - continually altering our course. - Jason Miller

I think online friends often know you the best.

What you leave behind says as much about you as what you bring along.

The capacity for dissociation enables the young child to exercise their innate life-sustaining need for attachment in spite of the fact that principal attachment figures are also principal abusers.

Has not heaven an ear? Is all the lightning wasted?

Lady Middleton resigned herself... Contenting herself with merely giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject, five or six times every day.

The coolest thing about fandom is the friendships made along the way with people who share your passions.

Just because I’m not there, doesn’t mean I’m not here for you.

FRANCISCUS: How sweetly she looks! Oh, but there's a wrinkle in her brow as deep as philosophy.

Even when things are at their worst, I refuse to believe all is lost. I will never go down without a fight.

Soak up every moment, be generous with your love, and be thankful for those who love us back.

Ellen rose to her feet. Jack thought for a moment she was going to storm out. Instead, she picked up the pitcher of hot fudge and poured the contents onto Leesha Middleton's pink jeans and fuzzy white sweater. "Oops." Ellen sat down again and went back to eating her ice cream. Leesha screamed, a sound that could be heard in Canada. Every eye in Corcoran's was on her. She slid out of the booth and swiped ineffectually at her jeans with a napkin.Then she plucked at her ruined sweater with her thumb and forefinger. "You...you...I can't believe you did that!" Ellen licked whipped cream from the back of her spoon and looked at Leesha calmly. Leesha was tiny, but she seemed to expand, like an amphibian taking on air, then she drew herself up and retrieved her pink leather purse from the bench next to Jack. It was smeared with fudge too. "You'll pay for that, I promise you," she said to Ellen in a voice that raised the gooseflesh on Jack's neck. Then she turned and left. For a moment, Corcoran's was totally silent. Ellen looked across the table at Jack's sundae. "Are you going to finish that?

I much applaud thy judgement; thou art well-read in a fellow. And 'tis the deepest art to study man.

He paused for a minute and I could feel him trembling. “I love you,” he whispered against my skin and then his teeth, broke through.

Fate can be a lazy bitch. Don't wait around for her.

Whatever form it takes, camping is earthy, soul enriching and character building, and there can be few such satisfying moments as having your tent pitched and the smoke rising from your campfire as the golden sun sets on the horizon--even if it's just for a fleeting moment before the rain spoils everything.

Mrs. Nightwing glances at the box in my hands. She clears her throat."I understand you've decided against Mr. Middleton."... It's best to be sure, through and through," she says, keeping her eyes steadfastly on the girls running and playing on the lawn. "Else you could find yourself one day coming home to an empty house, save for a note: I've gone out. You could wait all night for him to return. Nights turn into weeks, to years. It's horrible, the waiting. You can scarcely bear it. And perhaps years later on holiday in Brighton, you see him, walking along the boardwalk as if out of some dream. No longer lost. Your heartbeat quickens. You must call out to him. Someone else calls first. A pretty young woman with a child. He stops and bends to lift the child into his arms. His child. He gives a furtive kiss to his young wife. He hands her a box of candy, which you know to be Chollier's chocolates. He and his family stroll on. Something in you falls away. You will never be as you were. What is left to you is the chance to become something new and unsure. But at least the waiting is over.

Her fingers touched me! She smells all amber.

London is yours. If you want it.

Sometimes the scars you can't see are a lot worse than the ones you can, you know?

It's a pity you are so poor & plain. And a shame you have such intelligence & spirit, Miss Middleton. You might otherwise make a man an acceptable spouse.

Ty didn't think Middleton was a great girl. He thought Middleton was a pain in the ass. Waltzing around with her shiny hair and long legs and her throaty voice, being cuter than a fistful of buttons. Where did she get off?

She's my best friend—she's everything to me. It's always just been me and her against the world.

We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one.

There's no shame in getting help. There's no shame in being a work in progress.

Rivers course through my dreams, rivers cold and fast, rivers well-known and rivers nameless, rivers that seem like ribbons of blue water twisting through wide valleys, narrow rivers folded in layers of darkening shadow, rivers that have eroded down deep in a mountain's belly, sculpted the land, peeled back the planet's history exposing he texture of time itself.

Castiza: "False! I defy you both! I have endured you with an ear of fire; Your tongues have struck hot irons on my face! Mother, come from that poisonous woman there." Gratiana: "Where?" Castiza: "Do you not see her? She's too inward then.

Good, happy, swift; there's gunpowder i'th' court, Wildfire at midnight in this heedless fury.

I am Aeneas, duty-bound, and known Above high air of heaven by my fame. -AM #CymruAMbyth

No sticky till I no longer feel icky, you feel me?

Isn't it weird how you can fall in love with a place you've never even visited?

Everybody judges from the point of view of his own inadequacy.

Just think Kate Middleton. Does she do housework? Does she work for a living? See how the world adores her? You (a kept woman) are worthy of adoration, too!

Life gives you no guarantees.

You’ve got a good thing with Mark. Don’t spoil it by fixating on the future or dwelling on what could go wrong.

Tis time to die when we are ourselves our foes.

If I'm not a writer, who am I?

Nothing worth achieving is easy or quick.

You can do this.

If doing your own make-up is good enough for Kate Middleton, it’s good enough for me.

If I did the right thing, why does it hurt so much?

If we could talk to our younger selves now, eh? Dust yourself off, don’t let the bastards grind you down, and always make your mum proud.

Oh,Wert not gold and women, there would be no damnation

Sometimes the heart wants what it can't have.

It was just a case of working out exactly where the fear was in space and time, then visualising it, before making a conscious choice to step into it and – finally – doing what had to be done.

Well?” he asked, smiling devilishly. “I promise, I won’t hurt you, Nikki. In fact, I imagine you’ll enjoy my company, tremendously.” I let out a ragged sigh and nodded. He stared at my mouth. “I’d like to hear you say it.” I cleared my throat. “Come in, Ethan.

Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls-big hips, big chest, wide shoulders-she carried herself like she was exactly the same size everyone wanted to be. And everyone went along with it.

Instead of hearing the message he was trying to impress upon me and the impressionable queer ears hanging on his every word, all I could think was, I can't believe he just told them all how old I am. - Jason's reaction to Chad's speech

Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance and extravagance of her table, and all her domestic arrangements; she loved to surprise English visitors with displays of hospitality native to her homeland, such as flavouring her soups with monkey urine and not telling anyone she had done so until the bowl had been drained.

As it was impossible however now to prevent their coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with all the philosophy of a well bred woman, contenting herself with merely giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times a day.

Staying in that corridor doesn’t just mean remaining where you are, being the same person forever. It means you shrink. You get weaker. More pathetic. Fear is a magic shrinking potion. If you don’t learn to harness it, it will make you smaller and smaller and smaller.

As fast as they peep up let's cut 'em down.

Money! Ho, ho! 'T'as been my want so long, 'tis now my scoff. I've e'en forgot what colour silver's of.

You were like this rare, beautiful comet lighting up the dark sky. You helped me find my way again…helped me find myself again. You saved me.

You and me, we just make sense. We belong together.

Tis time to die, when 'tis a shame to live.

testosterone in this room is going to either make me go nuts or grow a pair; frankly I don’t want to do either.

I’d probably sleep like an angel but dream like the Devil, if the images of Reed didn’t leave my sinful mind.

If I fuck you, you’ll think all your prayers have been answered. I’ll make you see god, Middleton. I’ll make you think I am god.

You don't look backwards to walk forwards.

I’ll then take a deep look into the three kinds of fear: fear of suffering, fear of failure and fear of conflict.

What you see on the outside, never tells the true story of someone’s heart.

How will I get up each morning knowing it will be a day without you in it?

People who treat change as a positive force are able to adapt to any situation, because the human mind is incredible

Negative people hate other humans being positive and will always try to attack them.

Just look at tonight—London is yours. I’m not surprised, not at all. It may have taken you a while to realize it, but you can do anything you put your beautiful mind to.

Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton’s mother, was a good-humoured, merry, fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar.

I woke up the Following morning with the Kings of Leon telling me that "my sex was on fire." I shut off my alarm and that's when all of the memories of the previous night came rushing back.

Forget the past. You can’t change it. It has no power over you. And forget the future too. You can’t control that either. You can only change your life in the present. All that matters is right now.

I turned on the television and watched a movie about a girl who’d fallen in love with both a vampire and a werewolf. I’d already seen it a million times, so my eyelids grew heavy, fairly quickly. Ten minutes later I was out cold in my bed and dreaming of Duncan, who turned into a werewolf and was trying to kill my own vampire boyfriend. Every time I tried to see the vampire’s face, however, it was a blur.

I have to say, Middleton, I didn't think you'd have it in you." He's looking me over, and I know what he meant was that I don't look the part. I'm too frail. Too small. "Maybe you shouldn't think then," I retort.

It is interesting to note that most kings, queens or princes/princesses of the British Empire and Europe were born either on a new moon day or a full moon day! That includes Queen Victoria and even the current Prince William and his consort Kate Middleton.

How sweetly she looks! O, but there's a wrinkle in her brow as deep as philosophy. - Anacreon, drink to my mistress' health, I'll pledge it. Stay, stay, there's a spider in the cup! No, 'tis but a grape-stone; swallow it, fear nothing, poet. So, so; lift higher.

I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the unceasing kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt. To the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart hardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very attention. To John, to Fanny, — yes, even to them, little as they deserve, I had given less than their due. But you, you above all, above my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your heart and its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me? Not to any compassion that could benefit you or myself. Your example was before me; but to what avail? Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? Did I imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking any part in those offices of general complaisance or particular gratitude which you had hitherto been left to discharge alone?

Lussurioso: "Welcome, be not far off, we must be better acquainted. Push, be bold with us, thy hand!" Vindice: "With all my heart, i'faith. How dost, sweet musk-cat? When shall we lie together?" Lussurioso: (aside) "Wondrous knave! Gather him into boldness? 'Sfoot, the slave's Already as familiar as an ague, And shakes me at his pleasure! -- Friend, I can Forget myself in private, but elsewhere, I pray do you remember be." Vindice: "Oh, very well, sir. I conster myself saucy." Lussurioso: "What hast been? What profession?" Vindice: "A bone-setter." Lussurioso: "A bone-setter!" Vindice: "A bawd, my lord, one that sets bones together." Lussurioso: (aside) "Notable bluntness!

The Dream of a Queer Fellow I write the words again and they appear doubly pregnant with meaning. It is a true and terrible phrase : true, because we are all queer fellows dreaming ; and we are queer just because we dream ; terrible, because of the vastness of the unknown which it carries within itself, because it sets loose the tremendous and awful question : What if we are only queer fellows dreaming ? What if behind the veil the truth is leering and jeering at our queerness and our dreams? What if the queer fellow of the story were right, before he dreamed ? What if it were really all the same? What if it were all the same not once but a million times, life after life, world after world, the same pain, the same doubt, the same dreams? The queer fellow went but one day's journey along the eternal recurrence which threatens human minds and human destinies. When he returned he was queer. There was another man went the same journey. Friedrich Nietzsche dreamed this very dream in the mountains of the Engadine. When he returned he too was queer.

The boy reported - after the Sergeant had slept for a few hours, which was not nearly enough - that YouTube had actually gone down for ten minutes under the weight of traffic. The story was truly global, truly immense: not Obama, not Justin Bieber, not Psy and not Bin Laden had ever touched this, he said. Not Khaled Saeed and not Mohamed Bouazizi, either. If Pippa Middleton and Megan Fox had announced their intention to marry during a live theatrical production of 50 Shades of Grey starring Benedict Cumberbatch, and then taken off their clothes to reveal their bodies tattooed with the text of the eighth Harry Potter novel, they might have approached this level of frenzy. But probably not, the boy said, because not everyone liked Benedict Cumberbatch.

SELFHOOD AND DISSOCIATION The patient with DID or dissociative disorder not otherwise specified (DDNOS) has used their capacity to psychologically remove themselves from repetitive and inescapable traumas in order to survive that which could easily lead to suicide or psychosis, and in order to eke some growth in what is an unsafe, frequently contradictory and emotionally barren environment. For a child dependent on a caregiver who also abuses her, the only way to maintain the attachment is to block information about the abuse from the mental mechanisms that control attachment and attachment behaviour.10 Thus, childhood abuse is more likely to be forgotten or otherwise made inaccessible if the abuse is perpetuated by a parent or other trusted caregiver. In the dissociative individual, ‘there is no uniting self which can remember to forget’. Rather than use repression to avoid traumatizing memories, he/she resorts to alterations in the self ‘as a central and coherent organization of experience. . . DID involves not just an alteration in content but, crucially, a change in the very structure of consciousness and the self’ (p. 187).29 There may be multiple representations of the self and of others. Middleton, Warwick. "Owning the past, claiming the present: perspectives on the treatment of dissociative patients." Australasian Psychiatry 13.1 (2005): 40-49.

It may take a decade or two before the extent of Shakespeare's collaboration passes from the graduate seminar to the undergraduate lecture, and finally to popular biography, by which time it will be one of those things about Shakespeare that we thought we knew all along. Right now, though, for those who teach the plays and write about his life, it hasn't been easy abandoning old habits of mind. I know that I am not alone in struggling to come to terms with how profoundly it alters one's sense of how Shakespeare wrote, especially toward the end of his career when he coauthored half of his last ten plays. For intermixed with five that he wrote alone, Antony and Cleopatra, Coriolanus, The Winter's Tale, Cymbeline, and The Tempest, are Timon of Athens (written with Thomas Middleton), Pericles (written with George Wilkins), and Henry the Eighth, the lost Cardenio, and The Two Noble Kinsmen (all written with John Fletcher).

By contrast, if you stay in a negative environment for too long you’ll become a negative person. Fact. It will suck the life out of you. It’s the same with negative people. If you’re surrounded by people who think and act negatively, then it’s for fucking sure that you’ll start doing the same. It’s up to you, really.

This is why I always tell people, don’t try to better your life, don’t try to better your work, don’t try to better your relationships. Don’t try to be rich, happy, successful. Don’t do any of that. You’ll be wasting your time. It doesn’t work. Nothing will change, and you’ll get disillusioned and burned out. Instead, you should work at trying to better who you are as a character. Be the best version of you that you can imagine, and I guarantee that all the rest of it will just fall naturally into place.

Ha! What news here? Is the day out a' th' socket That it is noon at midnight? The court up?

Get the hell away from us before i go find my hammer and pound some sense into that gaping hole between your ears

Sometimes we have to wait a little bit for what we want most.

Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls—big hips, big chest, wide shoulders—she carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. And everyone else went along with it—including Levi, and all the other guys who hung out in their room while Reagan finished getting ready.

Peter makes clear in an early sermon in Acts. You are the descendants of the prophets and of the covenant that God gave to your ancestors, saying to Abraham, “And in your descendants all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” When God raised up his servant, he sent him first to you, to bless you by turning each of you from your wicked ways. (Acts 3:25–26) So before Jesus is the savior of the world, he is the savior of Israel, restoring them to their status and role as God’s elect people.

It's been very interesting over the years just how many of those psychiatrists that were openly incredulous and dismissive have become stalwart admitants to the [trauma and dissociation] unit. In fact I can remember one psychiatrist... this is going back more than a decade and a half... it says something about the ambivalence about this area... who rang me saying he doesn't believe that DID exists but nevertheless he's got a patient with it that he'd like to refer. That's called Psychiatrist Multiple Reality Disorder. - 15 years as the director of a trauma and dissociation unit: Perspectives on Trauma-informed Care

It’s been said that we pass through life with a diminishing portfolio of enthusiasms. My problem is having had so many to start out with. Now, at the age of fifty-six, I have painting, my four beautiful children, fly casting, writing, friends, wing shooting, printing, family and extended family, cooking, and Marusia, the light of my life, not at all necessarily in that order. The problem, if you want to call it that, is there is no time left for things that don’t matter. Years ago, after watching someone waste endless hours on some pointless project, Tom McGuane observed that the fellow obviously believed the average human lifetime to be ten thousand years. I’m treating it as if there were less than a minute to go.

If a parent behaves in a negative way around their child, then, guess what, their child is going to grow up with a negative mindset. This means that as parents we carry a huge responsibility on our shoulders. And yet how many of us can really say we’re leading by example? I worry that we’re becoming a nation of lazy parents. We’re so concerned with ourselves, we’re so narcissistic, that we forget that if we start acting like kids, our kids will start acting like babies. There’s a knock-on effect. Adults, increasingly, are acting like teenagers. Teenagers, more and more, are acting like children. Children are regressing into babies. There are adults who can barely look after themselves. They play the victim all the time and think only of me, me, me. Their kids don’t stand a fucking chance. No wonder there’s a whole generation of children who stick their heads in their laptops or tablets and never come out. We’re supposed to be taking steps forward in life, not tumbling back!

In the same essay, Said (who is reviewing Peter Stansky and William Abrams, co-authors obsessed with the Blair/Orwell distinction) congratulates them on their forceful use of tautology: ‘Orwell belonged to the category of writers who write.’ And could afford to write, they might have added. In contrast they speak of George Garrett, whom Orwell met in Liverpool, a gifted writer, seaman, dockworker, Communist militant, ‘the plain facts of [whose] situation—on the dole, married and with kids, the family crowded into two rooms—made it impossible for him to attempt any extended piece of writing.’ Orwell’s writing life then was from the start an affirmation of unexamined bourgeois values. This is rather extraordinary. Orwell did indeed meet Garrett in Liverpool in 1936, and was highly impressed to find that he knew him already through his pseudonymous writing—under the name Matt Lowe—for John Middleton Murry’s Adelphi. As he told his diary: I urged him to write his autobiography, but as usual, living in about two rooms on the dole with a wife (who I gather objects to his writing) and a number of kids, he finds it impossible to settle to any long work and can only do short stories. Apart from the enormous unemployment in Liverpool, it is almost impossible for him to get work because he is blacklisted everywhere as a Communist. Thus the evidence that supposedly shames Orwell by contrast is in fact supplied by—none other than Orwell himself! This is only slightly better than the other habit of his foes, which is to attack him for things he quotes other people as saying, as if he had instead said them himself. (The idea that a writer must be able to ‘afford’ to write is somewhat different and, as an idea, is somewhat—to use a vogue term of the New Left—‘problematic’. If it were only the bourgeois who were able to write, much work would never have been penned and, incidentally, Orwell would never have met Garrett in the first place.)