Au I Ll Quotes

Amy turned to Nellie. "Can you create a diversion to draw the clerk outside?" The au pair was wary. "What kind of diversion?" "You could pretend to be lost," Dan proposed. "The guy comes out to give you directions, and we slip inside." "That's the most sexist idea I've ever heard," Nellie said harshly. "I'm female, so I have to be clueless. He's male, so he's got a great sense of direction." "Maybe you're from out of town," Dan suggested. "Wait–you are from out of town." Nellie stashed their bags under a bench and set Saladin on the seat with a stern "You're the watchcat. Anybody touches those bags, unleash your inner tiger." The Egyptian Mau surveyed the street uncertainly. "Mrrp." Nellie sighed. "Lucky for us there's no one around. Okay, I'm going in there. Be ready." The clerk said something to her–probably May I help you? She smiled apologetically. "I don't speak Italian." "Ah–you are American." His accent was heavy, but he seemed eager to please. "I will assist you." He took in her black nail polish and nose ring. "Punk, perhaps, is your enjoyment?" "More like a punk/reggae fusion," Nellie replied thoughtfully. "With a country feel. And operatic vocals." The clerk stared in perplexity. Nellie began to tour the aisles, pulling out CDs left and right. "Ah–Artic Monkeys–that's what I'm talking about. And some Bad Brains–from the eighties. Foo Fighters–I'll need a couple from those guys. And don't forget Linkin Park..." He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door.

read as to eat. I was greatly taken with this new way of talking and derived considerable pleasure from speaking it to the waiter. I asked him for a luster of water freshly drawn from the house tap and presented au nature in a cylinder of glass, and when he came around with the bread rolls I entreated him to present me a tonged rondelle of blanched wheat, oven baked and masked in a poppy-seed coating. I was just getting warmed up to this and about to ask for a fanned lap coverlet, freshly laundered and scented with a delicate hint of Lemon Daz, to replace the one that had slipped from my lap and now lay recumbent on the horizontal walking surface subjacent to my feet, when he handed me a card that said “Sweets Menu” and I realized that we were back in the no-nonsense world of English. It’s a funny thing about English diners. They’ll let you dazzle them with piddly duxelles of this and fussy little noisettes of that, but don’t mess with their puddings,

Well, Harry, while we’ve still got you here, you won’t mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, will you? There’s still so much to do.” “No--I--of course not,” said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject. “Sweet of you,” she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery. From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron, and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, Harry started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander. “I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she’ll be able to delay you leaving,” Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay. “And then what does she think’s going to happen?” Harry muttered. “Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?

6 And I’ll admit that on the very first night of the 7NCI asked the staff of the Nadir’s Five-Star Caravelle Restaurant whether I could maybe have a spare bucket of au jus drippings from supper so I could try chumming for sharks off the back rail of the top deck, and that this request struck everybody from the maître d’ on down as disturbing and maybe even disturbed, and that it turned out to be a serious journalistic faux pas, because I’m almost positive the maître d’ passed this disturbing tidbit on to Mr. Dermatitis and that it was a big reason why I was denied access to stuff like the ship’s galley, thereby impoverishing the sensuous scope of this article.

You see I'm wearing the tie," said Bingo. "It suits you beautiful," said the girl. Personally, if anyone had told me that a tie like that suited me, I should have risen and struck them on the mazzard, regardless of their age and sex; but poor old Bingo simply got all flustered with gratification, and smirked in the most gruesome manner. "Well, what's it going to be today?" asked the girl, introducing the business touch into the conversation. Bingo studied the menu devoutly. "I'll have a cup of cocoa, cold veal and ham pie, slice of fruit cake, and a macaroon. Same for you, Bertie?" I gazed at the man, revolted. That he could have been a pal of mine all these years and think me capable of insulting the old tum with this sort of stuff cut me to the quick. "Or how about a bit of hot steak-pudding, with a sparkling limado to wash it down?" said Bingo. You know, the way love can change a fellow is really frightful to contemplate. This chappie before me, who spoke in that absolutely careless way of macaroons and limado, was the man I had seen in happier days telling the head-waiter at Claridge's exactly how he wanted the chef to prepare the sole frite au gourmet au champignons, and saying he would jolly well sling it back if it wasn't just right. Ghastly! Ghastly! A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn't been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them, and Mabel hopped it.

I’m not helping you kill anybody else. It’s just not happening. I’m done.”“What makes you think you have a choice?”“You know why? I’ll tell you. Because we were just kissing in the street, and deep down, I don’t believe you could actually blow up my house or kill my sister. I just don’t, and she’s probably not even in the house anymore anyway, so if you want to go in there and shoot somebody, fine, but you’re on your own.”Gobi paused, seeming to consider all of this. “What is it that you want to hear from me, Perry? Do you want me to tell you that these are bad people that I am killing tonight? Because they are. They are very bad people. They deserve to die, each and every one of them.”“Nobody deserves to die.”“Oh, really?”“Okay, I mean, maybe people like Hitler and Pol Pot . . . dictators, tyrants, African warlords who starve their people into submission . . . but that guy at the bar wasn’t an evil man.”“How do you know? Because he had drinks with Hemingway?”“I just know.

I meant what I said about sex.” His hand slid all the way up her leg, pushing what little skirt was still covering her out of the way, holding it in a bunch at her belly button. Her nudity was fully exposed to his gaze and he looked his fill, breathing out hard. “Who said anything about sex?” He leaned in, his mouth dropping to the pale slice of skin between where his hand held her skirt and the thatch of hair between her legs. She wasn’t trimmed as was the fashion among the women he usually took to his bed but Troy was not a fussy guy and here, under the stars, his head filling with the musky scent of her arousal, au naturel seemed fitting. The ragged pant of her breathing stuttered into the air as he lazily stroked his tongue down. Down. Down. Down. She roused. Shifted. Raised herself up on her elbows, her abs tightening, her thighs tensing. “I think you’ll find that still counts,” she said, obviously throwing one last-ditch effort into denying herself the pleasure she so clearly craved. He chuckled low, his warm breath fanning her belly, satisfied to feel gooseflesh stippling the soft skin. “If you think this is sex, you need to read some more textbooks, doc.

Line of AuNor, dragon bold Flows to me from days of old, And through years lost in the mist My blood names a famous list. By Air, by Water, by Fire, by Earth In pride I claim a noble birth. From EmLar Gray, a deadly deed By his flame Urlant was freed, Of fearsome hosts of blighters dark And took his reward: a golden ark! My Mother’s sire knew battle well Before him nine-score villages fell. When AuRye Red coursed the sky Elven arrows in vain would fly, He broke the ranks of men at will In glittering mines dwarves he’d kill. Grandsire he is through Father’s blood A river of strength in fullest flood. My egg was one of Irelia’s Clutch Her wisdom passed in mental touch. Mother took up before ever I woke The parent dragon’s heavy yoke; For me, her son, she lost her life Murderous dwarves brought blackened knife. A father I had in the Bronze AuRel Hunter of renown upon wood and fell He gave his clutch through lessons hard A chance at life beyond his guard. Father taught me where, and when, and how To fight or flee, so I sing now. Wistala, sibling, brilliant green Escaped with me the axes keen We hunted as pair, made our kill From stormy raindrops drank our fill When elves and dwarves took after us I told her “Run,” and lost her thus. Bound by ropes; by Hazeleye freed And dolphin-rescued in time of need I hid among men with fishing boats On island thick with blown sea-oats I became a drake and breathed first fire When dolphin-slaughter aroused my ire. I ran with wolves of Blackhard’s pack Killed three hunters on my track The Dragonblade’s men sought my hide But I escaped through a fangèd tide Of canine friends, assembled Thing Then met young Djer, who cut collar-ring. I crossed the steppes with dwarves of trade On the banks of the Vhydic Ironriders slayed Then sought out NooMoahk, dragon black And took my Hieba daughter back To find her kind; then took first flight Saw NooMoahk buried in honor right. When war came to friends I long had known My path was set, my heart was stone I sought the source of dreadful hate And on this Isle I met my fate Found Natasatch in a cavern deep So I had one more promise to keep. To claim this day my life’s sole mate In future years to share my fate A dragon’s troth is this day pledged To she who’ll see me fully fledged. Through this dragon’s life, as dragon-dame shall add your blood to my family’s fame.

These things are bad for you: sex, high-rise buildings, chocolate, lack of exercise, dictatorship, racism! No, au contraire! Celibacy damages the brain, high-rise buildings bring us closer to God, tests show that a bar of chocolate a day significantly improves chilren's academic performance, exercise kills, tyranny is just a part of our culture so I'll thank you to keep your cultural-imperialist ideas off my fucking fiefdom, and as for racism, let's not get all preachy about this, it's better out in the open than under some grubby carpet. That extremist is a moderate! That universal right is culturally specific! This circumcised woman is culturally happy! That Aboriginal whistlecockery is culturally barbaric! Pictures don't lie! This image has been faked! Free the press! Ban nosy Journalists! The novel is dead! Honor is dead! God is dead! Aargh, they're all alive and they're coming after us! That star is rising! No, she's falling! We dined at nine! We dined at eight! You were on time! No, you were late! East is West! Up is down! Yes is No! In is Out! Lies are Truth! Hate is Love! Two and two makes five! And everything is for the best, in this best of all possible worlds.

I take it you have some sort of plan going? Something that calls for you to be arrested?" "There, now, you see? I told Drake you'd grasp the gist of things right away, but he had his doubts." "Drake?" I straightened up. "Is Gabriel with him? Did he get my message?" "Of course he got your message. That's why I'm here. Is there no chair?" she asked, frowning around the empty room. "No. I hate to let down the team and all, but what exactly are you doing here? Is Gabriel going to be able to get me out of being sent to the Akasha? Is he going to appeal the conviction?" "Better than that," she said with smile, glancing around quickly before leaning in closely, her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "We're going to bust you out of here." "Bust me..." I closed my eyes for a moment. "You've been watching too many old westerns. No one conducts jailbreaks these days. Especially not when the jailers are the L'au-dela committee." "That's why this plan is so incredibly cunning," she said, giving my arm a little squeeze. "They're all expecting you to try to escape-they'll never expect us to break you out of here." "Oy," I said, sliding down the wall to the floor. "This has 'doomed from the start' written all over it. You didn't think up this plan yourself, did you?" I asked suspiciously. She looked offended. "No, I didn't, and you can stop being such a negative Nelly. Gabriel thought up the plan, and Drake and I are helping. I'm the decoy, you see." "Of course you are. What, exactly, is this grandiose escape plan?" Her mouth set in a prim manner. "I can't tell you." "Why not?" "There could be bugs. We don't want them to know our plans." "If they were listening in, you just told them there's a plan, so they'll be expecting something to happen," I pointed out. "Yes, but they won't know what," she said, pulling off her jacket. Her shirt followed almost immediately, as did her jeans, shoes, and the sparkly pink socks that she was so prone to wearing despite the fact they would look more at home on a twelve-year-old. I watched her striptease with confusion for a moment before a thought struck me. "You don't mean-" "Shhh," she said, waving a vague hand around as she pulled off the scarf she wore to confine her bangs. "Bugs, remember?" I bit back an obvious reply, thought for a moment, then decided that although the plan Gabriel had come up with was too I Love Lucy for words, I didn't have any alternative. I stripped.

I want to get attached, Tallulah,” he said on top of her mouth. “Nah, I’m already more than a little obsessed with you, aren’t I? You start babbling my name while I spoon-feed you orgasms, I will get attached. Happily. Just like I’ll happily knock out anyone else who tries. Be. Sure.

2014 Andy’s message continues   You know, Young, before you came along, the other students I chaperoned were mere duties to me. Life with them was much simpler. When you came into the picture, it became more difficult for me to separate the sex act and the intimate relationship we shared. I would often end up at an emotional crossroads when you were summoned to perform sexual duties. No matter how I told myself that you were merely performing a sexual favour and that love doesn’t enter into that equation, an acrid taste plagued me, even when I busied myself with passionate projects while waiting for you to complete your tasks. These negativities ate at my core, challenging my sanity and begging me to snatch you away from the sexual situations. A part of me wanted to possess you rather than permit you to come into your own. Yet as soon as I saw you, happy and bouncing into view, my levelheadedness and sound judgement would return. Once again, I could wrap you in my arms and surround you with my love. Although I may have seemed composed, those were indeed trying times. I had to restrain my irrationality so I wouldn’t jeopardise our E.R.O.S. statuses. Like you, I was also pushing the green-eyed monster back into its abysmal lair. Reflecting on those experiences, I’m surprised I managed to constrain myself. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful for my Bahriji training and E.R.O.S. experiences – without them, I would not have been as strong or resilient. I remember Eric Hoffer, the American moral and social philosopher, who wrote, “Many of the insights of the saint stem from his experience as a sinner.” Though I don’t consider E.R.O.S. recruits and members sinners, I think our experiences were, in a way, saintly – were they not?               Well, young one (you will always be my ‘young one’), I’ll message you again. For now I bid you au revoir mon ami. I’ll be in touch.               Love,               Andy

As he forced himself to retreat from the world of his sketch, Elijah realized the boys were trying to start a squabble over some lower order of card—a three? “I-unts” became increasingly vocal, interspersed with “It’s not your turn,” until Elijah had to set his drawing aside and scoop William up in his arms. “What you want,” he informed the child, “is a stout tickling.” He scratched lightly at the boy’s round tummy, provoking peals of merriment. William’s laughter, surprisingly hearty coming from so small a body, sounded to Elijah exactly as Prudholm’s had when that worthy was still small enough to tease and tickle like this. “Elijah…” Jenny’s tone bore patience and a warning. Don’t get the little ones all wound up, Elijah. You’re the oldest, and they look to you for an example of proper decorum. He lifted the happy little fellow up over his head and slowly lowered him. “Enough, my lad. Time to go with nurse and have some bread and jam. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Or maybe some of your mama’s delicious stollen. Mmmm.” “I want some of Mama’s Christmas bread too,” Kit announced. “Come along, Aunt Jen. We’ll share.” Elijah stood, passed Sweet William off to his nurse, and took Aunt Jen by the hand. “I’m sure your aunt longs to accompany you, Kit, but she must stay here and help me clean up this awful mess.” Kit’s gaze darted to the scattering of cards on the rug. To a small child, a deck held thousands of cards, none of which little hands found easy to stack. Such a pity, that. “I’ll save you a piece of stollen, Aunt Jen.” Kit took his nurse’s hand and towed her toward the door. “’Bye, Aunt, ’bye, Mr. Harrison.” “Au revoir,” Elijah murmured.

Kokomo Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I want to take ya Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go, Jamaica Off the Florida Keys, there's a place called Kokomo That's where you want to go to get away from it all Bodies in the sand, tropical drink melting in your hand We'll be falling in love to the rhythm of a steel drum band Down in Kokomo [Chorus] Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I want to take you to Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go Ooh I want to take you down to Kokomo, we'll get there fast and then we'll take it slow That's where we want to go, way down in Kokomo. Martinique, that Montserrat mystique We'll put out to sea and we'll perfect our chemistry And by and by we'll defy a little bit of gravity Afternoon delight, cocktails and moonlit nights That dreamy look in your eye, give me a tropical contact high Way down in Kokomo [Chorus] Port au Prince, I want to catch a glimpse Everybody knows a little place like Kokomo Now if you want to go and get away from it all Go down to Kokomo [Chorus] Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I want to take you to Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go Ooh I want to take you down to

I think we'll be better as friends" "Guess you need to be proven wrong

Can you do mango cream in the croquembouche?" Mangoes must have been a thing with them, because Saint grinned. "Of course. How about two croquembouches and perhaps glace au beurre noisette to accompany?" "I think you're my hero," Delilah said with a relieved sigh. "Dessert hero," Saint corrected, but he was smiling, too, in a reserved way that reminded me too much of myself. "Thanks, man. Seriously." "It's not a problem." "What was that last bit you mentioned?" Emma asked, looking a little glazed in the eyes. The woman really did love her desserts. "Browned-butter ice cream. I'll be serving it more as a semifreddo, though, considering the time." "Lord save me." She fanned herself.

Kitchen people understood that food didn't have to be gourmet to taste good, and that sometimes gourmet food didn't taste good at all. "Kiwis are a soulless fruit," my mother once said when she saw them in a fruit tart on the Ritz's dessert tray. "Don't ever use sun-dried tomatoes," my father told his staff. "They'll take your magic powers." Even junk food could be better. Once, for Jake's birthday, the staff laid out his favorite foods--- frozen meatballs and Twinkies--- on brass serving plates in the dining room. When they sliced the Twinkies horizontally to expose the cream, even my mother admitted they made an attractive dessert. At staff Christmas parties we served junk food, too: sour-cream-and-onion potato chips, chicken wings, and hot dogs, and for dessert more Twinkies. The rest of the year I never ate food like that, and by the holidays Cotswold tarts and melon wrapped in prosciutto bored me. In my black velvet dresses, I gnawed on fried drumsticks, with a napkin stuffed into my lace collars to catch the crumbs. "I'm not whipping up any foie gras for you tonight, kiddo," said Carla, who, in her olive-green T-shirt and holding a beer, looked the same as she did behind the line. "Fend for yourself.

Si au réveil du premier sommeil, tu te prépares un thé, Au réveil du sommeil suivant, adoulci sera ton chagrin.

sitôt /sito/ I. adv - Sitôt conjonction et préposition se traduit le plus souvent par as soon as. Mais attention au choix du temps: sitôt rentré de voyage (qu'il rentrera) = as soon as he gets back from his trip; (qu'il est rentré) = as soon as he got back from his trip; sitôt la fin du mauvais temps (dans le passé) = as soon as the bad weather had passed(dans l'avenir) = as soon as the bad weather has passed.I • ~ après (tout de suite) immediately after; (peu de temps) soon after • elle est arrivée ~ après | she arrived soon afterwards • nous partirons ~ après | we'll leave immediately afterwards • je n'y retournerai pas de ~ | I won't go back there in a hurry (familier) II. conj, prép - Sitôt conjonction et préposition se traduit le plus souvent par as soon as. Mais attention au choix du temps: sitôt rentré de voyage (qu'il rentrera) = as soon as he gets back from his trip; (qu'il est rentré) = as soon as he got back from his trip; sitôt la fin du mauvais temps (dans le passé) = as soon as the bad weather had passed(dans l'avenir) = as soon as the bad weather has passed.II • ~ que | as soon as • ~ qu'ils arriveront, ~ leur arrivée | as soon as they come III. Idiome • sitôt dit, sitôt fait† | no sooner said than done

Just how did you know where this guy grew up?!" "Was it mere coincidence?! No way! This has to be deliberate! But how?! What kind of magic trick is this, Miss Yamato Nadeshiko?!" "Um, it's kind of hard to explain but... sometimes there's a certain lilt to how you pronounce your words. It sounded an awful lot like the lyrical accent unique to that area." "Huh?" "Eheh heh... when I'm not paying attention, sometimes my hometown accent slips outdo. Given your outfits and brand choices, I figured you were American... so I wondered if you were born in the South near the Gulf of Mexico... which made me think you probably had gumbo a lot growing up." "Well, I'll be! You managed to deduce all that?" "Was I right? Oh, I'm so glad!" "No way! I don't believe it! Just who are you?! How can you even figure something like that out?!" "Eheheh heh... it wasn't much. I've just been doing some studying, is all." "Voila. C'est votre monnaie. Au revoir, bonne journée." "Merci!" In the few months since earning my Seat on the Council of Ten... I took advantage of some of the perks it gave me... to visit a whole bunch of different countries. I went to all kinds of regions and met all kinds of people... learning firsthand what it feels like to live and thrive there. I experienced the "taste of home" special to each place... and incorporated it into my own cooking... so that I could improve a little as a chef! "And that's how you knew about gumbo? But still! All you did was make a dish from my hometown. That's it! There's no way it should've overwhelmed me this much! Why?! How could you manage something like that?!" "I think it's because, deep down, this is what you've truly been searching for. Um, to go back to what I mentioned to you earlier... I think you might have the wrong idea. I'm pretty sure that isn't what real hospitality is. In your heart, the kind of hospitality you're truly looking for... isn't to be pampered and treated like a king for a day. If that kind of royal luxury was all you were looking for... you wouldn't need to come all the way to Japan. You could have just reserved a suite at any international five-star hotel to get that experience. But you said you specifically liked Japan's rural hot springs resort towns. The kind of places so comfortable and familiar they tug at your heart... places that somehow quietly remind you of home. "I think... no, I know... ... that what you really want... ... is simply a warm, gentle hug.

He laughed again. “Well, I’ve seen life — I told you young fellows at Frestonhills, I trusted to my sauce piquante; and I must say it has used me very well hitherto, and I dare say always will as long as I keep away from the Jews. While a man has plenty of tin, all the world offers him the choicest dinner; though, when he has overdrawn at Coutts’s, his friends wouldn’t give him dry bread to keep him out of the union! Be able to dine en prince at home, and you’ll be invited out every night of your life; be hungry au troisième, and you must not lick the crumbs from under your sworn allies’ tables, those jolly good fellows, who have surfeited themselves at yours many a time! Oh yes, I enjoy life; a man always can as long as he can pay for it!

The length of time you have supposedly been getting away with the fakery doesn’t necessarily reduce the suspicion that you have of yourself as an impostor. We judge ourselves on the terms of our own inner monologue, and others by their outer appearance, which will never be an equal match. Everyone else looks so confident at the party, so are you the only one terrified of picking up a vol-au-vent, for fear the prawn filling will splurt down your top or you’ll have pastry-plastered teeth, just as a stranger decides to make conversation with you? Will your conversation be too polite? Or insufferably dull? Why is everyone else in the world vivacious, except you?