Backbone Brother Quotes

Poor innocent little lambie," God said, shaking his head. "Telion. I made you people in My Image. I swear, and drink, and have sex. I even burp and fart, but I damn sure don't snore. You seriously think I mind if people I made to reflect me act like I do? Not hardly. And there's another bone I have to pick with you lot. Know why I don't mess with Amrontil for the most part? I'll tell you. You sorry fuckers forgot how to talk to Me and you completely fucking rejected My gifts. You grovel and beg and plead like you're talking to My asshole Brother Gabriel. Makes Me want to barf. Come on, people, get a backbone! And fucking get laid, would you? Uptight repressed bastards.

When The Nation Regresses (Sonnet 2210) Letter to the rest of the world - for the first time in over 200 years, US is proudly regressing to its primitive origins, now is the time to take stock of your strengths within - your domestic brains, your domestic backbones, and wield, empower and apply them most vehemently - now is the time you fly higher than ever, without sam, because big brother has turned into a drunken uncle. And to those living within these shores of liberty, who still have their senility intact, I say - you might not have had the honor to fight nazis, but now is the time you resist with your life. It's not a free country, it's a free jungle, where predators roam free abusing the marginalized. If you don't stand up now on the right side of life, not human, not alive, you are undead - uncivilized.

The rain eased. A single drop, here then there, shook a leaf like the flick of a cat’s ear. Kya hopped up, cleaned out the Frigidaire-cupboard, mopped the stained plywood kitchen floor, and scraped off months of caked-on grits from the woodstove burners. Early the next morning, she scrubbed Pa’s sheets, reeking of sweat and whiskey, and draped them over the palmettos. She went through her brothers’ room, not much bigger than a closet, dusting and sweeping. Dirty socks were piled in the back of the closet and yellowed comic books strewn next to the two soiled mattresses on the floor. She tried to see the boys’ faces, the feet that went with the socks, but the details blurred. Even Jodie’s face was fading; she’d see his eyes for an instant, then they’d slip away, closing. The next morning, carrying a gallon can, she walked the sandy tracks to the Piggly and bought matches, backbone, and salt. Saved out two dimes. “Can’t get milk, gotta get gas.

Clusters of destroyers were tied up together at the far end of the East Loch beyond Ford Island, but it was the moorings along the island’s eastern side that commanded the most attention. These were home to the backbone of the Pacific battleship fleet. Numbered F-1, or Fox-1, to F-8 from southwest to northeast, the moorings, or quays, spread out almost three quarters of a mile. With good reason, everyone called it Battleship Row. By the evening of December 5, Battleship Row was home to the following ships: A small seaplane tender, the Avocet (AVP-4), tied up at F-1 for the weekend. F-2, which normally berthed an aircraft carrier was empty, Lexington and Enterprise both being at sea. Northeastward, California, the flagship of the Battle Force, moored at F-3. The oiler Neosho (AO-23), which was unloading a cargo of aviation gas and scheduled to depart for the states Sunday morning, occupied F-4. Then, things got a bit crowded. At F-5 and F-6, moored side by side in pairs, with fenders between them, sat Maryland on the inboard (Ford Island side) with Oklahoma outboard, and Tennessee inboard with West Virginia outboard. Astern of Tennessee lay the Arizona at F-7. All of these battleships were moored with their bows pointed down the channel to facilitate a rapid departure to sea.

This city was so cosmopolitan once," the cook continued, breaking the mackerel's backbone first above its tail, then below its head. "We had Jewish neighbors, lots of them. We also had Greek neighbors, and Armenian neighbors. . . . As a boy I used to buy fish from Greek fishermen. My mother's tailor was Armenian. My father's boss was Jewish. You know, we were all intermingled." "Ask him why things have changed," Armanoush turned to Asya. "Because Istanbul is not a city," the cook remarked, his face lighting up with the importance of the statement he was about to make. "It looks like a city but it is not. It is a city-boat. We live in a vessel!" With that he held the fish by its head and started moving the backbone right and left. For a second Armanoush imagined the mackerel to be made of porcelain, fearing it would shatter to pieces in the cook's hands. But in a few seconds the man had managed to take the whole bone out. Pleased with himself, he continued. "We are all passengers here, we come and go in clusters, Jews go, Russians come, my brother's neighborhood is full of Moldovans.... Tomorrow they will go, others will arrive. That's how it is....

Nobody would ever believe that you had any interest in me.” “I could make them believe. Not one in ten thousand would have figured out what you just did. Not one. I could make everyone believe in the woman who saw that—quiet, yes, and perhaps a little shy in company—” Minnie made a rude noise, but he waved her quiet. “You have steel for your backbone and a rare talent for seeing what is plainly in front of your face. I could make everyone see that.” His eyes were intense, boring into her. There was no escaping him, it seemed. He dropped his voice. “I could make everyone see you.

The baby chose that moment to toddle forth on his hands and knees, squealing with glee when he’d covered the two feet between Sophie’s side and St. Just’s boots. “A headlong charge into enemy territory can see a fellow taken prisoner.” St. Just lifted the baby under the arms and brought the child up to face level. Kit grinned, swiped at St. Just’s nose, and emitted such sounds as to establish beyond doubt that a certain fellow’s nappy was thoroughly soiled. “Gah!” “Gah, indeed.” St. Just kept the child at arm’s length. “Westhaven, you have a son. I nominate you.” “Valentine needs the practice.” Vim took the baby from St. Just’s grasp and headed for the laundry. As he left the parlor, he heard Lord Valentine softly observe, “You know, Soph, most men with any backbone can calmly accept the threat of a duel to preserve a lady’s honor, but it’s a brave man indeed who can deal with a dirty nappy without even being asked.” “Your timing is deplorable,” Vim told the malodorous, grinning baby. “But I think you’ve given Sophie’s brothers their first reason to pause before they call me out.” “Bah!” ***

She will not cower from her roots, yet she bends like a rose bush for my brother. Her thorns may bite, but ultimately, he will clip them off until she’s left with a weak backbone that will easily snap beneath his hands. Everything that once made her vibrant and beautiful will wilt, and eventually, he’ll toss her aside when there’s nothing left of her.

A decent, quiet man, Cadfael had called him, and coming from Cadfael there was nothing dismissive in that description. Decent, quiet men were the backbone of any community, to be respected and valued beyond those who made the biggest commotion and the most noise in the world.

This generation possessed freedom and material wealth their elders could only dream of, and they looked for the miracle of love in the void between Chinese and Western culture. They created idealised versions of themselves on the internet, and pushed the boundaries of what they thought love could be. But as this generation grew accustomed to the loneliness of living without brothers and sisters, the family could no longer be considered the backbone of Chinese culture.

Everyone targets the weak and acts swiftly...It's how you can see whether that weakness has a backbone or not.