Bambi Quotes

"Don't be scared of Bambi" the demon said. "She's only curious and maybe a little bit hungry." The thing was named Bambi? Oh, my God, the thing stared at me like it wanted to eat me.

Within a few short hours, he nearly had me agreeing to try deer jerky for the first time. Almost. If it weren't for Cam continuously whispering "Bambi" in my ear every couple of minutes, I would've caved.

Victor patted my hand. 'I like you, Sky. You're a fighter.' 'I am, aren't I? Hear that, Zed? No more bambi comparisons. I'm a Rottweiler -with a temper.' 'A very small Rottweiler,' said Zed, still not convinced.

I just find it interesting that kids apparently used to cry when Bambi's mother died. George and I both held our breaths, and then cheered when she didn't reanimate and try to eat her son.

I was a hip kid. When I saw Bambi it was the midnight show.

Hi! My name is Bambi! I like kittens and puppies and throwing flaming balls of death at my enemies!

Every scene should be able to answer three questions: "Who wants what from whom? What happens if they don't get it? Why now?

Yeah, really scary," agreed Zoe, struggling not to laugh. "Like Bambi with an Uzi.

Alan: Conning people out of their savings. Forgery. Blackmail. Selling real estate on Mars. We could have it all. You with me, Bambi?" Sin: "Clive, I was with you from 'I'm a social worker.

I...can’t believe you have kittens.” I wiggled my fingers and the little guy strained to reach them. “What’re their names?” Roth snorted. “That one is Fury. The white one is Nitro and the black one is named Thor.” “What? You called these cuties something like that, but named a giant snake Bambi?” He bent forward, placing a kiss on my shoulder. It was so fast I wasn’t sure he’d actually done it. “There’s sweetness in evil,” he said. “And remember, looks can be deceiving.

He'd woken up after flying from Boston to Montana to find his da cooking breakfast for them: sausage and pancakes shaped like deer. It wasn't just any deer, either - they looked like Bambi from the disney cartoon. Charles didn't want to know how his father had managed that

Come on, Mowgli. Let's go kill Bambi.

He looked up grinning. This one is Bluebelle and that one, he gestured at the one that smelled my leg, is Flower. I made a face. What is with you and the movie Bambi? He stood up fluidly. It's an American classic.

I don’t care,” he replied resolutely. “I’m not punching Bambi in the face.

This is so weird. I feel like bambi just morphed into a raging nymphomaniac.

Bambi was inspired, and said trembling, "There is Another who is over us all, over us and over Him.

Aren't you afraid of death, oak? How can you speak so casually about it?' The trees creaked their bare branches until it seemed to Geno that they must be laughing. 'Death?' they said. 'How is it death to return to earth again? Our seed can grow from us. We shall return.

...I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are.

I started to respond, but Bambi slithered up and placed its horse-sized head on my shoulder. Every muscle in my body locked up and I squeezed my eyes shut. There was a puff of air, stirring the hair along my temple. Bambi’s forked tongue shot out, tickling the side of my neck. “Hey, look, Bambi likes you.” I pried one eye open. “And if she didn’t?” “Oh, you’d know, ’cause she would’ve eaten you by now.

I still think of Oregon Trail as a great leveler. If, for example, you were a twelve-year-old girl from Westchester with frizzy hair, a bite plate, and no control over your own life, suddenly you could drown whomever you pleased. Say you have shot four bison, eleven rabbits, and Bambi's mom. Say your wagon weighs 9,783 pounds and this arduous journey has been most arduous. The banker's sick. The carpenter's sick. The butcher, the baker, the algebra-maker. Your fellow pioneers are hanging on by a spool of flax. Your whole life is in flux and all you have is this moment. Are you sure you want to forge the river? Yes. Yes, you are.

What are you going to do, Luca?' I clenched my fists at my sides. 'Pull a gun on me?' 'If that's what it takes.' 'How brave!' I exploded. We were so close to one another now. 'You can't use your words. but you're more than happy to use your gun.' 'I'm not going to be responsible for ruining your innocence!' I tilted my face towards him to show I wasn't afraid, or as innocent as he clearly thought. 'Go ahead,' I whispered. 'Shatter it.' We were nose to nose. 'It almost worked last time, when you told me about my dad.' 'I don't care,' he replied resolutely. 'I'm not punching Bambi in the face.

Q: What do you get when you cross Bambi with an umbrella? A: You get a rain-deer (reindeer).

Your growing antlers,' Bambi continued, 'are proof of your intimate place in the forest, for of all the things that live and grow only the trees and the deer shed their foliage each year and replace it more strongly, more magnificently, in the spring. Each year the trees grow larger and put on more leaves. And so you too increase in size and wear a larger, stronger crown.

It’s a nice dick,” Bambi said. “Oh my god, would you please not stare at my alfa’s junk?” “He’s pretty good with it too,” Jessie said. Joe growled at both of them as he followed his mate. Bambi laughed as Jessie flipped him off.

I am tired of shooting zombie deer that wander past our safety zone. Well, okay. I'm not really tired of that part. That part is pretty cool. Suck it, Bambi.

His eyes were locked on me. We looked like Bambi and Faline, twitterpated, unable to be around normal people, at least I did.

ask yourself, what would babbi do? waht WWBD? You know, the famous line in the movie Bambi if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

We are endowed with a moral capacity that animals, plants, rocks-and many fervent ecologists-lack. We should not be dirty, wasteful or cruel. To do so harms others. That's wrong. Therefore we don't disembowel Bambi like the way coyotes do, we shoot him first.

If everyone could feel as I felt at that moment, dressed in my preppy sweater and McGregor coat and about to set out on a little journey with my Bambi-eyed girlfriend on Christmas Eve, all conflicts in the world would vanish. Mellow smiles would rule the earth.

You see, when you're young and foolish it doesn't matter where you may be, you always think that you'll be happier somewhere else.

I’m okay.” Zayne staggered to his feet. “I can fight.” “I sure hope so.” Roth lifted his arm and Bambi came off his skin, coiling on the floor between us. “Because if you’re just going to lay there and bleed, you suck.” Armentrout, Jennifer L. (2014-03-01). White Hot Kiss (The Dark Elements Book 1) (p. 368). Harlequin. Kindle Edition.

The most dreadful part of all," the old stag answered, "is that the dogs believe what the hound just said. They believe it, they pass their lives in fear, they hate Him and themselves and yet they'd die for His sake.

Spoiler alert: Bambi’s mom doesn’t make it.

Colby better not bring me home Bambi, or I just might want to divorce him

He leaned over and removed the lid, and some really wonderful smells steamed out. But I wasn’t going to get excited, not this time, because it was probably Bambi in shallots or Nemo with fennel or—

Marena looked at all of them out of her big, calm, shining eyes. "Love is no nonsense," she said. "It has to come.

The young doe, Marena, said, "In this very hour many of us are going to die. Perhaps I shall be one of them.

How can you waste time? You have only so much to use, and no matter what you do, it still passes.

On Friday the 13th, April 2029, an asteroid large enough to fill the Rose Bowl as though it were an egg cup will fly so close to Earth that it will dip below the altitude of our communication satellites. We did not name this asteroid Bambi. Instead, we named it Apophis, after the Egyptian god of darkness and death.

Did Genghis Khan take his coffee black?" Oberon asked me. After my bathtime story, he wanted to be the Genghis Khan of dogs. He wanted a harem full of French poodles, all of whom were named either Fifi or Bambi. It was an amusing habit of his: Oberon had, in the past, wanted to be Vlad the Impaler, Joan of Arc, Bertrand Russell, and any other historical figure I had recently told him about while he was getting a thorough cleansing. His Liberace period had been particularly good for my soul: You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an Irish wolfhound parading around in rhinestone-studded gold lamé.

It was on the tip of my tongue to say something snide, something that would hurt him, but somehow I couldn't. It would be like kicking Bambi in the teeth.

Ahí lo tienen, señoras y señores. Yo veo a Bambi. Él ve filetes de ciervo friéndose en una sartén

I walked with a sexy, confident walk, just like Bambi on his first walk.

They fluttered and rustled ceaselessly through the air from all the tree-tops and branches. A delicate silvery sound was falling constantly to earth. It was wonderful to awaken amidst it, wonderful to fall asleep to this mysterious and melancholy whispering.

Henry glared at Anastasia. 'You quit planning on a rich husband, Anastasia. You're gonna get rich on your own. You and me, if we want husbands, fine. But we won't need them. Like our mothers. My mom could do just fine being a waitress, and your mom could do just fine being an artist. They got husbands 'cos they want them. That Bambie, now maybe she'll need a husband. But not you and me. Got it?

On Friday the 13th of April 2029, an asteroid large enough to fill the Rose Bowl as though it were an egg cup, will fly so close to Earth, that it will dip below the altitude of our communication satellites. We did not name this asteroid Bambi. Instead, it's named Apophis, after the Egyptian god of darkness and death. If the trajectory of Apophis at close approach passes within a narrow range of altitudes called the 'keyhole,' the precise influence of Earth's gravity on its orbit will guarantee that seven years later in 2036, on its next time around, the asteroid will hit Earth directly, slamming in the Pacific Ocean between California and Hawaii. The tsunami it creates will wipe out the entire west coast of North America, bury Hawaii, and devastate all the land masses of the Pacific Rim. If Apophis misses the keyhole in 2029, then, of course, we have nothing to worry about in 2036.

I was nearly asleep when Rico said, “Bambi’s convinced I’ve slept with half of you. She wouldn’t tell me which half, but since there are more men than women, that means she thinks I’ve sucked some dick. It’s not that I’m scared of dick, but I don’t know how I feel about balls hitting my chin, you know?” Chris and Tanner burst out laughing even as most of the rest of us groaned.

Everything you say,' Geno said rather irritably, 'contradicts itself.' 'Of course it does,' the screech owl rejoined obscurely. 'Otherwise, how would anyone ever keep to the middle of the road?

What do you want? What do you know about it? What are you talking about? Everything belongs to Him, just as I do. But I, I love Him. I worship Him, I serve Him. Do you think you can oppose Him, poor creatures like you? He's all-powerful. He's above all of you. Everything we have comes from Him. Everything that lives or grows comes from Him.

Horrible ...” said Bambi in his chamber to the elder. “Worst of all,” the elder replied, “is that they believe in what the dog just said. They believe it, they live a life full of fear, they hate Him and they hate themselves ... and they kill themselves for his sake.

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Marena," he said with an effort, "Marena...." He did not recognize her. His voice failed.

As Bambi’s mother said, why not blow a few extra bucks when the mood strikes?

He was cold, standing in a wood, talking to a big black bird who was currently brunching on Bambi.

If you can't say sumpin' nice, then don't say nuttin' at all. Quote from Thumper, advice from his mother in the child's book, "Bambi.

Rico was in the break room, feeding Bambi grapes by hand as she sat in his lap. I didn't understand straight people.

«Non sei arrabbiato con me? Dovresti.» «Oh, lo sono stato, bambi. Non puoi capire quanto. Ma ora non ha più importanza.» Giocherellò distrattamente con la cerniera del suo tutone. E fu allora che me ne resi conto: stava mentendo. Un’altra delle cose che aveva imparato da me.

Don't lose your head," screamed the pheasant. And at the same time his voice broke in a whistling gasp and, spreading his wings, he flew up with a loud whir. Bambi watched how he flew straight up, directly between the trees, beating his wings. The dark metallic blue and greenish-brown marking son his body gleamed like gold. His long tail feathers swept proudly behind him. A short crash like thunder sounded sharply. The pheasant suddenly crumpled up in mid-flight.

I gave myself a little shake. So if Gideon was carrying on as if nothing had happened—well, thanks a lot, I could do the same. “Okay, let’s get out of here,” I said brightly. “I’m cold.” I tried to push past him, but he took hold of my arm and stopped me. “Listen, about all that just now . . .” He stopped, probably hoping I was going to interrupt him. Which of course I wasn’t. I was only too keen to hear what he had to say. I also found breathing difficult when he was standing so close to me. “That kiss . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Once again it was only half a sentence. But I immediately finished it in my mind. I didn’t mean it that way. Well, obviously, but then he shouldn’t have done it, should he? It was like setting fire to a curtain and then wondering why the whole house burned down. (Okay, silly comparison.) I wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. I looked at him coolly and expectantly. That is, I tried to look at him coolly and expectantly, but I probably really had an expression on my face saying, Oh, I’m cute little Bambie, please don’t shoot me! There was nothing I could do about that. All I needed was for my lower lip to start trembling. I didn’t mean it that way! Go on, say it! But Gideon didn’t say anything. He took a hairpin out of my untidy hair (by now my complicated arrangement of strands must have looked as if a couple of birds had been nesting in it), took one strand, and wound it around his finger. With his other hand, he began stroking my fact, and then he bent down and kissed me again, this time very cautiously. I closed my eyes—and the same thing happened as before: my brain suffered that delicious break in transmission. (Well, all it was transmitting was oh, hmm, and more!) But that lasted only about ten seconds, because then a voice right beside us said, irritated, “Not starting that stuff up again, are you?

I had the strangest sensation that something was staring at me, and when I looked at Roth, Bambi’s head would be visible on his neck. “She likes you.” “What?” “Bambi,” he explained. “She’s trying to keep an eye on you while she’s resting.” Yet again, I wondered if Roth could read thoughts. He claimed he couldn’t. “I’m...happy to hear that.” “You should be. Normally she likes to eat people.

Non sono uno che vuole farti a pezzi con un’ascia,» mi affrettai a dire. «È quello che direbbe uno che vuole farmi a pezzi con un’ascia.» «Ma… ma non lo sono.» La sua fragorosa risata risuonò nella quiete notturna. «Mica pensavo sul serio che lo eri, bambi. E poi, dove la prendevi un’ascia a quest’ora?»

«C’è un mucchio di cose che hanno senso, bambi, e a volte, quando pensi che non ce l’hanno è solo perché stai cercando un altro tipo di significato.» «Che Dio mi aiuti, mi sto facendo fare una sega da Yoda.» «Ah-ah, una sega la via per il lato oscuro è.» «Oh, Gesù d’amore acceso, taci. Ti prego, taci. Io qui sto cercando di venire.»

A robin perched on the branch of the apple tree, his feathers ruffled, his red chest blazing. 'No need to look so down in the mouth,' he chirruped. 'Things'll get worse before they get better.' 'I don't know what it is about that tree,' Geno grumbled, 'that makes everything that sits in it talk in proverbs.' 'It's easier than thinking,' the robin stated.

Bertha kept things interesting, always shaky and a little unstable

It's hard to believe that it will ever be better," Bambi's mother sighed. Aunt Ena sighed too. "It's hard to believe that it was ever any better," she said. "And yet," Marena said, looking in front of her, "I always think how beautiful it was before.

Drag is armor, darling. No matter how you look at it. Once I become Bambi, nobody can hurt me. Not my family, not the drunk assholes at the bar, nobody. A good lace-front wig and the right contouring are as strong a bulletproof vest as I’ve ever needed.

The black bird cocked its head to one side, and then said, in a voice like stones being struck, 'You shadow man.' 'I'm Shadow,' said Shadow. The bird hopped up onto the fawn's rump, raised its head, ruffled its crown and neck feathers. It was enormous and its eyes were black beads. There was something intimidating about a bird that size, this close. 'Says he will see you in Kay-ro.' tokked the raven. Shadow wondered which of Odin's ravens this was: Huginn or Munnin, Memory or Thought. 'Kay-ro?' he asked. 'In Egypt.' 'How am I going to go to Egypt?' 'Follow Mississippi. Go south. Find Jackal.' 'Look,' said Shadow, 'I don't want to seem like I'm-- Jesus, look...' he paused. Regrouped. He was cold, standing in a wood, talking to a big black bird who was currently brunching on Bambi. 'Okay. What I'm trying to say is I don't want mysteries.' 'Mysteries,' agreed the bird helpfully. 'What I want is explanations. Jackal in Kay-ro. This does not help me. It's a line from a bad spy thriller.

it occurred to him that there were a lot of stories for kids with stuff like this in them, stuff that threw acid all over your emotions. Hansel and Gretel being turned out into the forest, Bambi’s mother getting scragged by a hunter, the death of Old Yeller. It was easy to hurt little kids, easy to make them cry, and this seemed to bring out a strangely sadistic streak in many story-tellers . . . including, it seemed, Beryl Evans.

It’s Bambi,” I correct, unable to stifle a laugh. “And chill, dude. Bambi’s a cartoon character from my childhood. You know, the Disney one?” “Never watched them,” he mutters, climbing the stairs. “Too busy having a life.” I pause at the bottom of them and gawk at the back of his head. “Never… watched… a Disney…” I echo.

Yes, life was hard and full of danger. Let it bring whatever it wants, he would learn somehow to bear all of it.

The only other time I've seen Paul cry was when he got hit in the teeth with a cricket bat when he was fourteen. And that time Diana made us watch 'Bambi'.

If you can´t say something nice, don´t say nothing at all. (Thumper from the Disney movie Bambi)

«Che accidenti di problema hai? Come puoi legarti a me se sono sempre con un piede fuori dalla porta?» «Non lo so. Senti, bambi, lo so che pensi che sono un po’ superficiale, e probabilmente lo sono, a essere onesto, ma non penso che sarà facile, e non penso che andrà sempre tutto bene. Ma anche se non andrà sempre tutto bene, mi sta bene uguale, perché le cose non vanno sempre bene, è così che funziona. E penso che comunque non ha senso preoccuparsi per cose che magari non succederanno mai.» «Oh, Dio,» mugugnai. «È tornato il saggio Yoda.» «Già.»

Darling,” she said. She turned to me, squinting her eyes, making her long lashes flicker. “Wait a second, what’s your name, anyway?” “Bambi,” Marc said. “Rachael.”“Aw.” Future shook her head. “Naw, you don’t look like a Rachael.” “Because you’re a Bambi,” Marc said. Stone, C. L. (2014-08-09). Liar: The Scarab Beetle Series: #2 (The Academy Scarab Beetle Series) (pp. 216-217). Arcato Publishing. Kindle Edition.

And it was true that if you categorized people by which Disney character they were, then Jonah would always be Bambi. Motherless, graceful, unobtrusive. Ethan--Jiminy Cricket, the annoying little conscience... just look at Ash. In the Disney hierarchy she was Snow White... He paused to wonder which Disney character Jules was, and realized that Disney did not make women or girls or woodland animals that were like her.

«Non sono qui perché sono a pezzi, sono qui perché mi sento completo. Problematico, probabilmente immeritevole, ma completo. Non ho bisogno di te, ma ti voglio. Ti voglio.» La mia voce si era fatta roca in modo imbarazzante. «Da morire. E…» Un altro respiro, un altro respiro. «Forse ti amo. O potrei amarti. O potrei arrivare ad amarti.» Avvertii un brusco capogiro, come se fossi sul punto di svenire o se stessi perdendo sangue dal naso. «Occhessoio.» «Oh, bambi,» disse Darian sorridendo, «sei un sacco romanico.» Rimasi a fissarlo, stordito e terrorizzato. «Oh, Dio. Allora è vero. Mi sa che ti amo. Ti amo sul serio.» Risi, non senza una punta di isteria. «Ti amo.» «Già.» Darian annuì con espressione saggia. «Io l’avevo pensato che eri innamorato di me. E poi ho pensato di no. E poi ho pensato che non lo eri per niente. E poi ho pensato di nuovo che lo eri. È tutt’apposto, bambi.»

All of her work was unsigned- a minot enough fact, but at the time, a disproportionately refreshing one. Bambi Kramer's and Ridgefield's pictures had all been either signed or- and it somehow seemed even more irritating- initialled.

Come ti chiami?» «A.A. Winters.» «Cosa? È così che ti chiami?» «Sì,» risposi in tono impaziente. «È così che mi chiamo.» «Ma tipo, anche a letto occhessoio? Ti chiamano A.A. Winters?» Lo guardai dritto negli occhi. «No, a letto mi chiamano Dio.» Rise di nuovo, la stessa fragorosa risata priva di inibizioni. «Mi piace,» disse strascicando le sillabe finché le due parole non furono quasi irriconoscibili. «Ma, sul serio, bambi, come ti chiami? Mia nonna dice di non andare colla gente che non ti dice il suo nome.» «Hai… intenzione di venire con me?» «Ci sto pensando,» disse, un po’ timidamente per qualcuno che stava discutendo di una botta e via. «Be’, d’accordo. Immagino che tu possa chiamarmi Ash»

Most people don't know this, but fear can be smelled as easily as it can be seen. It seeps into the pheromones and releases through sweat. It triggers a heightened response in the brain of those that smell it, and my Bambi smells f*cking delicious.

The creator of Bambi was secretly writing pornographic novels on the side. This single fact tells you everything you need to know about turn-of-the-century Vienna, and why it was the perfect place for Sigmund Freud and his far-fetched theories about the human psyche.

Not every girl has a bad-boy problem. Some of my friends get into relationships constantly. Others cheat all the time, or run away. Some get jealous. Some think they are too undateable to even try. Our dating pool is a circus of fuckups, misfits, and past mistakes that we keep on making. The brand of baggage you’re carrying on your back is the issue. But most of all, I think we fear the same thing. I think that thing is love. Real love. Think of your first love. Think of how Bambi-like you were, prancing around all excited and in love with everything. Then think of how that happiness was beaten to death with a hatchet, spit on, shit on, leaving you cold. If you watch something you care about get destroyed, you’re not going to want to go back to that place, no matter how pleasant it ever was.

... a tiny room, furnished in early MFI, of which every surface was covered in china ornaments and plaster knick-knacks whose only virtue was that they were small, and therefore of limited individual horribleness. Cumulatively, they were like an infestation. Little vases, ashtrays, animals, shepherdesses, tramps, boots, tobys, ruined castles, civic shields of seaside towns, thimbles, bambis, pink goggle-eyed puppies sitting up and begging, scooped-out swans plainly meant to double as soap dishes, donkeys with empry panniers which ought to have held pin-cushions or perhaps bunches of violets -- all jostled together in a sad visual cacophony of bad taste and birthday presents and fading holiday memories, too many to be loved, justifying themselves by their sheer weight of numbers as 'collections' do.

When animal rights activists or moral philosophers try to draw moral judgments about wild animal populations, they often suffer from a bad case of “Bambi Ethics” or “Bambi Environmentalism.” They apply human morals to nature in a superficial way, without considering the actual ethical or environmental consequences of their actions.

The dog looked around him. “You!” he called. “What do you want? What do you know about it? What are you talking about? All o’ you belong to ‘Im, just like I belong to ‘Im! But me ... well I love ‘Im, I pray to ‘Im! I serve ‘Im! But you, you don’t know that ‘E’s in charge ‘ere. You’re pitiful you are, you can’t rebel against ‘Im? ‘E’s the almighty! ‘E’s above all of us! Ev’rything you’ve got comes from ‘Im! E’vrything that grows and lives, it all comes from ‘Im.” The dog was shaking in his outrage.

There's nothing so unreliable as figures, and everybody but a mathematician knows that. Figures lie right to your face.

Now the fox sat upright. His lovely pointed snout sank down to his bloodied breast, his eyes rose up and stared at the dog right into his face . In a quite different voice, in control of himself, sad and bitter, he snarled, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself ...? You traitor!” “No! No! No!” the dog yelled. The fox, however went on. “You turncoat ... you defector!” His lacerated body became stiff with hatred and contempt. “You’re just His henchman,” he hissed. “You miserable ... you seek us out where He couldn’t find us ... you persecute us in places that He can’t get to ... you turn us in ..., and all of us are your relatives ... you turn me in, and you and I are nearly brothers ... and you just stand there ...are you not ashamed of yourself?

At an NRA annual meeting in Cincinnati in 1977, Second Amendment “absolutists” took control of the NRA from previous leaders who thought the organization was really there to protect marksmen. Gun nuts call this event the Revolt at Cincinnati. Our modern epidemic of mass shootings can, more or less, be traced to these yahoos winning control of that organization. The ammosexuals reformed the NRA from the generally benign conglomeration of Bambi killers to the grotesque weapon of mass destruction we know it to be today. It was this new NRA that invented the radical rationalization of the Second Amendment as a right to armed self-defense. It was this new NRA that gained political supremacy in the Republican party. It was this new NRA that got Ronald Reagan, who once signed one of the most sweeping gun restrictions in the nation, to sign the Firearm Owners Protection Act of 1986, an act that rolled back many of the restrictions from the Gun Control Act. The NRA’s wholesale reimagining of the Second Amendment hasn’t just lured Republican politicians, it’s become part of the gospel of Republican judges. The Federalist Society and the Heritage Foundation, the two outside interest groups most responsible for telling Republican judges how to rule, have fully adopted an absolutist, blood-soaked interpretation of the Second Amendment. These groups of alleged “textualists” read “well regulated militia” clear out of the text of the Amendment. Instead, they substitute self-defense as the “original purpose” of the language. There was an original purpose to the Second Amendment, but it wasn’t to keep people safe. It was to preserve white supremacy and slavery.

«È come battere le palpebre, hai presente? Una di quelle cose che fai senza doverci pensare.» Scossi la testa. «Per la maggior parte della gente, forse. Per me è un impegno quotidiano che a volte non mi sento di portare avanti. Ma odio averci provato. Odio non esserci riuscito. Queste cicatrici non sono qui per ricordarmi il meraviglioso momento in cui ho scelto la vita. Rappresentano un fallimento bello e buono. Se fosse dipeso da me, non sarei qui.»I suoi occhi erano fissi sui miei. Nel cerchio di luce disegnato dalla mia lampada, erano di un azzurro tendente al verde. Era come guardare il cielo mentre nuotavi sott’acqua. «Lo pensi serio, bambi?»Aprii la bocca per rispondere, ma non potevo ricambiare tutta quell’onestà, tutta quella speranza e generosità, con una bugia che avrebbe reso più semplici le cose per me. «A volte,» ammisi infine. «Ma non sempre. Sarebbe stato molto più semplice, però…» Deglutii. «Immagino mi sarei perso dei bei momenti.» Era strano – forse terribile –, ma per qualche ragione trovavo più semplice parlare del desiderio di morire che di quello di vivere. «Non sono dei momenti che avrei pensato di volere,» continuai. «A volte penso siano molto brevi. Come il crepitio delle foglie autunnali. Il profumo del Lapsang. E forse anche scrivere. E come te, Darian.»

Antidepression medication is temperamental. Somewhere around fifty-nine or sixty I noticed the drug I’d been taking seemed to have stopped working. This is not unusual. The drugs interact with your body chemistry in different ways over time and often need to be tweaked. After the death of Dr. Myers, my therapist of twenty-five years, I’d been seeing a new doctor whom I’d been having great success with. Together we decided to stop the medication I’d been on for five years and see what would happen... DEATH TO MY HOMETOWN!! I nose-dived like the diving horse at the old Atlantic City steel pier into a sloshing tub of grief and tears the likes of which I’d never experienced before. Even when this happens to me, not wanting to look too needy, I can be pretty good at hiding the severity of my feelings from most of the folks around me, even my doctor. I was succeeding well with this for a while except for one strange thing: TEARS! Buckets of ’em, oceans of ’em, cold, black tears pouring down my face like tidewater rushing over Niagara during any and all hours of the day. What was this about? It was like somebody opened the floodgates and ran off with the key. There was NO stopping it. 'Bambi' tears... 'Old Yeller' tears... 'Fried Green Tomatoes' tears... rain... tears... sun... tears... I can’t find my keys... tears. Every mundane daily event, any bump in the sentimental road, became a cause to let it all hang out. It would’ve been funny except it wasn’t. Every meaningless thing became the subject of a world-shattering existential crisis filling me with an awful profound foreboding and sadness. All was lost. All... everything... the future was grim... and the only thing that would lift the burden was one-hundred-plus on two wheels or other distressing things. I would be reckless with myself. Extreme physical exertion was the order of the day and one of the few things that helped. I hit the weights harder than ever and paddleboarded the equivalent of the Atlantic, all for a few moments of respite. I would do anything to get Churchill’s black dog’s teeth out of my ass. Through much of this I wasn’t touring. I’d taken off the last year and a half of my youngest son’s high school years to stay close to family and home. It worked and we became closer than ever. But that meant my trustiest form of self-medication, touring, was not at hand. I remember one September day paddleboarding from Sea Bright to Long Branch and back in choppy Atlantic seas. I called Jon and said, “Mr. Landau, book me anywhere, please.” I then of course broke down in tears. Whaaaaaaaaaa. I’m surprised they didn’t hear me in lower Manhattan. A kindly elderly woman walking her dog along the beach on this beautiful fall day saw my distress and came up to see if there was anything she could do. Whaaaaaaaaaa. How kind. I offered her tickets to the show. I’d seen this symptom before in my father after he had a stroke. He’d often mist up. The old man was usually as cool as Robert Mitchum his whole life, so his crying was something I loved and welcomed. He’d cry when I’d arrive. He’d cry when I left. He’d cry when I mentioned our old dog. I thought, “Now it’s me.” I told my doc I could not live like this. I earned my living doing shows, giving interviews and being closely observed. And as soon as someone said “Clarence,” it was going to be all over. So, wisely, off to the psychopharmacologist he sent me. Patti and I walked in and met a vibrant, white-haired, welcoming but professional gentleman in his sixties or so. I sat down and of course, I broke into tears. I motioned to him with my hand; this is it. This is why I’m here. I can’t stop crying! He looked at me and said, “We can fix this.” Three days and a pill later the waterworks stopped, on a dime. Unbelievable. I returned to myself. I no longer needed to paddle, pump, play or challenge fate. I didn’t need to tour. I felt normal.

My mind went back to Bambi. If there were too many deer, then hunters were given the opportunity to shoot them. Cheating husbands were also a problem in the balance of nature, and there were far too many of them. Why couldn't there be open season on cheating husbands? Deceived wives could purchase a gun, take lessons, and receive a cheating-husband hunting license complete with a big red A label to tie to the man's zipper after the kill. Open season could be scheduled months in advance to give the husbands a fighting chance. They could hide in refuges or stay home and take their chances at being shot through the living room window as they watched Monday Night Football.

BECAUSE MY FATHER WASN’T allowed to hunt hippies, he decided to settle for hunting deer instead. It was a good compromise, all things considered. Deer were the pacifists of the animal kingdom. They sat around doing weeds all day and didn’t even try to get jobs. The males of the species pranced and ate salad and had a hundred kids they didn’t know about. In November, a long line of them marched to the polls, leaves held delicately in their mouths, each marked with the name of the Green Party candidate. A deer, in short, was a peace sign made out of meat, and the only way to fight it was with bullets. “PROPAGANDA!” he once burst out suddenly, when he caught Mary and me watching Bambi in the living room, curled up together on the couch. If there was any fictional character my father hated, it was Bambi.

Nous avons ete amies," I added. "There,that's two in French, and using past perfect, no less." I couldn't see his expression clearly. It flet like a long time before he said anything. "Ella..." He paused, then, "What happened? Between you and Anna?" "Other than the fact that I'm a fashion-impaired poor kid who draws doorknobs? Haven't a clue." Alex leaned forward. Now I could see his face. He looked annoyed. "Why do you do that? Diminish yourself?" "I don't-" "Bullshit." I could feel my cheeks flaming, feel my shoulders curving inward. "I don't-" "Right.Don't.Just don't, with me, anyway. I like you better feisty." I couldn't help it; that made me smile. "Did you really just say 'feisty'?" "I did.It's a good word." "It's am old word, favored by granddads and pirates." "Yar," Alex sighed. "Face it.You're just an old-fashioned guy." "Whatever.Three...?" "Three," I said, and changed my mind midthought. "I haven't been able to decide if Willing is the second best thing that ever happened to me, or the second worst." "What are the firsts?" "Nope.Uh-uh.It is not for you to ask, Alexander Bainbridge, but to reveal." He drained his glass and rolled it back and forth between his hands. "I had all these funny admissions planned, but you've screwed up my plans. Hey. Don't go all wounded-wide-eyed on me. It's cute, that Bambi thing you have going, but beside the point.Now I have to rethink." "You don't-" "Quiet.One: My name isn't Alexander." He sat up straight and gave his chest a resounding thump. "Menya zavut Alexei Pavlovich Dillwyn Bainbridge. Not Alexander. I don't think anyone outside my family knows that.

our land: The Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening and Double Yoga. Northland Wildflowers and Quilts to Wear. Songs for the Dulcimer and Bread Baking Basics. Using Plants for Healing and I Always Look Up the Word Egregious. I took the books she’d read to me, chapter by chapter, before I could read to myself: the unabridged Bambi and Black Beauty and Little House in the Big Woods. I took the books that she’d acquired as a college student in the years right before she died: Paula Gunn Allen’s The Sacred Hoop and Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior and Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa’s This Bridge Called My Back. Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick and Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn and Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. But I did not take the books by James Michener, the ones my mother loved the most. “Thank you,” I said now to Jeff, holding The Novel. “I’ll trade this for

Бембі кинувся за нею. Один крок, другий... Далі це вже були не кроки, а легкі стрибки, його ніби щось понесло над землею. Бембі здавалося, що він летить у повітрі, майже не торкаючись землі. Він не тямив себе. Трава чарівною музикою шелестіла йому біля вух, м'яким пухом, ніжним шовком гладила по боках. Бембі то виписував кола, то стрілою мчав уперед, а мати стояла на місці й, затамувавши подих, стежила за ним, повертаючи голову туди, де він пробігав. Син грався.

Світ невпізнанно змінився...Йому подобалось, як білий густий туман ранками огортав луг, а коли сходило сонце, танув у його промінні. Припав до серця малому іній, що враз робив луг і дерева незвичайно білими. Якийсь час у Бембі викликав захоплення могутній крик велетнів-оленів, його родичів. Увесь ліс здригався від їхнів голосів. Бембі й страшно ставало, коли він чув поклик цих королів, і водночас серце його завмирало від захвату. "Їхні корони, – думав Бембі, – немов крислаті дерева, а їхні голоси такі дужі, як і корони

Раннє літо. Дерева стоять нерухомо, простягнувши руки-гілки до блакитного неба, з якого сонце ллє на них свою життєдайну силу. Жива стіна кущів укрита цвітом ніби червоними, білими й жовтими зірочками. На деяких уже вдруге з'явилися пуп'янки; ніжні міцні й рішучі, вони густо сидять на тонких гілочках, схожі на маленькі стиснуті кулачки. Зелений килим на землі теж усіяний розмаїтими квітками і вабить багатством барв. Усюди пахне свіжим листям, квітами, вогкою землею й зеленим пагінням. Від світання до заходу сонця ліс дзвенить на тисячу голосів – бринять бджоли, дзижчать оси, гудуть джмелі.

Afterward, we went to grab a bite of dinner. Just like at lunch, we talked forever. We shut that restaurant down. They actually had to tell us to leave because they were closing. So then we stood in the parking lot talking. It was freezing but neither of us wanted to go home. We stood out there so long that the employees of the restaurant had already cleaned up and left. We were completely alone in the lot. Then she did the most adorable thing. I don’t know how the conversation had gone this way but flat feet came up. So all of a sudden she chirped, “I have really flat feet. I’m like a rabbit!” And then, without warning, she whipped off one of her cowboy boots and tapped her foot on the ground really fast. Bump-bump-bump-bump. “I’m like Thumper from Bambi!” she exclaimed. I couldn’t believe it. I thought, This girl is crazy and I absolutely love it. I was laughing, she was laughing, and I decided to go in for the kiss. I leaned in and then she suddenly leaned back. Crap. I was so embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I went in for it, and it wasn’t good.” I hung my head down. “No, no, no, I panicked! Please, try again!” she said. “No, I won’t make a fool of myself twice in one night. We’ll try again another day,” I said and I changed the subject. I was talking about something else for a while and then she whispered, “Just kiss me.” I did and it was incredible. Every moment I spent with this girl, I fell more and more in love with her.

Навколо росли ліщина, кизил, терен і бузина. Високі клени, буки й дуби накинули над хащею зелений дах; з твердого темно-бурого ґрунту пнулися вгору папороть, лісовий горох і шавлія. А зовсім унизу горнулися до землі листочки фіалок, які вже відцвіли, і суниць, що тільки-но починали цвісти. Світло ранкового сонця снувалося поміж густим листям золотими нитками. Ліс дзвенів на тисячі голосів, він весь був сповнений їхнім веселим хвилюванням. Радісно кричала іволга, безупинно туркотіли голуби, свистіли дрозди, видзвонювали зяблики, цінькали синиці. Крізь їхній спів пробивався сварливий крик сича, веселий сміх сорок, тріскуче, з металевим відтінком сокотання фазанів. Іноді всі голоси заглушав пронизливий, радісний зойк дятла. А вгорі, над верховіттям дерев, дзвінко й наполегливо лунав клич сокола і чувся хрипкий хор ґав.

Бембі стрибнув уперед. Невимовна радість з чарівничою силою охопила його, і він умить забув про свій страх. У гущавині він бачив над собою лише верховіття дерев, і тільки де-не-де крізь них пробивалися блакитні цяточки неба. А тепер йому відкрилася вся безмежна блакить, і він, сам не знаючи чому, відчув себе страшенно щасливим. У лісі Бембі майже не знав сонця; він бачив там тільки широкі смуги світла, що пробивалися крізь гілля, та золотаві плями на листі дерев. А тепер він раптом опинився в сліпучому сяйві, в ласкавому царстві тепла й світла; чудесна, владна сила закривала йому очі й відкривала серце. Бембі неначе сп'янів і зовсім не тямив себе. Він підстрибував на місці – три, чотири, п'ять разів. Інакше він не міг – його так і тягло скочити кудись у височінь. Його молоде тіло так напружувалось, він так глибоко й водночас легко дихав, разом з пахощами лугу в нього вливалося стільки відчайдушної радості, що він не міг не стрибати. Адже Бембі був дитина. Якби він був людською дитиною, він би голосно кричав від щастя. Але він був оленям, а олені нездатні виявляти свою радість так, як люди. Він радів по-своєму – напружував ноги, вигинав спину й підскакував.

He had a rough idea where he was going, since Rylann had previously mentioned that she lived in Roscoe Village. At the stoplight at Belmont Avenue, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. The beauty of text messaging, he realized, was in its simplicity. He didn’t have to try to explain things, nor did he have to attempt to parse through all the banter in an attempt to figure out what she might be thinking. Instead, he could keep things short and sweet. I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU. He hit send. To kill time while he waited for her response, he drove in the direction of his sister’s wine shop, figuring he could always drop in and harass Jordan about something. This time, however, she beat him to the punch. “So who’s the brunette bombshell?” Jordan asked as soon as he walked into the shop and took a seat at the main bar. Damn. He’d forgotten about the stupid Scene and Heard column. Kyle helped himself to a cracker and some Brie cheese sitting on the bar. “I’m going to say…Angelina Jolie. Actually, no—Megan Fox.” “Megan Fox is, like, twenty-five.” “And this is a problem why, exactly?” Jordan slapped his hand as he reached for more crackers. “Those are for customers.” She put her hand on her hip. “You know, after reading the Scene and Heard column, I’d kind of hoped it was Rylann they were talking about. And that maybe, just maybe, my ne’er-do-well twin had decided to stop playing around and finally pursue a woman of quality.” He stole another cracker. “Now, that would be something.” She shook her head. “Why do I bother? You know, one day you’re going to wake up and…” Kyle’s cell phone buzzed, and he tuned out the rest of Jordan’s lecture—he could probably repeat the whole thing word for word by now—as he checked the incoming message. It was from Rylann, her response as short and sweet as his original text. 3418 CORNELIA, #3. He had her address. With a smile, he looked up and interrupted his sister. “That’s great, Jordo. Hey, by any chance do you have any bottles of that India Ink cabernet lying around?” She stopped midrant and stared at him. “I’m sure I do. Why, what made you think of that?” Then her face broke into a wide grin. “Wait a second…that was the wine Rylann talked about when she was here. She said it was one of her favorites.” “Did she? Funny coincidence.” Jordan put her hand over her heart. “Oh my God, you’re trying to impress her. That is so cute.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kyle scoffed. “I just thought, since I’ve heard such good things about the wine, that I would give it a shot.” Jordan gave him a look, cutting through all the bullshit. “Kyle. She’s going to love it.” Okay, whatever. Maybe he was trying to impress Rylann a little. “You don’t think it’s too much? Like I’m trying too hard?” Jordan put her hand over her heart again. “Oh. It’s like watching Bambi take his first steps.” “Jordo…” he growled warningly. With a smile, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “It’s perfect. Trust me.