Baton Twirling Quotes

Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton.

New Rule: Stop asking Miss USA contestants if they believe in evolution. It’s not their field. It’s like asking Stephen Hawking if he believes in hair scrunchies. Here’s what they know about: spray tans, fake boobs and baton twirling. Here’s what they don’t know about: everything else. If I cared about the uninformed opinions of some ditsy beauty queen, I’d join the Tea Party.

Humanity is a parade of fools and I'm at the front, twirling a baton

So I’m not going to be able to get up on the fence and sing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’ while waving six American flags and twirling a baton?

Marriage is like twirling a baton, turning hand springs or eating with chopsticks. It looks easy until you try it.

The human species is a parade of fools, after all, and I am often at the front of the parade, twirling a baton.

The whole brigade took a queer, perverse pride in the regimental band of the 6th Wisconsin—not because it was so good, but because it was so terrible. It was able to play only one selection, something called “The Village Quickstep,” and its dreadful inefficiency (the colonel referred to it in his memoirs as “that execrable band”) might have been due to the colonel’s quaint habit of assigning men to the band not for musical ability but as punishment for misdemeanors—or so, at least, the regiment stoutly believed. The only good thing about the band was its drum major, one William Whaley, who was an expert at high and fancy twirling of his baton. At one review, in camp around Washington, the brigade had paraded before McClellan, who had been so taken with this drum major’s “lofty pomposity” (as a comrade described it) that he took off his cap in jovial salute—whereupon the luckless Whaley, overcome by the honor, dropped his baton ignominiously in the mud, so that his big moment became a fizzle.4

I'm not a goldfish. I do have an attention span.” I continue to twirl the arrow through my fingers like it's a baton. “And I resent you thinking—Oh, look!" I exclaim excitedly, zooming toward the window. “That fae down there is riding a unicorn!” Okay. I see his point.

I'm not a goldfish. I do have an attention span.” I continue to twirl the arrow through my fingers like it's a baton. “And I resent you thinking—Oh, look!" I exclaim excitedly, zooming toward the window. “That fae down there is riding a unicorn!

O Mama! DIXIE TWIRL-A-RAMA!!! Here at Dear ole' EMERY U.---Yes, we're from Dixie---the Heart of Dixie---and we're here to learn to twirl our batons.....And we will show you---just what we go through---to keep our hands and our feet in good form.... We will March and we will Twirl, until we're tired and sore.....and when we're through---we're telling you---we'll ask for more.....'Cause we're from Dixie---the Heart of Dixie---We're the DIXIE TWIRL-A-RAMA DEARS!!!

flanked by two incredibly bulky nurses who dwarfed her. One nurse had a black eye, and ‘LOVE’ and ‘HATE’ tattooed on her knuckles. The other had a tattoo of a spider’s web on her neck and what looked like stubble on her chin. Both scowled at the boy. They were the ugliest nurses you could ever hope to meet. Jack’s eyes darted to their name badges – ‘Nurse Rose’ and ‘Nurse Blossom’. Miss Swine was twirling what at first glance looked like a baton. Holding it in one hand, she then rhythmically tapped the palm of her other. The effect was one of quiet menace. At one end of the baton were two little

Tory kept looking at the gun; it was quivering. The kid's hand was shaking; he was nervous. Oh, great. Just her luck, to be held up by a bunch of amateurs. Listen, we're all a bunch of amateurs too. My waitress stutters, my bartender can't hear, my janitor is an ex-junkie out on parole, and I used to twirl a baton for three hours a day. Give us a break.

St John had been sitting in the back garden twizzling a pencil, on the end of which a russet deposit was impaled, which had been left on the lawn by Marmaduke, next door’s ginger cat. His father had wandered in to the garden and seen St John mesmerised by the twirling mahogany baton. “What are you doing son?” he asked. “Toasting a witch”, St John replied.

The trip was to Atlanta. A Bay City majorette was entered in a prestigious baton-twirling competition there, and I was scheduled to go with her and write up her experiences. However, two days before I was supposed to leave I came down with a horrible strep throat and Loretta got to go instead. While she was there Loretta went to a Coke party for the twirlers and met a wealthy businessman named Wendell Walker, who was there representing one of the competition’s sponsors. You guessed it.

Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room. Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand. "Hmmm..." he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. "Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..." "An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's." So Fleur was part veela, thought Harry, making a mental note to tell Ron... then he remembered that Ron wasn't speaking to him. "Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you..." Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideus!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand.