Batting Partner Quotes

Do you know when they say soul-mates? Everybody uses it in personal ads. "Soul-mate wanted". It doesn't mean too much now. But soul mates- think about it. When your soul-whatever that is anyway-something so alive when you make music or love and so mysteriously hidden most of the rest of the time, so colorful and big but without color or shape-when your soul finds another soul it can recognize even before the rest of you knows about it. The rest of you just feels sweaty and jumpy at first. And your souls get married without even meaning to-even if you can't be together for some reason in real life, your souls just go ahead and make the wedding plans. A soul's wedding must be too beautiful to even look at. It must be blinding. In must be like all the weddings in the world-gondolas with canopies of doves, champagne glasses shattering, wings of veils, drums beating, flutes and trumpets,showers of roses. And after that happens-that's it, this is it. But sometimes you have to let that person go. When you are little, people , movie and fairy tales all tell you that one day you're going to meet this person. So you keep waiting and it's a lot harder than they make it sound. Then you meet and you think, okay, now we can just get on with it but you find out that sometimes your sould brother partner lover has other ideas about that.

Fireflies out on a warm summer's night, seeing the urgent, flashing, yellow-white phosphorescence below them, go crazy with desire; moths cast to the winds an enchantment potion that draws the opposite sex, wings beating hurriedly, from kilometers away; peacocks display a devastating corona of blue and green and the peahens are all aflutter; competing pollen grains extrude tiny tubes that race each other down the female flower's orifice to the waiting egg below; luminescent squid present rhapsodic light shows, altering the pattern, brightness and color radiated from their heads, tentacles, and eyeballs; a tapeworm diligently lays a hundred thousand fertilized eggs in a single day; a great whale rumbles through the ocean depths uttering plaintive cries that are understood hundreds of thousands of kilometers away, where another lonely behemoth is attentively listening; bacteria sidle up to one another and merge; cicadas chorus in a collective serenade of love; honeybee couples soar on matrimonial flights from which only one partner returns; male fish spray their spunk over a slimy clutch of eggs laid by God-knows-who; dogs, out cruising, sniff each other's nether parts, seeking erotic stimuli; flowers exude sultry perfumes and decorate their petals with garish ultraviolet advertisements for passing insects, birds, and bats; and men and women sing, dance, dress, adorn, paint, posture, self-mutilate, demand, coerce, dissemble, plead, succumb, and risk their lives. To say that love makes the world go around is to go too far. The Earth spins because it did so as it was formed and there has been nothing to stop it since. But the nearly maniacal devotion to sex and love by most of the plants, animals, and microbes with which we are familiar is a pervasive and striking aspect of life on Earth. It cries out for explanation. What is all this in aid of? What is the torrent of passion and obsession about? Why will organisms go without sleep, without food, gladly put themselves in mortal danger for sex? ... For more than half the history of life on Earth organisms seem to have done perfectly well without it. What good is sex?... Through 4 billion years of natural selection, instructions have been honed and fine-tuned...sequences of As, Cs, Gs, and Ts, manuals written out in the alphabet of life in competition with other similar manuals published by other firms. The organisms become the means through which the instructions flow and copy themselves, by which new instructions are tried out, on which selection operates. 'The hen,' said Samuel Butler, 'is the egg's way of making another egg.' It is on this level that we must understand what sex is for. ... The sockeye salmon exhaust themselves swimming up the mighty Columbia River to spawn, heroically hurdling cataracts, in a single-minded effort that works to propagate their DNA sequences into future generation. The moment their work is done, they fall to pieces. Scales flake off, fins drop, and soon--often within hours of spawning--they are dead and becoming distinctly aromatic. They've served their purpose. Nature is unsentimental. Death is built in.

Support your partner in their interests. You never know when batting practice, kung fu movie moves, or even a poker night might come in handy during a zombie infestation.

Tallow walked into Bat and Scarly's office to find Bat slumped on a chair with his head on the workbench, turned away from the door, while Scarly softly sharpened on old straight razor on a worn strop, watching her partner intently. "I don't think he needs his eyebrows, do you? I mean, they don't serve an immediate function or anything," she whispered.

Do you think we're being robbed?" I whispered. He nodded gravely, then crawled over to my closet and opened it. "Did you want to borrow something more formal to wear for the robbery? I'm not sure I have anything in your size." "Shh," he whispered. "Don't you at least have a tennis racket or anything?" "You think they came here looking for a doubles partner?" He turned quickly and gave me a look, then whipped a Wiffle bat out of the mess. "Wow," I said. "You jock-type people really are single-minded, aren't you? Uh-oh, we're being robbed. Let's play ball!" "It's for a weapon," Carson whispered. "You're gonna hit them with a Wiffle bat?" "What else you got?" "Um...A pillow" "Exactly" ... "Stay behind me," he whispered. "Can I just say that I never knew this about me before, but weirdly enough this whole protective he-man thing actually turns me on." "Josie." "What," I asked. "Shut Up." I grabbed my pillow, just in case, so to speak, and tiptoed behind him around the mussed-up bed. "Maybe we should just hide in the closet." He turned around, rolled his eyes and kissed me. "Shh," he repeated.

Prospective clients who want to kill their husband, torture a business partner, break the government’s legs, hire Roy Cohn,” Ken Auletta wrote. “He is a legal executioner—the toughest, meanest, loyalest, vilest, and one of the most brilliant lawyers in America. He is not a very nice man.” Trump served as a supporting witness in the piece. “When people know that Roy is involved, they’d rather not get involved in the lawsuits and everything else that’s involved,” Trump said. Cohn “was never two-faced. You could count on him to go to bat for you,” which was exactly what Trump wanted Cohn to do in the racial-bias case. Cohn

My claim to understanding cricket is that I know what it is like to be bowled by a nine-year-old girl and face the long walk of shame back to the pavilion, past smirking bystanders. I also understand that feeling of guilt after spilling the simplest of dolly catches, attempting to spare my blushes with the most outlandish excuses. I even know what it feels like to collide with my batting partner whilst attempting a run, losing my trousers, dignity and wicket in one very foul swoop.

partners take turns airing their resentments and hitting each other with foam-rubber bats called “batakas.” We now know from hundreds of studies that anger has no cathartic effect, and, in fact, doing what Bach called “therapy” actually builds resentment

When I was young, it was never about finding love. Love was something you cultivated. Your parents picked your life partner. Romance never entered the equation until then. People didn’t marry people. Families married families. Your father liked his father, or his grandmother played cards with your grandmother. That was how it started. Marriage was a garden that grew slowly. You only got one patch, so you worked hard at it. You planted the seeds, you watered them, you waited for things to bloom—love, respect, intimacy, connection. But things are different now. Everyone expects fruits and flowers right off the bat. When those are done, it gets plain and boring. Then it’s time to move on to the next patch. Relationships are more disposable now. So many people, so many choices. I look at you, I look at Isabelle, and I see both the blessing and curse that freedom brings you—so much potential for happiness, so much pressure to realize it.

Walk in Love EPHESIANS 5  j Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. 2And  k walk in love,  l as Christ loved us and  m gave himself up for us, a  n fragrant  o offering and sacrifice to God. 3But  p sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness  q must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints. 4Let there be  r no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking,  s which are out of place, but instead  t let there be thanksgiving. 5For you may be sure of this, that  u everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous ( v that is, an idolater), has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God. 6 w Let no one  x deceive you with empty words, for because of these things  y the wrath of God comes upon  z the sons of disobedience. 7Therefore  a do not become partners with them; 8for  b at one time you were  c darkness, but now you are light in the Lord.  d Walk as children of light

You are a maniac, Markman. Does the suffering of others turn you on?” The taunt slipped out before I could reel myself in. “Absolutely.” He nodded solemnly, green eyes meeting mine and sparking. “And I’ll tell you a secret. It’s the number one reason I torture you so much.” He flicked my nose and I batted his hand away. “Go away, Andrew. You’re the most infuriating man alive.” “You love it.

Take a deep breath.” I couldn’t help but obey. “Good. Now, step in front of the mirror.” What was happening? Was this a scene from one of my books where a character was forced to watch their reflection as a partner got them off? Certainly not. Hannah was attached. At least, that’s what Braxton had said. Right? Blue eyes sparkling with mischief, she seemingly read my mind. “Relax. I’m batting for Team Loves a Giant Cock.” Good to know. “Look at yourself and tell me what you like about your body.” Oh, boy. Here goes nothing. “Um. I guess I have nice skin?” “Was that a question or a statement?” Hannah called over. “A statement. I have nice skin.” “Good. Continue.” “My breasts are a decent size. Not too big, not too small.” Hannah laughed. “You have great tits. Trust me. What else?” “I like my hourglass figure. Hips aren’t always a bad thing.” I was gaining confidence with each declaration. “You’ve got that right. Men go fucking nuts for hips to grab on to.

Knowing very well what she contemplated, I asked dryly, “Are you by any chance contemplating punching your way up through the ceiling?” She batted her big brown eyes at me. “Maaaybe.” My partner enjoyed inherent destruction far too much.

Remember the batting secret of the great home-run-hitter Sadaharu Oh, “The Japanese Babe Ruth.” Oh said that he looked upon the opposing pitcher as his ‘partner,’ who with every pitch was serving up an opportunity for him to hit a home run. Similarly, you should see your opponent as a ‘partner,’ who with his every position and tactic, is offering you an opportunity to talk about the problem. In other words, Reframe.