Bloomin Quotes

Bloody hell, Kitten. Never thought to be flogged by my own furniture. Do you know I saw bloomin' stars when that cracked over my nog?

If I'm going to be your bloomin' tour guide, I'm gong to do it right." He held out his hand."Do you think I'd take you somewhere dangerous?" "You bite people for a living." "Don't be a chicken." "If you push me over the edge, my parents will be seriously ticked." He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. "They'll probably send me a thank-you note.

Do you think this is a bloomin’ hotel? What, next you’ll be wanting a bidet?” With infuriated embarrassment, I ground out, “Unless you like it messy, I suggest you show me an alternative, and fast.

The Doper's Dream Last night I dreamed I was plugged right in To a bubblin' hookah so high, When all of a sudden some Arab jinni Jump up just a-winkin' his eye. 'I'm here to obey all your wishes,' he told me. As for words I was trying to grope. 'Good buddy,' I cried, 'you could surely oblige me By turning me on to some dope!' With a bigfat smile he took ahold of my hand, And we flew down the sky in a flash, And the first thing I saw in the land where he took me Was a whole solid mountain of hash! All the trees was a-bloomin' with pink 'n' purple pills, Whur the Romilar River flowed by, To the magic mushrooms as wild as a rainbow, So pretty that I wanted to cry. All the girls come to greet us, so sweet in slow motion, Mourning glories woven into their hair, Bringin' great big handfuls of snowy cocaine, All their dope they were eager to share. We we dallied for days, just a-ballin' and smokin', In the flowering Panama Red, Just piggin' on peyote and nutmeg tea, And those brownies so kind to your head. Now I could've passed that good time forever, And I really was fixing to stay, But you know that jinni turned out, t'be a narco man, And he busted me right whur I lay. And he took me back to a cold, cold world 'N' now m'prison's whurever I be... And I dream of the days back in Doperland And I wonder, will I ever go free?

Boss has bloomin' gone," he said. Then, suddenly noticing Tod, he said, "Begging your pardon, Apprentice. What I mean to say is that unfortunately, Madam Marcia has left.

Can’t hear myself bloomin’ think.

I swear,” said Scarlet during the last lesson of the day, “if he says hmm like that one more time, I’m going to strangle him with that bloomin’ tape measure!” I watched as Mr Hardwick went over to the fireplace at the side of the room, one of the remnants of the old house, paused, and then said, “Hmmmmm …” Scarlet jumped up out of her seat, but thankfully the bell rang right at that moment. I quickly dragged her out before she could do any damage.

When I joined the regiment my comrades said to me, there is one beast we fear more than the foe. An army marches on its stomach, so ’tis plain to see, that fool we call the cook has got to go!   O the cook! O the cook! If words could kill, or just a dirty look, he’d have snuffed it long ago, turned his paws up doncha know, he’d be gladly written off the record book!   What a greasy fat old toad, that assassin of the road, we tried to hire him to the enemy. But they smelt the stew he made, mercy on us they all prayed, we’ll surrender, you can have him back for free!   O the cook! O the cook! He could poison a battalion with his chuck. I’ve seen him boilin’ cabbage, an’ the filthy little savage, takes a bath in it to wash off all the muck!   He made a batch of scones, big grey lumpy solid ones, the Sergeant lost four teeth at just one bite. Then an officer ordered me, sling them at the enemy, an’ those that we don’t slay we’ll put to flight!   O the cook! O the cook! He’s stirring porridge with his rusty hook. Playin’ hopscotch with the toast, he’s the one that we hate most, tonight we’re goin’ to roast that bloomin’ cook!”   A

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!" Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay ? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay... When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo! With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. Elephints a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay... But that's all shove be'ind me - long ago an' fur away An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else." No! you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells, An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay... I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand? Beefy face an' grubby 'and - Law! wot do they understand? I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay... Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! O the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay !

Gringe shook his head. He'd found the last ExtraOrdinary Wizard difficult at times, but she was nothing like this one. This one was crazy. What did he think he was doing, taking three kids and two of his daft brothers dressed like wolverines into the Forest at night?... 'Get out of the blasted way, you nurdles! The bloomin' bridge is comin' down!

Leaning her head back, she began her nightly ritual, wringing the rag to trickle the scented water along her throat and over her breasts. In summer, the customary week between tub baths seemed like an eternity. Running the cloth slowly over her body, she closed her eyes. Lands, it was so hot. A female could cook in this country, wearing al those clothes. She had finished bathing and was rinsing her drawers in the leftover water when a coyote wailed. She poked her head out the window to watch the full moon. A wisp of cloud drifted across the moon’s milky face, casting ghostly shadows on the ground. A Comanche moon. Uncle Henry said it was called that because the Indians often raided on moonlit nights. Good light to murder by, she guessed. Comanches. She backed from the window and clasped her soppy bloomers to her chest. Was she insane, flitting around naked? “Loretta Jane Simpson!” Henry yelled. “Damn, girl, you’re pourin’ water through the ceilin’ like it’s a bloomin’ sieve!” Leaping back to the window, Loretta knocked the bowl over as she held her underwear out the opening. Oh, blast! She watched the bowl go bumpety-bump down the bark slabs. And stop. Right at the edge of the roof. “What in hell?” Footsteps thumped. “Quiet it down up there, or I’ll come up and shush you good.” Loretta swallowed. The pitch of the roof was steep. How could she retrieve the bowl without telling Henry? He’d be a wretch about it. She just knew he would. Amy moaned and murmured. Tomorrow, she’d find a way to get the bowl tomorrow.

The joy of Loretta’s homecoming was overshadowed by Henry’s rage. Friends with a murderin’ savage, was she? A Comanche slut, that’s what, kissin’ on him in broad daylight, comin’ home to shame them all with her Injun horse and heathen necklace. His land looked like a bloomin’ pincushion with all them heathen lances pokin’ up. He was gonna get shut of ’em, just like he had those horses. Half of ’em stole from white folks! Some trade that was! Loretta listened to his tirade in stony silence. When he wound down she said, “Are you quite finished?” “No, I ain’t!” He leveled a finger at her. “Just you understand this, young lady. If that bastard planted his seed in that belly of yours, it’ll be hell to pay. The second you throw an Injun brat, I’ll bash its head on a rock!” Loretta flinched. “And we call them animals?” Henry backhanded her, catching her on the cheek with stunning force. Loretta reeled and grabbed the table to keep from falling. Rachel screamed and threw herself between them. Amy’s muffled sobs could be heard coming up through the floor. “For the love of God, Henry, please…” Rachel wrung her hands in her apron. “Get a hold on your temper.” Henry swept Rachel aside. Leveling a finger at Loretta again, he snarled, “Don’t you sass me, girl, or I’ll tan your hide till next Sunday. You’ll show respect, by gawd.” Loretta pressed her fingers to her jaw, staring at him. Respect? Suddenly it struck her as hysterically funny. She had been captured by savages and dragged halfway across Texas. Never once, not even when he had just cause, had Hunter hit her with enough force to hurt her, and never in the face. She’d had to come home to receive that kind of abuse. She sank onto the planked bench and started to laugh, a high-pitched, half-mad laughter. Aunt Rachel crossed herself, and that only made her laugh harder. Henry stormed outside to get “those dad-blamed Indian lances” pulled up before a passing neighbor spied them and started calling them Injun lovers. Loretta laughed harder yet. Maybe she had gone mad. Stark, raving mad.

The joy of Loretta’s homecoming was overshadowed by Henry’s rage. Friends with a murderin’ savage, was she? A Comanche slut, that’s what, kissin’ on him in broad daylight, comin’ home to shame them all with her Injun horse and heathen necklace. His land looked like a bloomin’ pincushion with all them heathen lances pokin’ up. He was gonna get shut of ’em, just like he had those horses. Half of ’em stole from white folks! Some trade that was! Loretta listened to his tirade in stony silence.

The Marine is a trained athlete, a picked man, a he creature with muscles and a jaw, whose motto is “kill or be killed,” and who believes with all his soul that no man on earth can lick him. And it comes pretty near to being so. He is own brother to the British Marine, of whom Kipling wrote: “An’ after I met ‘im all over the world, a-doin’ all kinds of things, Like landin’ ‘isself with a Gatlin’ gun to talk to them ‘eathen kings; ‘E sleeps in an ‘ammick instead of a cot, an’ ‘e drills with the deck on a slew, An’ ‘e sweats like a Jolly — ‘Er Majesty’s Jolly — soldier an’ sailor too! For there isn’t a job on the top o’ the earth the beggar don’t know, nor do — You can leave ‘im at night on a bald man’s ‘ead, to paddle ‘is own canoe — ‘E’s a sort of a bloomin’ cosmopolouse — soldier an’ sailor too.

Madeline was as skilled in the art of demoralizing her daughter as she was in contouring her lips.

I could fly a solo mission to Mars on the back of a winged Pegasus and not impress my mother,

Try the Color Me Coral." Turning, he cast an expert eye over Sylvie. "For you, definitely a rose. Two swipes of Bloomin' Marvelous, and boom. Greta Garbo." "And I thought my work involved magical illusions.

Next time we’ll show you how to do a reclined bound angle pose,” Mel called. “We’ll crack you open like a walnut.” Reclined and bound? My heart thumped as I hurried from the studio. The only thing I was going to crack open was a bottle of prosecco as soon as I arrived home. And I wasn’t sharing.

Maps and Paradigms. This picture of post-Cold War world politics shaped by cultural factors and involving interactions among states and groups from different civilizations is highly simplified. It omits many things, distorts some things, and obscures others. Yet if we are to think seriously about the world, and act effectively in it, some sort of simplified map of reality, some theory, concept, model, paradigm, is necessary. Without such intellectual constructs, there is, as William James said, only “a bloomin’ buzzin’ confusion.” Intellectual and scientific advance, Thomas Kuhn showed in his classic The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, consists of the displacement of one paradigm, which has become increasingly incapable of explaining new or newly discovered facts, by a new paradigm, which does account for those facts in a more satisfactory fashion. “To be accepted as a paradigm,” Kuhn wrote, “a theory must seem better than its competitors, but it need not, and in fact never does, explain all the facts with which it can be confronted.”4 “Finding one’s way through unfamiliar terrain,” John Lewis Gaddis also wisely observed, “generally requires a map of some sort. Cartography, like cognition itself, is a necessary simplification that allows us to see where we are, and where we may be going.

Labels are fine as long as they’re used properly. The problem is many people don’t know how to do that. They get carried away to the

I’m going to be quiet before they send me to Hell on the express train in the silent car.” “Why the silent car?” “Because that would be torture for me.

Looks like the world is burning,” I remarked. “Sometimes it feels that way, too,” Patrick said.

of this—and more—immediately, if not sooner? To plug up that bloomin’ hole in the ozone, of course! Yet our actions would be so much more consistent and ongoing if our motivation were not anxiety but compassion: a desire to protect the earth.

It was hard to acknowledge I was in my forties and had made such poor life choices

If you have the audacity to acknowledge your good fortune out loud, the universe knocks you down a peg or two to keep you humble. It is known.

We’re mediums,” Paulina said. “If there’s more than one of you, doesn’t that make you media?” No reaction from Mylene or Paulina. Tough crowd.

My mother’s a psychologist and she says it’s better for everybody if you meet at least half your needs, so you don’t expect others to meet all of them.

Do you seriously think you can keep me from doing anything? I am a woman over forty. I suffer from joint pain, hot flashes, and invisible woman syndrome. Do your worst.

That was part of the midlife mindset. Halfway to the end. Must have everything I want right now or I might never have it at all!

Nova was the reason I learned to accept myself. After my experience in sixth grade, I swore I’d never allow myself to be humiliated again and I didn’t. I sought out friends who accepted me and I set firm boundaries for anyone who didn’t.

Today I wish you to know that 2024 isn’t going to be just a new year; it’s going to be an opportunity to step into your full power. It’s going to be a chance to paint your own masterpiece, to sing your own song, to dance to the beat of your own heart. For me, 2024 is going to be a year to unleash the Power of “YET”…. Darling listen – We’ve sown seeds of wisdom, weathered storms with resilience & discovered hidden depths within ourselves. Now, the time has come to reap the harvest, to blossom into our most radiant selves. Sweetheart, forget all the limitations whispered by age, convention or past experiences & embrace the power of “YET.” In 2024, say “I haven’t mastered this language yet,” “I haven’t traveled to that dream destination yet,” “I haven’t written my story yet.” Let “yet” be your compass, pointing towards endless possibilities.. Let you unmask your artist, break the mold, embrace the imperfect brushstroke, find (expand) your tribe & savor the process.. I wish & hope that each day you motivate yourself to be a little braver, a little bolder & a little closer to your best self.” Let 2024 be the year you become the most healthy, happy, vibrant, successful & authentic versions of yourself. Blessings! With warmth & anticipation, Your friend on this journey..

Don’t let fear dictate your choices. That way lies madness and misery—

The garden’s most recent addition was verbena, which represents healing, feminine power, and hope in darkness, as well as encouraging other plants to grow.

Product management is different in digital than in IT," says Donagh Herlihy, EVP of digital and CIO at Bloomin' Brands. "In IT, your business partners define their requirements. In digital, you don't have that luxury; you define requirements yourself based on deep consumer insight." This

What was he doing-allowing criticism froma fair face to distract him as though he were a gangly besotted boy? He was no boy. Ane he abso-bloomin-lutely was not besotted.

That’s how it works. You love sleep as a baby—it’s your favorite activity, and if you live long enough, it becomes your favorite activity again. Circle of life.

I have neighbors to consider. They’re meticulous about their lawn and they sure as heck don’t want my leaves mussing their careful work.” “Maybe they should consider being less uptight.

Even good people can make bad decisions. If they’re lucky, that one fateful act won’t involve breaking the law.

I don’t think it’ll be necessary. I’m the distraction. The more glam I am, the less focused they’ll be on your incisive questions.” He paused. “Glam I Am. Now there’s a Dr. Seuss book I would’ve enjoyed as a child.

his natural environment. After McNally was sworn in, Lowe began by asking him about his current occupation. McNally confirmed that he had been landlord of the Old Nag’s Head for just under ten years. Under Lowe’s questioning, he agreed that it wasn’t a busy establishment, and business had been gradually slowing for a number of years – ‘Perhaps because I don’t serve cocktails or hummus and flatbreads on bloomin’ planks.’ There was a ripple of laughter around the court for that one.

The point still stands. No new growth doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Backsliding doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It only means that progress takes time. I used to think there was a finish line I had to cross, that if I worked hard enough and fast enough, I’d reach it, but finish lines are an illusion.