Bonnie Blue Quotes

And as humans, we’re by-products of our upbringings, victims of our lackluster educational systems, and choosers of our behaviors. In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.” Speaking

I had not seen "Pride and Prejudice," till I read that sentence of yours, and then I got the book. And what did I find? An accurate daguerreotyped portrait of a common-place face; a carefully fenced, highly cultivated garden, with neat borders and delicate flowers; but no glance of a bright, vivid physiognomy, no open country, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses.

I know,” said Bonnie. “I love you too. Without the too.” It was what Nicky used to say to them. No too. Just love.

It is good you have each other, the artist had said, regarding them seriously as she worked. You never have to explain yourself to sisters. It was true. Being one of four sisters always felt like being part of something magic. Once Bonnie noticed it, she saw the world was made up of fours. The seasons. The elements. The points on a compass. Four suits in a pack of cards. Four chambers of a human heart. Bonnie loved being a part of this mystical number, this perfect symmetry of two sets of two.

Cintamu padaku tak pernah kusangsikan, Tapi cinta cuma nomor dua. Nomor satu carilah keselamatan.

Holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in soutern China and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison?

Then: “Where’s my manners? I hope you get to feeling pert soon, ma’am. I miss seeing my bonny Picasso.” He grinned. I stared at him blankly, and he added, “Picasso’s painting of the pretty blue lady, the Woman with a Helmet of Hair that I’d seen in one of the magazines you brought us? You remind me of her. Your fine color. My woman always said God saved that best color for His home.” He pointed a finger up to a patch of blue sky parting the gray clouds. “Guess He must’ve had Himself a little left over.” Astonished, I could feel my face warm. No one, not a soul, ever said my old color was fine. The best.

The gap that was created during those transatlantic voyages hundreds of years ago. That gap is the matrix of Saudade – The Longing, I think, that all Africans in the West have, that is at the root of the blues and jazz and soul and rap. If you listen you can hear it, elusive, fleeting, full of melancholy anger.

Men and women are both human beings. And as humans, we’re by-products of our upbringings, victims of our lackluster educational systems, and choosers of our behaviors. In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.

And cried for mamma, at every turn'-I added, 'and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a shower of rain.-Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and I'll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes, and those thick brows, that instead of rising arched, sink in the middle, and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes-Don't get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to know the kicks it gets are its desert, and yet, hates all the world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.' 'In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton's great blue eyes, and even forehead,' he replied. 'I do - and that won't help me to them.' 'A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,' I continued, 'if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking - tell me whether you don't think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows, but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week's income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors, and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!

Sydney's the kind of port that leaves a mark on a sailor," the old man mused. "Really?" Haakon said, wondering what the man meant. "It did on me," he said, opening up his shirt to display his chest. It was covered with tattoos! At the top, SYDNEY was printed in elaborate red and blue letters. Beneath that was an enticing selection of names and dates. "Mary, 1838...Adella, 1840..." The old sailor began laughing. "Beatrice, 1843...Helen, 1846." And then finally, "Mother." There was no date after "Mother." "Mothers you love forever," he said. Everybody laughed then, including Haakon, though the thought brought some sadness to his heart. He did love his mother forever, and he missed her as well.

...and Bonnie understood that sometimes cheesecake was just cheesecake, and let the breeze die.

Bonnie exhaled with relief. She hated that Avery was the one who always had to fix everything in their family and relieved by it in equal measure.

They sat for a minute in uncomfortable silence, the hateful little blue box plopped between them like a bad referee at a tight match.

In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue.

In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.

Harriet was her only real friend, and they agreed on most things, but on this, they did not. According to Harriet, men were a world apart from women. They required coddling, they had fragile egos, they couldn’t allow a woman intelligence or skill if it exceeded their own. “Harriet, that’s ridiculous,” Elizabeth had argued. “Men and women are both human beings. And as humans, we’re by-products of our upbringings, victims of our lackluster educational systems, and choosers of our behaviors. In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.

Their mother always fed them, and she never hit them—Bonnie always liked to remind herself of that. But she was overwhelmed by them. She wasn’t the kind of mom who derived satisfaction from cooking or domestic work, but she never asked for help. Each evening, she launched herself at the task of feeding the four of them like an explorer on a particularly grueling leg of a solo mission she regretted starting but had resigned herself to completing. In Bonnie’s opinion, their mother was afraid of Avery, baffled by Bonnie, intermittently charmed by Nicky, and oblivious to Lucky. None of which, obviously, were ideal.

He raised a hand in response and tossed the ear of corn into the wagon. Then he returned to his fantasy, imagining himself running the livery instead of working there, making the decisions, placing orders, selecting new horses, agreeing to board others, and hiring a boy to muck out the stalls and pitch hay. In his daydream, he no longer lived in the back room. He came home at night to a small house he’d bought with his earnings. Inside, a woman waited for him. A wife. In his fantasy her hair was as golden as the ear of corn he tossed into the wagon and her eyes as blue as the cloudless sky overhead. Catherine smiled at him and he could hear as well as see her say his name. “Jim! Welcome home.

Finally, he slipped his arms around her too. Her eyes closed in relief. “I was thinking,” His voice rumbled against her ear. “That I’ve brought you so much trouble after everything you’ve done for me. Maybe it’s not too late to fix it. If I leave…” “No!” She pulled away and looked up into his face. It was swollen red around one eye and his nose. Brown flecks of paint marred the blue swirls. “That’s not going to solve anything.” He stroked the side of her face, his thumb lingering across her lips. “If I leave, it will be better.” “Not for me.” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. He gathered her close again, kissing the top of her head and rubbing his hand on her back. “Don’t cry. ” When Sarah thought about it later, she would realize that he had never added, “I’ll stay.

Five minutes later, Roth was riding next to Elizabeth Zott in the front seat of her old blue Plymouth, the dog and the photographer relegated to the back. “He doesn’t bite, does he?” the photographer asked as he crammed himself against the window. “All dogs have the ability to bite,” she said over her shoulder. “Just as all humans have the ability to cause harm. The trick is to act in a reasonable way so that harm becomes unnecessary.

Harriet, that’s ridiculous,” Elizabeth had argued. “Men and women are both human beings. And as humans, we’re by-products of our upbringings, victims of our lackluster educational systems, and choosers of our behaviors. In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.

Her first impression had been that he was ugly— huge and gangly with eerie transparent eyes. But when he’d smiled at her, lights danced across those blue eyes like sparkles on a river, and she’d seen beauty in his unfamiliar features. How could anyone with a smile that warm be evil or untrustworthy? After she got over her initial fear, she even found the man’s size appealing and powerfully masculine. Fireflies flitted and glowed in her stomach whenever their eyes met.

The following Wednesday, the week after our exploits, Jack was on the couch when I looked out at six thirty. He turned off the stock market show when I peered out my door, and Jack requested I join him on the coach. I paused for a moment, not knowing if I was willing, then sat next to him as I had the week before. I was calling him all kinds of dreadful things in my mind when I looked into his eyes, and instead of hot, they were deep murky pools of sad blue. Chapter 3 Bonnie Harrison

No New Yorker, no matter how cynical, is immune to the feeling of flying into JFK at night. Tired though she was, anxious though she'd been, some hidden hope alighted in Bonnie as soon as the plane touched down. She was back in New York. City of sirens, city of secrets, city of her sisters. She had dreaded returning, but it was surprisingly comforting to see the city lights wink in their bed of black below, each one a little life of its own. She was home, the only one she knew, not because she'd always lived in it, but because it always lived in her.

It is recorded that during the long winter after the Battle of Fredericksburg, when the two rival armies were camped on opposite sides of the Rappahannock, with the boys on the opposing picket posts daily swapping coffee for tobacco and comparing notes on their generals, their rations, and other matters, and with each camp in full sight and hearing of the other, one evening massed Union bands came down to the river bank to play all of the old songs, plus the more rousing tunes like "John Brown's Body," "The Battle Cry of Freedom," and "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys Are Marching." Northerners and Southerners, the soldiers sang those songs or sat and listened to them, massed in their thousands on the hillsides, while the darkness came down to fill the river valley and the light of the campfires glinted off the black water. Finally the Southerners called across, "Now play some of ours," so without pause the Yankee bands swung into "Dixie" and "The Bonnie Blue Flag" and "Maryland, My Maryland," and then at last the massed bands played "Home, Sweet Home," and 150,000 fighting men tried to sing it and choked up and just sat there, silent, staring off into the darkness; and at last the music died away and the bandsmen put up their instruments and both armies went to bed. A few weeks later they were tearing each other apart in the lonely thickets around Chancellorsville.

At length, she gave up on the pulling and pushing, and went straight to her last resort. Pleading. Big, brown calf's eyes implored him for mercy. Little did she know, this was the least likely tactic to work. Logan wasn't a man to be moved by tender emotion. However, he was a man- and he wasn't unmoved by a pretty face. What with all her exertions, he was starting to see a flush of color on her cheeks. And an intriguing spark of mystery behind those wide, dark eyes. This lass didn't belong in gray. With that dark hair and those rosy lips, she belonged in vibrant color. Deep Highland greens or sapphire blue. His own smile took him by surprise. She was going to look bonny wearing his plaid.

They are like Pa’s eyes,” thought Scarlett, “Irish blue eyes and she’s just like him in every way.” And, as she thought of Gerald, the memory for which she had been fumbling came to her swiftly, came with the heart stopping clarity of summer lightning, throwing, for an instant, a whole countryside into unnatural brightness. She could hear an Irish voice singing, hear the hard rapid pounding of hooves coming up the pasture hill at Tara, hear a reckless voice, so like the voice of her child: “Ellen! Watch me take this one!” “No!” she cried. “No! Oh, Bonnie, stop!” Even as she leaned from the window there was a fearful sound of splintering wood, a hoarse cry from Rhett, a mêlée of blue velvet and flying hooves on the ground. Then Mr. Butler scrambled to his feet and trotted off with an empty saddle.

There, sitting in front of the door, was Avery. Avery had not yet looked up to see them, and for just a fraction of a second, Bonnie witnessed her sister as she really was. No polish. No facade. No de-fection. She didn't know what had happened, but Avery was hurt-ing. She could feel her sister's pain in her own chest. Avery was slumped in the doorway, her head bowed, limbs slack, crumpled in on herself. Then she glanced up and saw them. Watching Avery compose herself under their gaze was like watching a great marquee be erected, a slack pile of cloth swiftly transformed by a sharp pull of ropes into a towering structure. As Bonnie raced down the hallway toward her, she thought fleetingly that her sister was always pulling the ropes of herself taut. Before Bonnie could reach her, Avery had hoisted herself up to embrace her and Bonnie wished that just once, she would ask for a hand.

There was Bonnie, the rabbit. His fur was a bright blue, his squared-off muzzle held a permanent smile, and his wide and chipped pink eyes were thick-lidded, giving him a perpetually worn-out expression. His ears stuck up straight, crinkling over at the top, and his large feet splayed out for balance. He held a red bass guitar, blue paws poised to play, and around his neck was a bow tie that matched the instrument’s fiery color. Chica the Chicken was more bulky and had an apprehensive look, thick black eyebrows arching over her purple eyes and her beak slightly open, revealing teeth, as she held out a cupcake on a platter. The cupcake itself was somewhat disturbing, with eyes set into its pink frosting and teeth hanging out over the cake, a single candle sticking out the top. “I always expected the cupcake to jump off the plate.” Carlton gave a half laugh and cautiously stepped up to Charlie’s side. “They seem taller than I remember,” he added in a whisper. “That’s because you never got this close as a kid.” Charlie smiled, at ease, and stepped closer. “You were busy hiding under tables,” Jessica said from behind them, still some distance away. Chica wore a bib around her neck with the words LET’S EAT! set out in purple and yellow against a confetti-covered background. A tuft of feathers stuck up in the middle of her head. Standing between Bonnie and Chica was Freddy Fazbear himself, namesake of the restaurant. He was the most genial looking of the three, seeming at ease where he was. A robust, if lean, brown bear, he smiled down at the audience, holding a microphone in one paw, sporting a black bow tie and top hat. The only incongruity in his features was the color of his eyes, a bright blue that surely no bear had ever had before him. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were partially closed, as though he had been frozen in song.

There’s this girl…this woman I can’t get out of my mind.” He spilled the story of his seduction of sweet, innocent Amanda McCormick for Rufus’s examination. When he finished talking, there was another silence. “You did that?” Rufus’s voice was as deep and gravelly as a quarry. “Fucked some poor virgin while posing as her fiancé?” “Yeah.” “You got some balls. How’d you know you’d be a close enough match to this Baxter?” “Brown hair, blue eyes, that’s all she seemed to know about him.” Spence couldn’t explain his need for the rush of tempting fate. “I took a chance. It was a gamble.” “Jesus, you’re a mean son of a bitch.” “I didn’t want to hurt her. I was just having fun.” He sounded like a spoiled child even to himself. “And now you want to go see this woman and try to make it right?” Rufus said. “Just how the hell did you think you were going to fix it? By showing up and wrecking her marriage, if you haven’t done that already?” It was Spence’s turn to pause. “Haven’t you done enough to this lady? Where’s your head, boy? Leave her alone.” “I can’t. I have to see her again.” He didn’t want to share his dreams of the little girl. He’d sound crazy. Rufus laughed harshly. “So you can try and get another piece of tail?” “No. It’s not like that.” “What? You think you’re in love. Son, you don’t know the first thing about it. If you did, you’d be putting this woman’s needs above your own.” He thought of the little girl telling him to go to Amanda. “Maybe what she needs is me.” Rufus made a scoffing noise. “A woman needs a man who’ll stand by her, be there through hard times and good. From what you’ve told me these past months, this is the longest you’ve stayed put in one place in your life and that’s only ‘cause they won’t let you out.” “I just want to do the right thing.” “Then do like I say. Leave her be. You think she’s going to be happy to see you again?” Spence pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and watched a gray cloud puff from his mouth. “You still there, boy?” “Where else?” “Don’t take it too hard. Everybody does things they’re sorry for. Sometimes there’s just no way to make it right.” He leaned back against the wall and reviewed the stupid chain of events that had landed him in jail. Maybe Rufus was right and there was no way he could ever apologize for what he’d done to Amanda. He should let the whole thing slide and leave the woman in peace.

The car door opened and large boots hit the ground. Abby stood as if her name had sounded in a roll call. She let out a deep breath. She was busted. Her gaze traveled up the officer’s long thick legs, to his gladiator-worthy body, then on up to turquoise blue eyes. “Sheriff Stone,” she said under her breath.

The thought of foals being taken away from their mothers, ripped without warning from everything familiar and loved, then starved, clubbed, or sold for meat, tore her heart to shreds. Tears filled her eyes as she imagined Blue and the nurse mare, scared and confused and frantic, wondering why someone had taken their babies. She could almost feel the horrible, heavy pain in their chests, the terror and helplessness in their minds. It didn't matter that they were animals. Mares still possessed the maternal instinct. She had seen it with her own eyes when Bonnie Blue looked back at her newborn filly. It was love at first sight. Her mother had never looked at her that way, but Julia had studied enough interactions between mothers and daughters to recognize unconditional love when she saw it.

But the brain, as every boxer knows, is another story. It injures faster than any other organ. Without special treatment, full recovery after more than three minutes of death is rare. And by the time Bonnie found Nicky, she had already been dead for four.

It's good to have you back in town, Bonnie Blue.

I’d prefer ‘Bonnie Blue Flag’, if you take requests…” Tom had turned and rested his elbows on the bar. His hand was inches from the Colt. These were the men he was looking for.

Now, if you don’t know ‘Bonnie Blue Flag’, then ‘Dixie’ will do nicely…” Tom began, cocking the pistol. Jesse stared, mouth agape at the carnage in the room. “NOW PLAY!” Tom exploded.

But he wouldna do it. John.” He looked up then, and gave me a crooked smile. “He loved me, he said. And if I couldna give him that in return—and he kent I couldn’t—then he’d not take counterfeit for true coin.” He shook himself, hard, like a dog coming out of the water. “No. A man who would say such a thing is not one who’d bugger a child for the sake of his father’s bonny blue eyes, I’ll tell ye that for certain, Sassenach.

A true celebration of the human spirit! Although the subject matter of Black Notley Blues might lead one to expect a somewhat maudlin account of a lengthy hospital stay, nothing could be further from the truth in this entertaining memoir. Chris Dell's recollections of Black Notley Hospital is both humorous and inspirational. I found myself sometimes amazed, frequently amused, as he recounts the creative ways he found to distract himself (and his fellow patients) during his confinement. A true celebration of the human spirit!

managed to snag the last available table and all three ordered the special with sweet tea to drink. “It’s like Thanksgiving,” Shiloh said. “Not for me. Thanksgiving was working an extra shift so the folks with kids could be home for the day. Christmas was the same,” Bonnie said. Abby shrugged. “The army served turkey and dressing on the holidays. It wasn’t what Mama made, but it tasted pretty damn good.” Since it was a special and only had to be dipped up and served, they weren’t long getting their meal. Abby shut her eyes on the first bite and made appreciative noises. “This is so good. I may eat here every Sunday.” “And break Cooper’s heart?” Bonnie asked. “Hey, now! One night of drinking together does not make us all bosom buddies or BFFs or whatever the hell it’s called these days.” Abby waved at the waitress, who came right over. “I want this plate all over again,” she said. “Did you remember that we do have pie for dessert?” the waitress asked. “Yes, I’ll have two pieces, whipped cream on both. What about you, Shiloh?” She blushed. “I shouldn’t, but . . . yes, and go away before I change my mind.” “Bonnie?” Abby asked. Bonnie shook her head. “Just an extra piece of pie will do me.” “So that’s two more specials and five pieces of pie, right?” the waitress asked. “You got it,” Abby said. “I’m having ice cream when we finish with hair and nails. You two are going to be moaning and groaning about still being too full,” Bonnie said. “Not me. By the middle of the afternoon I’ll be ready for ice cream,” Abby said. “My God, how do you stay so small?” Shiloh asked. “Damn fine genes. Mama wasn’t a big person.” “Well, my granny was as wide as she was tall and every bite of food I eat goes straight to my thighs and butt,” Shiloh said. “But after that wicked, evil stuff last night, I’m starving.” “It burned all the calories right out of your body,” Abby said. “Anything you eat today doesn’t even count.” “You are full of crap,” Shiloh leaned forward and whispered. The waitress returned with more plates of food and slices of pumpkin pie with whipped cream, taking the dirty dishes back away with her. Bonnie picked up the clean fork on the pie plate and cut a bite-size piece off. “Oh. My. God! This is delicious. Y’all can eat Cooper’s cookin’. I’m not the one kissin’ on him, so I don’t give a shit if I hurt his little feelin’s or not. I’m comin’ here for pumpkin pie next Sunday if I have to walk.” “If Cooper doesn’t want to cook, maybe we can all come back here with him and Rusty next Sunday,” Abby said. “And if he does?” Shiloh asked. “Then I’m eating a steak and you can borrow my truck, Bonnie. I’d hate to see you walk that far. You’d be too tired to take care of the milkin’ the next day,” Abby said. “And you don’t know how to milk a cow, do you?” Bonnie’s blue eyes danced when she joked. Abby took a deep breath and told the truth. “No, I don’t, and I don’t like chickens.” “Well, I hate hogs,” Shiloh admitted. “And I can’t milk a cow, either.” “Looks like it might take all three of us to run that ranch after all.” Bonnie grinned. The waitress refilled their tea glasses. “Y’all must be the Malloy sisters. I heard you’d come to the canyon. Ezra used to come in here pretty often for our Sunday special and he always took an extra order home with him. Y’all sound like him when you talk. You all from Texas?” “Galveston,” Abby said. “Arkansas, but I lived in Texas until I graduated high school,” Shiloh said. The waitress looked at Bonnie. “Kentucky after leavin’ Texas.” “I knew I heard the good old Texas drawl in your voices,” the waitress said as she walked away. “Wonder how much she won on that pot?” Abby whispered. Shiloh had been studying her ragged nails but she looked up.

Then came the day Maia had dreaded. The last of the provisions were loaded onto the Arabella--manioc flour and dried beans and oil for the Primus stove and gifts for the Indians. That night Finn came to say good-bye to Furo and the others. “You’re to look after Maia,” he told them. “Promise me you will not let any harm come to her.” And Furo, who had been sulking because he, too, wanted to go with Finn, gave his promise, as did Tapi and Conchita. Only old Lila was inconsolable, weeping and rocking back and forth and declaring that she would be dead before he returned. Watching from her window, Maia saw him come out of Lila’s hurt, and for a moment she thought he was going to leave without saying good-bye. Then he walked across the compound and stood under her window and she heard him whistle the tune that he had whistled on the night she came. Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, Blow the wind south o’er the bonny blue sea… She ran outside then and hugged him and wished him luck, and she did not cry. “You’re not to spoil it for him,” Minty had said, and she didn’t. But when he had gone, she stood for a long time by the window, trying to remember the words of the song. It was a song begging the wind to bring back someone who had gone away in a ship, but she did not think it ended happily. Well, why should it? Why should the wind care if she never saw Finn again?

Avery nodded. Nicky was her mother's favorite; it wasn't right, but it was true. She was the only one of them who had managed to penetrate her mother's heart, not with force but with a gentle and persistent attention. Avery thought of Aesop's fable of the sun and the wind competing to make a man remove his jacket to prove who was stronger; the wind blew and blew, but it only made the man wrap himself tighter in his coat. Then the sun gently shone down upon him, warming him until he willingly slipped it off. Bonnie and Lucky had known better than to even try, but Avery had always approached their mother like the wind, willing and wanting her to change through force. Only Nicky had been the sun.

Bonnie and her sisters grew and grew until they could not be contained by that apartment.

...[H]e thought he could still smell Bonnie's ass though he knew it was probably just the aroma of hotdogs and gyros in the air.

Jane’s fictional world was so perfectly, minutely and solidly constructed that it took another brilliant and unusual writer, Charlotte Brontë, a generation later, to pull it down. Brontë memorably described Pride and Prejudice as ‘a carefully-fenced, highly cultivated garden with neat borders and delicate flowers – but no glance of a bright vivid physiognomy – no open country – no fresh air – no blue hill – no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen in their elegant but confined houses.’ She concludes her demolition job with ‘these observations will probably irritate’. Yes, Charlotte Brontë, they do irritate, as you could hardly have written Jane Eyre unless Jane Austen had previously constructed something worthy of demolition.

I hope you get to feeling pert soon ma'am I miss seeing my bonny Picasso." He grinned.

Numerous Monroe protégés formed their own groups performing in his style. The most famous were Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, respectively the guitarist-lead vocalist and the banjo picker who were core members of the classic Blue Grass Boys lineup of the late 1940s. They left to form the tremendously successful partnership of Flatt and Scruggs & the Foggy Mountain Boys, gaining crossover fame in the 1960s by contributing music to the soundtracks of the Beverly Hillbillies television show and the movie Bonnie and Clyde.

Bonnie saw ropes hanging loose, poles falling away, tree-tops sinking beneath her. As they rose, the sun rose with them. Its warmth turned the dark skin of the fiery balloon midnight blue. They flew straight up. Above them, the sweet, clear music of the lonely pipe called to them. Then the smooth sky puckered into cloth-of-blue and drew aside. They passed straight through...

Bride and groom?” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the dark blue gown Mora was tugging over her head. “What is the big fool talking about?” “Seemed most clear to me,” said Mora as she began to lace up Bridget’s gown. “He means to make ye his wife.” “How can ye be sure of that? Ye werenae here when he said those things.” “I heard him and Jankyn speaking of it as they left the bedchamber. I was just outside the door.” “Is he mad?” “Nay. Why would ye think that?” Mora pushed Bridget down into a seat before the fire and began to brush out her hair. “I dinnae ken,” drawled Bridget. “Mayhap ’tis the way he but looks at me once and declares us betrothed.” “A lot of people wed with the wife and husband barely kenning a thing about each other. Ye are the laird’s equal in birth, he doesnae need a dowry, and ye are a bonnie, young lass, ripe for marrying. Tis most reasonable. A perfect solution.” Bridget rolled her eyes. “Perfect for him. Mayhap nay so perfect for me.” “Why? He is a braw lad, handsome, has a fine keep and good lands, and is a good laird.” “Weel, mayhap, but why doesnae he go to court himself or visit some other laird’s holdings? At least look about a wee bit for a wife?” “He doesnae like to leave Cambrun. The MacNachtons prefer to stay close to home.” There

Bonnie had that anger within her, too

What does she mean I remain your mother?” asked Avery, her voice rising. “Like there was some question of her not remaining our mom?” “It’s cold,” agreed Bonnie. “Even for her.

Bonnie padded across the living room and let herself out onto the landing, wincing slightly at the sunshine. “Great. I’m looking at the ocean right now.” In fact, all Bonnie could see was the alley below, where a seagull was wrestling a pizza crust from a garbage bag. She lived on a somewhat squalid street a block from the beach, in one of a number of ramshackle buildings that still offered cheap month-to-month rentals and were therefore viable homes to an itinerant community of surfers, students, seasonal workers, aging hippies, and functioning drug addicts—the kind of people who gave Venice what real estate agents called its “local color” but who would never use a real estate agent themselves. “That’s nice,” said Avery. “I’m looking at a brief.

I’m good. I’m fine! I’m great! You good? said Nicky, sounding uncharacteristically flustered. All good, said Bonnie. What’s going on? I…It’s nothing really. I seem to have misplaced my pain meds and I’m getting my period. I think I left them at a friend’s house or something. She was straining to sound casual, but Bonnie could hear the effort behind her words. The thought flashed instinctively across her mind that she was lying, but she pushed it away. Nicky had no reason to lie to her. You can’t get more from the doctor? she asked. It’s July Fourth weekend. Everywhere’s closed. Bonnie sighed. Poor Nicky, it was terrible timing. The emergency room? she offered. And lose the whole day? You know it will be a shit show there. Nicky took a deep breath down the phone. Do you think…you could get some from the gym, Bon? I don’t need much. Just a few pills to get me through the weekend.

The trick to loving Lucky, Bonnie wanted to tell Avery, was to respect her need to be free. Let her come and go as she pleased and eventually, she would land on you. But, as per usual, Bonnie decided not to get involved.

It was true. Being one of four sisters always felt like being part of something magic. Once Bonnie noticed it, she saw the world was made up of fours. The seasons. The elements. The points on a compass. Four suits in a pack of cards. Four chambers of a human heart. Bonnie loved being a part of this mystical number, this perfect symmetry of two sets of two. Until you know my sisters, she used to say to Pavel, you don’t know me.

there will be no decent place left in his heart because in all this chasing nothing he will have scrubbed it out, scrubbed it hollow, and nothing can fill it back up but words he makes as beautiful as he can. A sentence that will carry, he hopes, as if it were the wind, as if there were seeds of rush and blue-eyed grass upon it. As if the alphabet could reset his bones, or restart his life

It wasn’t that Bonnie believed in heaven exactly, or a God that looked like any human, but she believed in something.

Bonnie would talk to God until her heart rate would slow, and her breath would become steady. Afterward, whenever she needed to find calm or courage, she would think of that quiet, listening presence and automatically feel an inner peace. Over time, her God became something more amorphous and expansive than the punitive Catholic God they were taught in school. It was a feeling of stillness that lived inside her. And, eventually, if she listened carefully enough, it spoke back to her.

It was there, in the Southern California town of Commons, where the weather was mostly warm, but not too warm, and the sky was mostly blue, but not too blue, and the air was clean because air just was back then, that she lay in her bed, eyes closed, and waited. Soon she knew there’d be a gentle kiss on her forehead, a careful tuck of covers about her shoulders, a murmuring of “Seize the day” in her ear. In another minute, she’d hear the start of a car engine, a crunch of tires as the Plymouth backed down the drive, a clunky shift from reverse to first. And then her permanently depressed mother would set off for the television studio where she would don an apron and walk out onto a set.

A lot was written about romantic love, Avery thought, about the profundity of that embrace. But this, too, was deserving of rapture, of song. Before she ever knew a lover’s body, she knew her sisters’, could see herself in their long feet and light eyes, their sleek limbs and curled ears. And, before life became big and difficult, there were moments with them when it was simply good: an early morning, still dark out, their parents asleep. Her younger sisters arriving one by one at her bedside, hair tangled, exuding their sour and sweet morning musk. She’d lifted the covers for each of them, letting them crowd into her bottom bunk, bodies pressed tight against one another, and they’d fallen asleep again like that, dropping off like puppies curled around a mother’s warm belly. She’d slept, too, safe in the center of her sisters, not knowing or needing to know where she ended and the next began. Squeezed beside Bonnie and Lucky now, it was superfluous to describe what she felt for them as love. They were love, beautiful and unbearable and hers.

As long as she was near her, she would protect her. Forgetting the shower, Bonnie lay down on the rug alongside the sofa like a dog beside its master and, eventually, found asleep.

It was true. Being one of four sisters always felt like being part of something magic. Once Bonnie noticed it, she saw the world was made up of fours. The seasons. The elements. The points on a compass. Four suits in a pack of cards. Four chambers of a human heart. Bonnie loved being a part of this mystical number, this perfect symmetry of two sets of two.

Since her days teaching free conditioning classes to children, Bonnie had believed in “outfits” to enhance performance. She required her young students to wear white cotton T-shirts with underwear dyed either canary yellow (for kindergartners) or sky blue (for first and second graders). Older girls wore black long-sleeved leotards. For adults, she advised that exercise clothes be tight, so they could better identify what they wanted to change. “Clothing is the most important thing at the start,” she later said. “If you look like a lump and have no pizzazz in yourself, then you are lost.

Bonnie’s life indoors was lonely. Her mother’s worsening alcoholism and sharp tongue created constant stress. She could feel her mother’s disappointment in having birthed such an aberrant daughter. “I was not frail, not pretty, nor golden haired and blue-eyed. That was my little sister, Jeanne,” Bonnie wrote.

Muito já foi escrito sobre o amor romântico, Avery pensou na profundidade daquele abraço. Mas isso também merecia o êxtase, a música. Antes de conhecer o corpo de um amante, ela conhecia o das irmãs, ela podia se ver nos pés longos e nos olhos claros, nos membros elegantes e nas orelhas curvas delas. E, antes de a vida se tornar grande e difícil, havia momentos com elas que eram simplesmente bons: em uma manhã bem cedo, o céu ainda escuro lá fora, os pais dormindo. As irmãs mais novas foram chegando, uma por uma, no seu lado da cama, os cabelos emaranhados, exalando o almíscar azedo e doce da manhã. Ela tinha levantado as cobertas para cada uma delas, deixando-as se amontoarem no seu beliche de baixo, os corpos pressionados uns contra os outros, e elas dormiram assim outra vez, cochilando como cachorrinhos em volta da barriga quente da mãe. Ela dormiu também, segura em meio às irmãs, sem saber ou precisar saber onde ela terminava e a próxima começava. Espremida entre Bonnie e Lucky agora, era supérfluo descrever como amor o que ela sentia pelas irmãs. Elas eram amor, lindas, insuportáveis e dela.

It or She or whatever God was had a voice barely above the sound of wind through sand. Bonnie could only hear it when she was very, very still. This is right for you, it would say. This is wrong. And when it spoke to her, she felt so supremely looked after, so deeply and existentially okay, its source could only be divine.

She was not talkative at the best of times, but a voicemail, essentially an enforced monologue, was, for Bonnie, the human equivalent of putting a bear in a tutu and making it dance.

The trick to loving Lucky, Bonnie wanted to tell Avery, was to respect her need to be free. Let her come and go as she pleased and eventually, she would land on you.

Some atavistic part of herself was never at peace until she was with one of her sisters. After Nicky died, Bonnie feared that she would never feel stillness, real calm, again. That was family, she thought sadly, the root of all comfort and chaos. But sitting here now, watching the slumbering Lucky, she felt it faintly, an old ease. She would take care of her. As long as she was near her, she would protect her.