Brandy Alexander Quotes

Don't do what you want. Do what you don't want. Do what you're trained not to want. Do the things that scare you the most.

The bigger the mistake looks, the better chance I'll have to break out and live a real life. Our real discoveries come from chaos. - Brandy Alexander

Completely and totally, permanently and without hope, forever and ever I love Brandy Alexander. And that's enough.

I'm always brilliant after the fact.

You know," my father said sprinkling nutmeg on his brandy Alexander, "if you sniff too much nutmeg, you could die." "You can die from anything, really," my mother said "You can die from eating too many apricots." "How many apricots?" I said, afraid that the World's Most Pathetic Death could happen to me.

This is the big hammy way Brandy has played her whole life. The Brandy Alexander nonstop continuous live action theater, but less and less live by the moment.

The thing about being cloned from all those shampoo commercials, well, that goes for me and Brandy Alexander, too. Shotgunning anybody in this room would be the moral equivalent of killing a car, a vacuum cleaner, a Barbie doll. Erasing a computer disk. Burning a book. Probably that goes for killing anybody in the world. We're all such products.

Il mondo” dice Brandy “è la tua culla e la tua trappola.

Brandy Alexander smiling and looking terrific. “They’re Vicodins, dear,” she says. “It’s the Marilyn Monroe school of medicine where enough of any drug will cure any disease.

What are you about, Moncrieffe?" Eversea did look decidedly ill. "What am I about...? Well, I'm 'about' to enjoy, or at least drink, a cup of ratafia. Or brandy if I can get it. I'm about to join your father for a brief discussion of an investment opportunity in his study. I'm about to divest your neighbors and guests of their money in five-card loo. But that's later. More importantly, I'm about to dance with your sister." It was the smile Moncrieffe offered here, and the way he said "sister," that had Ian reaching, in a reflex almost as old as time, for a sword he wasn't wearing. He forced his hand to ease. For Moncrieffe had seen it; he casually placed his own hand inside his coat. A pistol was never far from his person.

brandy Alexanders and White Ladies and wanted to hear about a cocktail called the Clover Club that was one-third gin, one-third lemon juice, one-third grenadine, and the white of an egg.

Chaos Cocktail by Stewart Stafford Herky-jerky's hanky-panky, Wakey-wakey, eggs n' bakey! Cosmic Mercury's retrograde trick, Nilsson's Brandy Alexander kick. John heard Bermuda's jingle-jangle, Storm surge in an Exorcist Triangle! Sea shanties upending Behan's hive, All stout hornets jigged and jived. Yoko's "Oh, no!" on firmer ground, Her ageing mariner didn't drown, Lonely Ringo plays bingo bongo, Paul, mugged down near the Congo. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

I hate being hugged by strangers. It’s so awkward and uncomfortable. It ranks right up there with comedians who pull you out of the audience to be a part of their act. It should be illegal!

Please don't go." Words as unbidden as her presence, and shaken loose by brandy. And the hand he would have used to choke Ian Eversea reached out and landed just above her elbow and closed. Finally stopping her from leaving him. Motionless, they stared at each other, and then they both stared down at his hand, as though it belonged to someone else, had naught to do with them. And then his hand slid slowly up her arm as if it were a road he had no choice but to follow. Up the slim, soft bare skin of her arm. It was so cool, such a silken, heartbreakingly soft path. She tensed beneath his hand. And when it touched her hair lying draped over her shoulder, he exhaled softly. He sank his fingers into it, then drew them slowly, slowly out, in aching wonder. "It's what this night would feel like if I could seize hold of it.

Like many of his townsmen, Brunetti never tired of studying the city, every so often delighting himself by discovering something he had never noticed before. Over the course of the years, he had worked out a system that allowed him to reward himself for each discovery: a new window earned him a coffee; a new statue of a saint, however small, got him a glass of wine; and once, years ago, he had noticed on a wall he must have passed five times a week since he was a child a lapidary stone that commemorated the site of the Aldine Publishing House, the oldest in Italy, founded in the fourteenth century. He had gone right around the corner and into a bar in Campo San Luca and ordered himself a Brandy Alexander, though it was ten in the morning and the barman had given Brunetti a strange look when he placed the glass in front of him.