Brandy Funny Quotes

He always smelled like warm wood and brandy, even when he hadn't had a drop of drink. Funny how he managed that. Funny how his smell was in her bed. Henry's eyelids fluttered open. Funny how he was in her bed.

This will not do,' he said to himself. 'If I go on like this I shall become a crazy fool. This must stop! I promised the doctor I would not take tea. Faith, he was pretty right! My nerves must have been getting in a queer state. Funny I did not notice it. I never felt better in my life. However it is all right now, and I shall not be such a fool again.' Then he mixed himself a good stiff glass of brandy and water and resolutely sat down to his work.

It’s funny how those we care about can create the same reaction that we get when we are facing down a monster ready to kill us.

I don't want to be around people who accept me as is, in my unrefined state of becoming. I consistently want people around me who push and encourage me to be my ultimate best, who bring out the inner diamonds. I want to be around those intellectual giants who extract the gold within me, those who force me to read, to attend classes, seminars, conferences, and who steep me in an environment of perpetual growth and upward mobility. Not trying to be funny, but I've learned that I simply cannot afford to invest too much time around mediocrity. It's contagious.

I need to go get ready to leave. Will you be okay?" I start making my way to the stairs, but Briston practically cries out for me to stop. "Wait! You're just going to leave? What if, I don't know, what if the vampire gets all blood crazy and kills everyone in the neighborhood?" "Well then, I'll count myself lucky I wasn't here.

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world. -Brandi Snyder Friendship

Who would have ever thought going to a library would be so scary?

I guess it’s worth a shot.” More than likely a wasted bullet, but I’ll fire anyway.

Scott stared at her mouth, just stared like he was hypnotized, paralyzed, like that crimson O was the answer to all of life’s problems, or maybe just his prayers. I kicked his shin to break the spell, which worked; he blinked, then ate the bite himself as if he’d never even offered it to anyone at all. I looked frankly at Carmel; her expression was innocently amused. There are women whose whole selves are engaged in being a public commodity, and Carmel was one of these. Every gesture she made, every syllable she uttered, the tinkle of her laughter, the way her dress’s fabric draped over her breasts, all of it was self-conscious and deliberate, designed to elicit admiration in women, desire in men. This isn’t to say I held any of that against her. Not a bit. I liked her, in fact. The way I saw it, she was a kind of living work of art, and funny and thoughtful besides. Was it her fault if she, as had happened to me, sometimes provoked the basest feelings in a man? Scott and Fred made short work of that second bottle of brandy while Carmel’s and my glasses still held our initial pour. I’d found that drinking very much of any kind of alcohol still did bad things to my stomach. Carmel might have found that it did bad things to her self-preservation; I know that if I looked like her, I’d never let down my guard.

We ate all of this in front of Tack’s huge, flat-screen TV in the living room where I was treated to a marathon of Storage Wars. Seeing as I didn’t watch TV, I’d never heard of this program. But by the second episode I was hooked. I declared that I thought Brandi and Jarrod were “adorable” together, which for some reason he didn’t explain made Rush laugh so hard I thought he would bust a gut. Rush might find that funny but I decided I was going to start dressing like Brandi. She always looked the shit. I also shared that Dave was my favorite “character” to which Tabby told me with grave seriousness, “But, Tyra, he’s the bad guy.

Sally's father,' explained Walter, 'got me a job in a bank. I can't tell you what I suffered for three whole days. It was like a PG Wodehouse novel, only not funny at all, or perhaps I've no sense of humour. To begin with, I had to get up at eight every morning. One had much better be dead, you know. Then, my dear, the expense! I can't tell you what it cost me in taxis alone, not to mention the suit I had to buy - a most lugubrious black affair. There was no time to get back here for luncheon, and I couldn't go all day without seeing Sally, so we went to a restaurant that was recommended to us called "Simkins," too putting off. Sally was given some perfectly raw meat with blood instead of gravy, and naturally she nearly fainted, and she had to have brandy before I could get her out of the place. By then we were so upset that we felt we must go to the Ritz in order to be soothed, which meant more taxis. In the end we reckoned that those three days had cost me every penny of thirty pounds, so I gave it up. I can't afford that sort of thing, you know.

When Jamie left for basic training I knew exactly what I had to do. Of course, I knew what it feels like to be in basic training. I knew the best thing I could do for her was to write her letters. A lot of letters. What’s funny is that when you write a letter you can feel like you’ve written so much, but that same letter can take two seconds to read. I remember getting letters when I was in basic, and I’d read them and think, “Man, that’s it? I read it too fast.” Contact from back home is so crucial. It means so much. I remembered how I felt. I remembered telling Brandi, “I don’t care what you say. Just ramble. Ramble about your day.” She never grasped that. It was always just this one-page letter and then it was done. So after I got Jamie’s address, I wrote to her every day. Every night after I put the kids to bed, I would write. I would tell her about everything that had happened--what I did, what the kids did, something funny one of them said. I just wrote as much as I could for several pages. Every night I wrote her novels and every morning I mailed them to her.

When Jamie left for basic training I knew exactly what I had to do. Of course, I knew what it feels like to be in basic training. I knew the best thing I could do for her was to write her letters. A lot of letters. What’s funny is that when you write a letter you can feel like you’ve written so much, but that same letter can take two seconds to read. I remember getting letters when I was in basic, and I’d read them and think, “Man, that’s it? I read it too fast.” Contact from back home is so crucial. It means so much. I remembered how I felt. I remembered telling Brandi, “I don’t care what you say. Just ramble. Ramble about your day.

Funny, how the American team appealed to so many people because it was unsullied by money, and selfishness and corporate fingerprints, and yet when Chastain removed her shirt the old cynicism returned immediately. Surely, many thought and wrote, she had a deal with Nike to flash her bra and to make her body a living, breathing mannequin.

　　　  Ivo,   　　　I may not remember what we were. I may not remember the color of your eyes when you look at the sunset or when you stare at the night sky. I may not remember how it feels like to touch your hand. I may not remember how you would like your coffee, whether black or white or sweet. I may not remember the little things that could make you smile and I may not remember how your laugh sounds each time you hear a very funny joke. I may not remember how your perfume smells like and may not remember how your favorite sweater looks like. I may not remember a lot of things about you. But one thing I remember is that I gave you my heart and it will always be yours. Wherever I may be. I am wishing for nothing but for you to be happy. I hope you find someone that will love you as much as I loved you. I hope you find something that could make you happy even if it is not me. I hope you are okay. I will be okay. I promise.   Brandy   P.S: I will love you until I die and if there’s a life after that, I’ll love you then.

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.

Marlie-Beth high-fived the girl. “Angelina, you’re so funny.

They aren’t thugs,” I balk, unable to do this again. It’s like she forgets who she is. “No more than Dad is, and you married him. They’re sweet and smart. Wells treats Ivy like a queen. Any woman should be so fortunate. Gage bakes with her all the time and loves period drama. Ty has a way of tapping into the heart of a person, like he’s rescuing the world one battered soul at a time. And Liam … Liam is so many things. He’s a genius for one. Devoted. And funny. And much deeper than anyone would expect. And all of them are phenomenal with that little girl.

I didn’t want to know the man as a dad, but it’s funny the thoughts that run through your mind when the possibility is stolen from under you.

It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside I’m not one of those who can easily hide I don’t have much money, but boy, if I did I’d buy a big house where we both could live If I was a sculptor, but then again, no Or a man who makes potions in a travelin’ show Oh, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do My gift is my song and this one’s for you And you can tell everybody this is your song It may be quite simple but now that it’s done I hope you don’t mind I hope you don’t mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is while you’re in the world I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss Well, a few of the verses, well, they’ve got me quite cross But the sun’s been quite kind while I wrote this song It’s for people like you that keep it turned on So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do You see, I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen And you can tell everybody this is your song It may be quite simple but now that it’s done

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world. -Brandi Snyder

Are you Russian?” “To the core.” “Well then, let me say at the outset that I am positively enamored with your country. I love your funny alphabet and those little pastries stuffed with meat. But your nation’s notion of a cocktail is rather unnerving. . . .” “How so?” The captain pointed discreetly down the bar to where a bushy-eyebrowed apparatchik was chatting with a young brunette. Both of them were holding drinks in a striking shade of magenta. “I gather from Audrius that that concoction contains ten different ingredients. In addition to vodka, rum, brandy, and grenadine, it boasts an extraction of rose, a dash of bitters, and a melted lollipop. But a cocktail is not meant to be a mélange. It is not a potpourri or an Easter parade. At its best, a cocktail should be crisp, elegant, sincere—and limited to two ingredients.” “Just two?” “Yes. But they must be two ingredients that complement each other; that laugh at each other’s jokes and make allowances for each other’s faults; and that never shout over each other in conversation. Like gin and tonic,” he said, pointing to his drink. “Or bourbon and water . . . Or whiskey and soda . . .” Shaking his head, he raised his glass and drank from it. “Excuse me for expounding.” “That’s quite all right.” The

Simple Sam grinned and confessed that he had pissed in Jochan’s brandy bottle one night when Jochan had passed out, then Jochan had woken up and drank it and not noticed the difference. Simple Sam held that that was funny, but he felt he ought to confess it anyway, and I told him that I thought it was funny as well, but he didn’t ought to do it again or Jochan would hurt him, and I forgave him and sent him on his way.

Never mind the creepy eyes peeking in our windows at night, and following our every move as we drove around. No, that was all good, but stalking us in a grocery story? Line crossed, man.