Brooke Davis Quotes

If you had a friend you knew you’d never see again, what would you say? If you could do one last thing for someone you love, what would it be? Say it, do it, don’t wait. Nothing lasts forever.

The truth is, I don't really like to think about college 'cause that means high school's over. After graduation everyone will probably go play basketball, or sing, or start record labels. And I'll have to start all over - alone.

If you had a friend you knew you’d never see again, what would you say? If you could do one last thing for someone you love, what would it be? Say it, do it, don’t wait. Nothing lasts forever.

After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island and sat there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the water laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind.

A fact about the world Millie knows for sure: Everyone knows everything about being born, and no one knows anything about being dead.

Let's play truth or dare, or maybe just dare, because nobody knows how to tell the truth anymore.

Did Errol ever know that his life would be just a dash on a gravestone? That everything he did and all the food he ate and the car trips he took and the kisses he gave would all end up as a line on a rock? In a park with a whole lot of strangers?

It seems strange to want to find yourself. Wouldn’t you want to find somebody else? Aren’t you the one thing you can be sure of?

The start date and the end date are always the important bits on the gravestones, written in big letters. The dash in between is always so small you can barely see it. Surely the dash should be big and bright and amazing, or not, depending on how you had lived.

أحيانًا تكون كلمة آسف هي الشيء الوحيد الباقي لنقوله

Life decides what happens, not you.

Poison can come in the form of a person.

نحن موجودن هنا جميعًا بسبب الحب، وأنتِ تخجلين منه

say, I’ll be right back. When, in her forties, she looks at her hands and doesn’t recognise them as her

He had become blank, but there was not the expectation of something blank, like a page or a canvas; there was not the hope and fear and wonder that blankness can sometimes create. There was just nothing.

She stands under the hand dryers in the rest room, because she likes the feeling of wind whooshing through her hair, as though she's leaning her head out a car window on the highway, or like she's Superman, circling the Earth. How does the hand dryer know to start as soon as you stick your hands out? It's amazing, this, but the women in the restroom don't notice, and just stare, panicked, into the mirror, trying to work out what's wrong with them before anyone else does.

You see, Squirt, there's heaven, and then there's hell. Hell is where they send all the bad people, like criminals and con artists and parking inspectors. And heaven is where they send all the good people, like you and me and that nice blonde from MasterChef. What happens when you get there? In heaven, you hang out with God and Jimi Hendrix, and you get to eat doughnuts whenever you want. In hell, you have to, uh . . . do the Macarena. Forever. To that "Grease Megamix." Where do you go if you're good and bad? What? I don't know. IKEA?

From the White House down, the myth holds that fatherhood is the great antidote to all that ails black people. But Billy Brooks Jr had a father,. Trayvon Martin had a father. Jordan Davis had a father. Adhering to middle-class norms has never shielded black people from plunder.

En ineens weet ze zeker dat ze het kleinste ding is dat ooit is gemaakt, nog kleiner zelfs dan de stukjes gruis in haar rug, of de mieren die om haar voeten kruipen, want de wereld is zo groot, zo vol met bomen en sterren en sterven dat ze misschien wel precies, denkt ze, een liggend streepje is.

when people treat you like a monster for so long, sometimes the only thing to do is act like one. -

There is no outrunning it. There is no reasoning with it. There is no begging it for mercy. Punishment always comes, even if there’s no one left to give it.

Girls are aggressive these days.” “Always have been,” I say. “We’re just less interested in hiding it now.

All the grown-ups she knows keep taking bits of her guts away with them and never giving them back.

People often thought it was the loud and rowdy Davies men that ruled the house. But it was actually her mother, Marcy Davies, all five-feet seven inches

Where do you go if you’re good and bad? What? I don’t know. IKEA?

Home is a place where I am enough.

He was so jealous of that boy yesterday, the one with the chest like Charlton Heston in Ben-Hur. He wanted everything he had, that body, that girl, that car, that freedom, that way of thinking. That hair, that bloody hair. What he would give to have hair that moved so freely in the wind. But shouldn’t that boy be jealous of Karl? Shouldn’t he wonder what Karl had seen and done? Shouldn’t he look at Karl and think, If only I get to lead a life like yours?

It’s like I’ve always had a painted musical sound track playing background to my life. I can almost hear colors and smell images when music is played. Mom loves classical. Big, booming Beethoven symphonies blast from her CD player all day long. Those pieces always seem to be bright blue as I listen, and they smell like fresh paint. Dad is partial to jazz, and every chance he gets, he winks at me, takes out Mom’s Mozart disc, then pops in a CD of Miles Davis or Woody Herman. Jazz to me sounds brown and tan, and it smells like wet dirt.

If I’ve learned anything in all that time, it’s that nothing, nothing is free. Especially not for people like me. You either steal it, or you pay for it. And the life of a thief has its own costs. Nobody just gives you anything—you usually just don’t know the price until it’s too late.

When people talk about loving someone, they only ever tell you about moments like this, sitting on the porch with someone warm at your side, watching the sun come up. But that’s never been what love is like for me. Because in my experience, love cares a lot less about what I want and a lot more about what it needs to keep breathing. It’s never felt like a choice to me. It’s always been a demand—a pair of blue-black eyes asking a question that isn’t a question, knowing that yes is the only answer I’ve ever been able to give.

Root if G.

went to the White House and got the President out of bed. Carey and President Harrison were said to be old Senate friends, and no one was present at this session to speak for Johnson County. Quickly convinced of the necessity for immediate action, Harrison ordered a telegram send to General John R. Brooke in Omaha shortly after 11:00 P.M.4 At 11:05 P.M. the president wired Governor Barber that “in compliance with your call for the aid of the United States forces to protect the state of Wyoming against domestic violence,” he had ordered the secretary of war to send troops.5 The president did not have his facts right — the state of Wyoming needed no saving from domestic violence — but Governor Barber made no effort to set the record straight. At 11:37 P.M. General Brooke telegrammed Governor Barber, informing him that the commanding officer at Fort McKinney had been ordered “to prevent violence and preserve peace.”6 This message was received in Buffalo at 12:05 P.M., and within two hours, troops rode out of Fort McKinney under orders from the post’s commanding officer, Colonel J. J. Van Horn.7

De begindatum en de einddatum zijn altijd het belangrijkste op de grafstenen, met grote letters geschreven. Het streepje ertussen is altijd zo klein dat je het bijna niet ziet. Terwijl het toch zeker groot en stralend en prachtig zou moeten zijn, of niet, afhankelijk van hoe je had geleefd.

From the White House on down, the myth holds that fatherhood is the great antidote to all that ails black people. But Billy Brooks Jr. had a father. Trayvon Martin had a father. Jordan Davis had a father. Adhering to middle-class norms has never shielded black people from plunder. Adhering to middle-class norms is what made Ethel Weatherspoon a lucrative target for rapacious speculators. Contract sellers did not target the very poor. They targeted black people who had worked hard enough to save a down payment and dreamed of the emblem of American citizenship-homeownership. It was not a tangle of pathology that put a target on Clyde Ross' back. It was not a culture of poverty that singled out Mattie Lewis for "the thrill of the chase and the kill." Some black people always will be twice as good. But they generally find white predation to be thrice as fast.

Progresivamente me aficioné a las películas, me convertí en espectador asiduo y ahora pienso que la sala de un cinematógrafo es el lugar que yo elegiría para esperar el fin del mundo. Me enamoré, simultánea o sucesivamente, de las actrices de cine Louise Brooks, Marie Prévost, Dorothy Mackay, Marion Davis, Evelyn Brent y Anna May Wong. De estos amores imposibles, el que tuve por Louise Brooks fue el más v ivo, el mas desdichado. ¡Me disgustaba tanto creer que nunca la conoscería! Peor aún, que nunca volvería a verla. Esto, precisamente, fue lo que sucedió. Despuesde tres o cuatros películas, en que la vi embeselado, Louise Brooks desapareció de las pantallas de Buenos Aires. Sentí esa desaparición, primero, como un desgarriamento; después, como una derrota personal. Debía admitir que si Louise Brooks hubiera gustado al público, no hubiera desaparecido. La verdad (o lo que yo sentía) es que no sólo pasó inadvertida por el gran público, sino también por las personas que yo conocía. Si concedían que era linda – más bien ‘bonitilla’ – , lamentaban que fuera mala actriz; si encontraban que era una actriz inteligente, lamentaban que no fuera más bella. Como ante la derrota de Firpo, comprobé que la realidad y yo no estábamos de acuerdo. Muchos años despés, en París, vi una película (creo que de Jessua) en que el héroe, como yo (cuando estaba por escribir Corazón de payaso, uno de mis primeros intentos literarios), inconteniblemente echaba todo a la broma y, de ese modo, se hacía odiar por la mujer querida. El personaje tenía otro parecido conmigo: admiraba a Louise Brooks. Desde entonces, en mi país y en otros, encuentro continuas pruebas de esa admiración, y también pruebas que la actriz la merecía. En el New Yorker y en los Cahiers du cinéma leí articulos sobre ella, admirativos e inteligentes. Leí, asimismo, Lulú en Hollywood, un divertido libro de recuerdos, escrito por Louise Brooks. En el 73 o en el 75, mi amigo Edgardo Cozarinsky me cito una tarde en un cafe de la Place de L’Alma, en Paris, para que conociera a una muchacha que haria el papel de Louise Brooks en un filme en preparacion. Yo era el experto que debia decirle si la muchacha era aceptable o no para el papel. Le dije que si, no solamente para ayudar a la posible actriz. Es claro que si me huberian hecho la pregunta en tiempos de mi angustiosa pasion, quiza la respuesta hubiera sido distinta. Para me, entonces, nadie se parecia a Louise Brooks.

If an old story is enough to scare people away, then the whole world should scare them.

enough to scare people away, then the whole world should scare them.

Like if tomorrow the oceans dried up and the mountains fell and the world decided to collapse in on itself, knowing each other was enough. Home is a place where I am enough.

And when they died, their names would disappear like their last breath, a curiosity for cemetery-goers and nothing more.

It wasn't just his mind, running through various things that would happen once she gave him permission to know her, it was also his body; he felt it needing to be near her, as though his skin was going to burst into flames if they didn't touch.

there was so much room in her, for him, and for everybody else. She was always putting down her guns and raising her arms in the air, inviting a vulnerability that most couldn’t.

Mrs. Davis raised a complaint about A.T. & T.’s contributions to charity, giving Mr. Kappel the opportunity to reply that he was glad the world contained people more charitable than she. (Tax-exempt applause.)

I have money Peter received when he sold the farm.” Davis shook his head, his lips tight. “Forget that money. Put it aside. If we need supplies, or if you need anything for yourself, I’ll give you money.” She drew back, staring at him. “Don’t be silly. Why shouldn’t I use my own money?” “Emma.” His tone brooked no argument. “I am your husband, and I will feed and clothe you. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it.

Just as I was thinking about implants and a running schedule, I heard her sickening sweet voice. “Oh my, Rich – Rich Davis is that really you? And, your friend – well if it isn’t Brooke Anderson. This is just a great, big, college reunion, isn’t it?” she giggled. Friend, friend? Did she just refer to me as Rich’s friend. Was he going to correct her? Should I correct her? Better yet, I should just punch her in the throat, I mused to myself. “Hello, Aubrey. Long time, no see. And, yes, this is Brooke – my girl friend,

الجميع يعرفون كل شيء عن ولادة الإنسان، ولكن لا أحد يعرف شيئًا عن موته

تسمح أغاثا بانثا لنفسها بالشعور بالوحدة

From the White House on down, the myth holds that fatherhood is the great antidote to all that ails black people. But Billy Brooks Jr. had a father. Trayvon Martin had a father. Jordan Davis had a father. Adhering to middle-class norms has never shielded black people from plunder. Adhering to middle-class norms is what made Ethel Weatherspoon a lucrative target for rapacious speculators.

Dann führt sie ihre Gummistiefel spazieren. Hoch und runter auf der Rolltreppe, zuerst gehend, dann springend, hüpfend und winkend wie die Queen. Sie setzt sich oben an die Treppe und schaut zu, wie die Stufen sich selbst verschlucken. Was passiert, wenn die Stufen sich nicht rechtzeitig flach machen? Fragt sie ihre Gummistiefel.

This the guy?” Davis asks as if Emilio isn’t the only one bleeding out on the ground, grunting and groaning in agony. Landen nods. “Yep. Got him right in the dick. Gonna be messy. Sorry ’bout that.

the last of the lordly planters who ruled this Southern world. His manners are unequalled still, but underneath this smooth exterior lies the grip of a tyrant whose will has never been crossed.… He came of a race that would brook no interference with their own sweet will by man, woman or devil …

When their sobs quieted,

She runs her fingers through the air, and it feels like nothing, but it's keeping everyone alive. How can that feel like nothing?

En toen, met bijtende helderheid: heb ik er ooit toe gedaan? Hij was leeg geworden, maar zonder de verwachting die iets leegs kan hebben, zoals een bladzijde of een schildersdoek - de hoop en angst en verwondering die leegheid soms teweegbrengt, ontbraken. Er was gewoon niets. In de wereld der leestekens was hij misschien een liggend streepje geweest - zwevend, tussenin, niet per se vereist.

Hij heeft haar de woonwijkwildernis in gestuurd

Alsof ze met de lucht vecht - alsof de lucht zo dik is als een laken en zij zich er al scheurend doorheen moet zien te werken.

Millie kijkt naar Stella die op haar thee blaast - de damp stijgt op en maakt figuren, net als de koffie in het warenhuis. Stel je voor dat alles zo zou ademen. Dieren en mensen en gras en bomen. Iedereen en alles had dan altijd dampende kronkellijnen om zich heen die figuren maakten, en bij sommige mensen zou je een korte, snelle ademhaling zien, door het rennen of een hartaanval, en anderen zouden een lange, trage ademhaling hebben van het slapen of tvkijken. Het zou net zijn of je naar muziek keek, als je aan muziek iets kon zien, en de wereld zou altijd vol ademmuziek zijn. Misschien blaas je wel alles uit als je je laatste adem uitblaast: je herinneringen en gedachten en dingen die je had willen zeggen en dingen die je niet had willen zeggen en plaatjes in je hoofd van hete koffiedamp en de laatste blik op het gezicht van je vader en het gevoel van modder tussen je vingers en de wind als je van een heuvel af rent en de kleur van alles, ooit.

Misschien blaas je wel alles uit als je je laatste adem uitblaast: je herinneringen en gedachten en dingen die je had willen zeggen en dingen die je niet had willen zeggen en plaatjes in je hoofd van hete koffiedamp en de laatste blik op het gezicht van je vader en het gevoel van modder tussen je vingers en de wind als je van een heuvel af rent en de kleur van alles, ooit...

From the White House on down, the myth holds that fatherhood is the great antidote to all that ails black people. But Billy Brooks Jr. had a father. Trayvon Martin had a father. Jordan Davis had a father. Adhering to middle-class norms has never shielded black people from plunder. Adhering to middle-class norms is what made Ethel Weatherspoon a lucrative target for rapacious speculators. Contract sellers did not target the very poor. They targeted black people who had worked hard enough to save a down payment and dreamed of the emblem of American citizenship—homeownership. It was not a tangle of pathology that put a target on Clyde Ross’s back. It was not a culture of poverty that singled out Mattie Lewis for “the thrill of the chase and the kill.” Some black people always will be twice as good. But they generally find white predation to be thrice as fast.

The small cardboard sign said Spider ?-2011 in her best writing. Millie ran her fingers over the line in between the question mark and Spider's death-year. Back and forth, back and forth. It was strange, she thought, that this line - this long, straight line - was all there was to show of his whole life.

One of the guests at this wedding, who has been close to her for years, says that here in Oxfordshire, Rebekah [Brooks] is a country wife... but that, in London, where the real transactions take place, she is 'the beating heart of the Devil'.