Buckle Your Shoes Quotes

Sometimes you fall, spinning through space, grasping for the things that keep you on this earth. Sometimes you catch them. They can be the hands of the people you love. They can be your pets- pups with funny names, cats with ferocious old souls. The thing that keeps you here can be your art. It can be things you have collected and invested with a certain sense of meaning. A flowered, buckled treasure chest of secrets. Shoes that make you taller and, therefore, closer to the heavens. A suit that belonged to your fairy godmother. A dress that makes you feel a little like the Goddess herself. Sometimes you keep falling; you don't catch anything. Sometimes you fall, spinning through space, grasping for the things that keep you here. Sometimes you catch them. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes they catch you.

Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded time piece should have been. "That little bastard--" Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. "He picked your pockets?" Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning.

Poirot sighed. He said “The world is yours, the new heaven and the new earth. In your new world, my children, let there be freedom, and let there be pity. That is all I ask.

THOMASINA: ....the enemy who burned the great library of Alexandria without so much as a fine for all that is overdue. Oh, Septimus! -- can you bear it? All the lost plays of the Athenians! Two hundred at least by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides -- thousands of poems -- Aristotle's own library!....How can we sleep for grief? SEPTIMUS: By counting our stock. Seven plays from Aeschylus, seven from Sophocles, nineteen from Euripides, my lady! You should no more grieve for the rest than for a buckle lost from your first shoe, or for your lesson book which will be lost when you are old. We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?

But if as you read this book you're saying to yourself: "I'd rather be miserably married than be alone." Well young lady, take out your clown shoes and buckle your seat belt - it's going to be a very bumpy one-woman circus.

In Paris, when certain people see you ready to set your foot in the stirrup, some pull your coat-tails, others loosen the buckle of the strap that you may fall and crack your skull; one wrenches off your horse's shoes, another steals your whip, and the least treacherous of them all is the man whom you see coming to fire his pistol at you point blank.

Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed a second later. “What is it, boss?” Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded timepiece should have been. “That little bastard—” Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. “He picked your pocket?” Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning. “Doughty,” he said, “I think we’d best say a prayer for Jan Van Eck.

Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed a second later. “What is it, boss?” Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded timepiece should have been. “That little bastard—” Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. “He picked your pocket?” Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning.

Good afternoon, Nathaniel. Kindly return my basket.” “Is that all you have to say? You disappoint me. I thought you would send me sailing into the horse trough at least. I guess you respect my new position as a man of the world.” “You are not a man of the world, you clean paintbrushes, though for the life of me I don’t know why Mr. Peale bothers with you. And you will end up in that trough if you don’t give back my basket.” I paused. “Your shoe buckle is missing.” “What?” I grabbed the basket as he looked down to inspect his shoe. “Very funny,” he said.

Uneasy Rider" Falling in love with a mustache is like saying you can fall in love with the way a man polishes his shoes which, of course, is one of the things that turns on my tuned-up engine those trim buckled boots (I feel like an advertisement for men’s fashions when I think of your ankles) Yeats was hung up with a girl’s beautiful face and I find myself a bad moralist, a failing aesthetician, a sad poet, wanting to touch your arms and feel the muscles that make a man’s body have so much substance, that makes a woman lean and yearn in that direction that makes her melt/ she is a rainy day in your presence the pool of wax under a burning candle the foam from a waterfall You are more beautiful than any Harley-Davidson She is the rain, waits in it for you, finds blood spotting her legs from the long ride.

Western clothes were intended for healthy, robust men: to anyone in a weakened condition they were quite insupportable. Around the waist, over the shoulders, under the arms, around the neck - every part of the body was pressed and squeezed by clasps and buttons and rubber and leather, layer over layer, as if you were strapped to a cross. And of course you had to put on stockings before the shoes, stretching them carefully up on your legs by garters. Then you put on a shirt, and then trousers, cinching them in with a buckle and the back till they cut your waist and hanging them from your shoulders with suspenders. Your neck was choked in a close-fitting collar, over which you fastened a noose-like necktie, and stuck a pin in it. If a man is well filled out, the tighter you squeeze him, the more vigorous and bursting with vitality he seems; but a man who is only skin and bones can't stand that. [...] It was only because these Western clothes held him together that he was able to keep on walking at all - but to think of stiffening a limp, helpless body, shackling it hand and foot, and driving it ahead with shouts of "Keep going! Don't you dare collapse!" It was enough to make a man want to cry...

Carter: "Dude, I don't know why it works, it just does. [...] Just pretend you're not into 'em and then ask a question. What's the worst that could happen?" EJ makes eye contact with the smallest one, off to the side. [...] She looks up at EJ and gives him the nicest smile. He pulls the trigger and yells, "You think you're hot stuff, don't you?" What the...? Where are you going with this? "Excuse me?" she replies, kind of sweetly. EJ asks, "You think you're cool, don't you? Where did you get that shirt, the Salvation Army? What the hell is with your hair? My eyes are as big as basketballs as he fires one mean-ass question after another at her. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?" he continues. It's like he's armed with self-esteem killer. "Did your parents have any kids that lived?" EJ asks. The girls starts to buckle, and tears are on the way. "Are these your friends, or are they like, counselors here to observe you?" EJ shouts. [...] He asks, "Does your grandma know you borrowed her shoes?" as I drag him away. The girl is crying pretty hard, and her friends are trying to console her. [...] "Man, that didn't do very well. What do you think I did wrong?" EJ asks. "Are you serious?" I ask "I was just doing what you told me to," he replies. "I-I-I told you to go up to that girl and start abusing her?" I ask. "You said to ask her questions and pretend I didn't like her!" he yells back. "Pretend YOU'RE NOT INTO HER!" I clarify. "Not that you hate her and wish she would die! Good God, that girl thought she was gonna get a boyfriend when you walked up, not years of therapy." "Do you think I still have a shot?" he asks "NO, I don't!" I bark

Sometimes you fall, spinning through space, grasping for the things that keep you on this earth. Sometimes you catch them. They can be the hands of the people you love. They can be your pets—pups with funny names, cats with ferocious old souls. The thing that keeps you here can be your art. It can be things you have collected and invested with a certain sense of meaning. A flowered, buckled treasure chest of secrets. Shoes that make you taller and, therefore, closer to the heavens. A suit that belonged to your fairy godmother. A dress that makes you feel a little like the Goddess herself. Sometimes you keep falling; you don’t catch anything.

Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself. "Son of a bitch," he exclaimed a second later. "What is it, book?" Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond - studded timepiece should have been. "That little bastard--" Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. "He picked your pocket?" Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning. "Doughty," he said, "I think we'd best say a prayer for Jan Van Eck." "You think Brekker can best him?" "It's a long shot, but if he's not careful, I think that merch might walk himself right onto the gallows and let Brekker tighten the noose." Rollings sighed. "We better hop Van Eck kills that boy." "Why?" "Because otherwise I'll have to." Rollins straightened the knot of his painless tie and headed down to the casino floor. The problem of Kaz Brekker could wait to be solved another day. Right now there was money to be made.

Suggestions to Develop Self-Help Skills Self-help skills improve along with sensory processing. The following suggestions may make your child’s life easier—and yours, too! DRESSING • Buy or make a “dressing board” with a variety of snaps, zippers, buttons and buttonholes, hooks and eyes, buckles and shoelaces. • Provide things that are not her own clothes for the child to zip, button, and fasten, such as sleeping bags, backpacks, handbags, coin purses, lunch boxes, doll clothes, suitcases, and cosmetic cases. • Provide alluring dress-up clothes with zippers, buttons, buckles, and snaps. Oversized clothes are easiest to put on and take off. • Eliminate unnecessary choices in your child’s bureau and closet. Clothes that are inappropriate for the season and that jam the drawers are sources of frustration. • Put large hooks inside closet doors at the child’s eye level so he can hang up his own coat and pajamas. (Attach loops to coats and pajamas on the outside so they won’t irritate the skin.) • Supply cellophane bags for the child to slip her feet into before pulling on boots. The cellophane prevents shoes from getting stuck and makes the job much easier. • Let your child choose what to wear. If she gets overheated easily, let her go outdoors wearing several loose layers rather than a coat. If he complains that new clothes are stiff or scratchy, let him wear soft, worn clothes, even if they’re unfashionable. • Comfort is what matters. • Set out tomorrow’s clothes the night before. Encourage the child to dress himself. Allow for extra time, and be available to help. If necessary, help him into clothes but let him do the finishing touch: Start the coat zipper but let him zip it up, or button all but one of his buttons. Keep a stool handy so the child can see herself in the bathroom mirror. On the sink, keep a kid-sized hairbrush and toothbrush within arm’s reach. Even if she resists brushing teeth and hair, be firm. Some things in life are nonnegotiable.

The world is yours. The New Heaven and the New Earth. In your new world, my children, let there be freedom and let there be pity... That is all I ask. Hercule Poirot, from "One, two, buckle my shoe

Daily Self Care: Children this age love to do things for themselves, and it is encouraged to allow them to do so whenever it is appropriate. Demonstrate simple dressing techniques such as how to maneuver buttons, snaps, zippers, ties, buckles and other closures. Show your child how to put on sock correctly and how to fasten or tie their own shoes as their motor skills mature. Teach them how to take care of their own dirty clothes when they change them.   A young child should be given the opportunity to brush their own teeth and wash their own body, face and hair with your supervision. Proper hand washing technique is one of the most valuable life skill activities that you can teach your child.

Kane, how are you so fucking tight…" Avery pistoned his hips, driving Kane into the edge of the vanity with each snap of his hips. The moment was perfect, too perfect. Kane reared back, arching his body, and met Avery thrust for thrust. "You've been…ah…bottoming the last few times," Kane groaned. Avery closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His husband always did that when he concentrated on holding his load. Kane kept his eyes open, looking at their reflection in the mirror. He loved watching Avery make love to him. "Keep going." Kane lifted his dress shirt up and over his head. He tossed it across the top of the toilet and began stroking himself. He was close, very close, and Avery never stopped pounding away at his ass. He tightened his grip, desperately wanting to come, but trying hard to keep it at bay. "Feel good?" Avery's voice was deep, breathy. "Yeah," was the only thing he could manage at the moment. "So good. Fuck, Kane, I could do this all night." "Avery…yes." Kane strained to hold back his orgasm. He rolled his hips then pushed back, grinding against Avery, taking him deep inside. Avery responded just like Kane imagined he would—his lover's eyes opened, and shot straight to their reflection in the mirror, meeting his. Avery's heated gaze pierced Kane to the core. "Come for me," Kane whispered. "You're so beautiful. You're mine. You're always mine." Avery's eyes stayed locked on his. Avery gripped Kane's hips tightly and bucked harder, nailing his spot over and over. Fire surged through Kane's veins. "Come with me!" "Now!" Kane loosened his tight grip on the sink to stroke himself faster, dropping his head down on to the counter as his body tensed and his ass contracted hard around Avery. His release jetted from his body, painting the cabinet and floor with ribbons of white, taking his breath, and buckling his knees with pleasure. He was barely conscious of missing the slacks pooled around his shoes. He closed his eyes as loud moans escaped his lips. He savored every second of Avery's pulsing cock filling him with liquid heat from the inside out.

Faith is never the denial of reality; it is belief in a greater reality. In other words, the truth may be that you are presently surrounded by terrifying or terribly discouraging circumstances. But the reason why you don’t have to buckle to fear and discouragement is the presence of God in the middle of your circumstances. So call upon Him to step His One and Only shoes onto your territory. This place—this circumstance—is now holy because God stands on it with you. You don’t have to fill His shoes, Dear One. Take off your sandals and walk barefoot in His wake.

I cannot believe you would take such an unpardonable risk!"  cried Charles, leaping to his feet.  "When I bade Juliet to come here should anything happen to me, I thought you, not Gareth would be responsible for her!  Gareth can't even be responsible for buckling his own shoes for God's sake, let alone a wife and baby!" Lucien had been previously content to suffer Charles's anger, but now his expression hardened.  "You are judging your brother most unfairly, Charles, and I will not tolerate your abusing him in this manner.  He would be much wounded if he were to hear you speak of him so.  I know that Gareth was once irresponsible and dissolute, but he has made much of himself, Charles.  He is a loving husband and a playful, adoring father, and his days of debauchery are far behind him.  Go ahead and be angry, as you have every right to be, but do not be angry with him.  If you must assign blame to anyone, assign it where it is due.  That is, assign it to me." "Yes, you and your infernal meddling!  I hope you're damned proud of yourself!" "I was — until I got your letter saying you were not dead, after all.  But really, Charles.  Even you must admit that Gareth, with his light heart and carefree spirit, is much better suited to Juliet, who is as serious-minded as you are.  My only regret is that something has reduced you to this pathetic wreckage I see standing before me, and I was not there to help you.  But as sorry as I feel for you, Charles, I will tell you this.  If you do anything to sabotage your brother's and Juliet's newfound happiness, I assure you I will be most irate indeed.

Is there anyone else you can think of who had a grudge against your brother?

The world is yours. The New Heaven and the New Earth. In your new world, my children, let there be freedom and let there be pity … That is all I ask.

I unbuttoned the top of my shirt as I looked at the Tongue & Buckle. I wasn’t used to button-up shirts. I only owned two. The one I had on was new, a gift from my sister. Just thinking about her made my fingers worry nervously at the next button. The shirt was black, short-sleeved with tiny little skulls on the pocket. On the back, a Day of the Dead style Virgin Mary. Haley has a wicked sense of humor.   James didn’t insist on much, but he did insist on dressing up for meetings. Ridiculous, since one of the members had a hard time wearing pants. Wait, what was I thinking? James insisted on tons of things. I undid another button.   “You’re one away from a nice seventies look.” Sean put his feet up on the dash.   “I’d need chest hair for that. And gold chains.”   “True.” He leaned farther back into the passenger seat, if that was even possible. Sean, at least, never bitched about my Subaru. “You know, you’re going to have to go in eventually. And the longer you wait, the longer you’re in those clothes.”   I flicked a piece of lint off the black slacks James had dug up for me. He’d grunted at inspection. That grunt probably meant he’d be taking me shopping soon. Or it might have been directed at my Cons. You never knew. He needed to cut me some slack. My last job had been flipping burgers. You didn’t buy dress shoes for a job like that. With a job like that, you couldn’t even afford dress shoes. Or clothes. You couldn’t afford anything, really.   Sean looked over at the pub. “What did Groucho Marx say about being aware of any job that requires new clothes?”   “The quote is that we should ‘beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,’ and it’s Thoreau, not Groucho Marx.”   “Oooh, listen to you. ‘It’s Thoreau.’ Well, we didn’t all go to college for a quarter.”   “I went for a year, not a quarter, and shut up.