Buggy Whip Quotes

But Brooklyn, in fact, was the third-largest city in America and had been for some time. It was a major manufacturing center—for glass, steel, tinware, marble mantels, hats, buggy whips, chemicals, cordage, whiskey, beer, glue. It was a larger seaport than New York, a larger city than Boston, Chicago, St. Louis, San Francisco, and growing faster than any of them—faster even than

Writers (my kind of writers: aspiring novelists, ruminative thinkers, people whose brains don't work quick enough to blog or link or tweet, basically old, stubborn blowhards) were through. We were like women's hat makers or buggy-whip manufacturers: Our time was done.

Julietta’s dark hair is glossy and straight and smells like apples. Armand kneels beside her and holds his head close. Her eyelashes are long and delicately curved in a way people a hundred years ago would have described as buggy whips, a phrase no one uses any¬more because no one understands. In this way knowledge is lost.

Johan had been away working for several weeks and home only at the weekends. Sigge missed him and I missed him and we were walking through the park on our way to daycare, two tired and sad souls. Sigge was sitting quietly in the buggy. He usually asks about everything we see along the way, why the air is so transparent, where the sun actually lives and if I like ice cream with pears and whipped cream. But today he was just sitting there quiet and tired, and I wanted to stop and hold him but instead I walked even faster. And then in the middle of the silence his questions started to come. ‘Mommy, why does Daddy have to work in Växjö?’ I gave him a tired, noncommittal answer. ‘He just has to. That’s where his job is right now.’ ‘But why?’ Sigge continued. ‘To earn money so we can buy food and pay the rent.’ ‘Why?’ Sigge said again, and I realized that he really did not understand and then I started wondering whether I really understood. ‘People have to work,’ I said and heard how hollow it sounded.

Uncle Peter is one of our family,” she said, her voice shaking. “Good afternoon. Drive on, Peter.” Peter laid the whip on the horse so suddenly that the startled animal jumped forward and as the buggy jounced off, Scarlett heard the Maine woman say with puzzled accents: “Her family? You don’t suppose she meant a relative? He’s exceedingly black.” God damn them! They ought to be wiped off the face of the earth. If ever I get money enough, I’ll spit in all their faces! I’ll— She glanced at Peter and saw that a tear was trickling down his nose. Instantly a passion of tenderness, of grief for his humiliation swamped her, made her eyes sting. It was as though someone had been senselessly brutal to a child. Those women had hurt Uncle Peter—Peter who had been through the Mexican War with old Colonel Hamilton, Peter who had held his master in his arms when he died, who had raised Melly and Charles and looked after the feckless, foolish Pittypat, “pertecked” her when she refugeed, and “’quired” a horse to bring her back from Macon through a war-torn country after the surrender. And they said they wouldn’t trust niggers! “Peter,” she said, her voice breaking as she put her hand on his thin arm. “I’m ashamed of you for crying. What do you care? They aren’t anything but damned Yankees!

In Morozov’s critique, we’ve made “the Internet” synonymous with the revolutionary future of business and government. To make your company more like “the Internet” is to be with the times, and to ignore these trends is to be the proverbial buggy-whip maker in an automotive age. We no longer see Internet tools as products released by for-profit companies, funded by investors hoping to make a return, and run by twentysomethings who are often making things up as they go along. We’re instead quick to idolize these digital doodads as a signifier of progress and a harbinger of a (dare I say, brave) new world.

Weeds slashed like buggy whips at my bare legs.

For better or for worse, traditional family structure is going the way of buggy whips and bustles.

Most of the arguments I’ve heard against actual growth rely on emotional appeals. My liberal friends decry people like John D. Rockefeller, because he was so rich. Generally they don’t know if he actually did anything bad or not, they just assume that at some point he corralled herds of Irish children into coal mines using a buggy whip their grandfather made. Strangely,

And we’d all jump around like we’s dancing.  One time we didn’t hear Pappy coming, and he walked in right while we’s jumping and sanging.  He had a awful mighty big temper.  He grabbed his horse whip and started hitting Mammy.” Maggie gasped and grabbed Betty Lou’s hand as Grandpa continued his story.  “Johnny and Jimmy took the whip away from Pappy.  Johnny ran out to the chopping block and cut it up in pieces with the ax.  They was scared to come back in the house, so they hid out in the woods for days till they saw Pappy hitch up the buggy and start off.  Then they come in and told Mammy they’s going to leave.  She helped pack up their clothes in bundles and fixed some food, and they left.  That’s the last I ever seen them.  Mammy never played the mandolin again.  I thought she’d probably burnt it up or something.” “How old was you then?” Jeannie asked. “I’s about six, I guess.  Johnny and Jimmy was about fifteen or sixteen.  Mammy knowed they needed to leave because Pappy had such a temper, he’d probably killed them.  But after that, she never would sing no more.

The economic theory propounded by John Maynard Keynes in the 1930s dwelled heavily on the role of governments vis-à-vis cycles. Keynesian economics focuses on the role of aggregate demand in determining the level of GDP, in contrast with earlier approaches that emphasized the role of the supply of goods. Keynes said governments should manage the economic cycle by influencing demand. This, in turn, could be accomplished through the use of fiscal tools, including deficits. Keynes urged governments to aid a weak economy by stimulating demand by running deficits. When a government’s outgo—its spending—exceeds its income—primarily from taxes—on balance it puts funds into the economy. This encourages buying and investing. Deficits are stimulative, and thus Keynes considered them helpful in dealing with a weak economy. On the other hand, when economies are strong, Keynes said governments should run surpluses, spending less than they take in. This removes funds from the economy, discouraging spending and investment. Surpluses are contractionary and thus an appropriate response to booms. However, the use of surpluses to cool a thriving economy is little seen these days. No one wants to be a wet blanket when the party is going strong. And spending less than you bring in attracts fewer votes than do generous spending programs. Thus surpluses have become as rare as buggy whips.

The fact that Moore stayed put within easy reach of angry white men was proof to some that perhaps the papers and whoever gave them the story were not entirely on the right track. Or it’s just as likely that he had protection, perhaps called protective custody, during this brief span. Such were the tangled loyalties of the place where he’d lived all his life. For a black man, especially a mixed-race man like Moore in those days, the line between protection and prosecution was a fine one. Shivering inside his wool pea jacket, Hadley laid both whip and epithets upon the back of his mule Jake as he wrestled the buggy through the sucking mud a short distance to the forlorn shack of thirty-eight-year-old Loduska (“Dusky”) Crutchfield, who with her husband, Jim, was, like

Pah!” Schulman spat, glowering. “I chased him off. Two days ago I found one of my peons sleeping in the barn when he was supposed to be working, and I woke him with a buggy whip. Pelao snatched the whip away from me and threatened me with it, so I ran him off. Good riddance. I never trusted him anyway. There’s nothing worse than an uppity Chichimeca.