Byline Quotes

So much for Objective Journalism. Don't bother to look for it here--not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms.

It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them.

The August 1 story had carried their joint byline; the day afterward, Woodward asked Sussman if Bernstein's name could appear with his on the follow-up story - though Bernstein was still in Miami and had not worked on it. From the on, any Watergate story would carry both names. Their colleagues melded the two into one and gleefully named their byline Woodstein. -- Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward

The most cursory examination of even the most progressive organs of information reveals a curious inability to recognize women as newsmakers, unless they are young or married to a head of state or naked or pregnant by some triumph of technology or perpetrators or victims of some hideous crime or any combiniation of the above. Women's issues are often disguised as people issues, unless they are relegated to the women's pages which amazingly still suvive. Senior figures are all male; even the few women who are deemed worthy of obituaries are shown in images from their youth, as if the last fourty years of their lives have been without achievement of any kind. If you analyse the by-lines in your morning paper, you will see that the senior editorial staff are all older men, supported by a rabble of junior females, the infinitely replacesable 'hackettes'.

we don't always understand what happens to us or why, but if we could see through the lens of eternity, we'd weep with joy.

A writer must get beyond the thrill of a byline, plunge deeper than the words themselves, and dive head-on into a bottomless pit where all the good stories are swimming around waiting to be rescued from the soul.” Kathleen M. Rodgers ~ 1998

He would appear never to have diluted his opinions in the hope of seeing his byline disseminated to the paying customers; this alone is a clue to why he still matters.

You cannot prove your worth by bylines and busyness.

The byline is a replacement for many other things, not the least of them money. If someone ever does a great psychological profile of journalism as a profession, what will be apparent will be the need for gratification—if not instant, then certainly relatively immediate. Reporters take sustenance from their bylines; they are a reflection of who you are, what you do, and why, to an uncommon degree, you exist. ... A journalist always wonders: If my byline disappears, have I disappeared as well?

Good writing is true writing. If a man is making a story up it will be true in proportion to the amount of knowledge of life that he has and how conscientious he is; so that when he makes something up it is as it would truly be. By-Line: Ernest Hemingway, p. 215

So much for objective journalism. Don’t bother to look for it here—not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a gross contradiction in terms.

Still, more than all the implausible fluff, it was the advertisements-neat, clean, set off in a box in the middle of some mendacious tale-that were ductile for dreaming. However much it smacked of that hyperbole necessary for sales purposes, he nonetheless remained astounded and tickled by the imperturbable guarantee in the announcement of a product that existed, that could be bought, a product which was not, in sum, the figment of a journalist's imagination, a ruse invented for the sake of a byline.

You can bet on Franco, or Mussolini, or Hitler, if you want. But my money goes on Hipolito.

I favor weapons of mass instruction.

My feminism is inherent. It's not a trait, adjective, label or by-line but an orientation towards the world.

Seeing her own name gave her a more solid sense of existence, and the sight would prove to be addictive; Sylvia would spend the rest of her life pursuing the elusive thrill of the byline.

I'll love you forever. Nothing can change how I feel about you. Nothing. I'd take a bullet for you, walk on hot coals. I'll watch chick flicks and hold your purse at the mall. When babies come I'll rub your feet, and when we are old and gray, I'll love you even more than I do now. But I can't stand here and say 'Do whatever makes you happy,' because happy is temporary. I want us to have more, Kate. I want us to have joy.

All the passengers were crowded over on the landside of the ship, watching through the narrow windows the careened hulk of a freighter, visibly damaged by shellfire, which had driven ashore to beach her cargo. She lay aground, looking against the sand in that clear water like a whale with smokestacks that had come to the beach to die.

The following obituary appeared in the Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph of Sept. 16, 1958: A GREAT POET died last week in Lancieux, France, at the age of 84. He was not a poet's poet. Fancy-Dan dilletantes will dispute the description "great." He was a people's poet. To the people he was great. They understood him, and knew that any verse carrying the by-line of Robert W. Service would be a lilting thing, clear, clean and power-packed, beating out a story with a dramatic intensity that made the nerves tingle. And he was no poor, garret-type poet, either. His stuff made money hand over fist. One piece alone, The Shooting of Dan McGrew, rolled up half a million dollars for him. He lived it up well and also gave a great deal to help others. "The only society I like," he once said, "is that which is rough and tough - and the tougher the better. That's where you get down to bedrock and meet human people." He found that kind of society in the Yukon gold rush, and he immortalized it.

I can see that he wants to laugh but the expression on my face stops him. “We have no women drivers.” “You do now.” Honestly, I’m so tired of this bullshit. I can’t have a byline because I’m a woman. I can’t apply for a marriage license on my own because I’m a woman. I can’t drive an ambulance because I’m a woman.

The spectacle of its governing is at present more comic than tragic; but the tragedy is very close.

it is much easier to be the opposition to a government than to run the government yourself.

Rose and I did not become friends immediately, although I’d been aware of her before we met. She’d been writing for the Voice, for the New York Press, for Time Out. But never for the Times, I noticed with relief. I’d stare at her byline on the subway or in a bodega thinking Who is this girl doing my job? I’d sit on the subway reading her pieces, listening to the voice of a girl that was louder than ink and larger than column inches, I might have written at the time, if I had to review the sound Rose made. A girl unafraid to lose herself in a description of the physical pleasure the music gave her and unafraid of turning lethally bemused when the music failed her. The display, and the confidence it took to put it out there and keep it coming, was infuriating.

After all, it wasn’t science that had transformed the world, but the marriage of technology and capitalism. The ignorant might blame science for the ills and evils of the modern era, but that was a case of mistaken identity—no research scientist had ever polluted a water table with a PCB, or performed a third-trimester abortion, or denied someone insurance based on a genetic screening, or turned the Internet into a covert way of peering into private lives. Real scientists were invisible outside their own circle of peers. Even Nobel Prize recipients barely registered on the public consciousness, as Brohier well knew. A Heisman Trophy or an Oscar counted for far more—there was no market for Heroes of Science trading cards. Status was still measured in arcane units: bylines, citations, appointments, grants.

We're imperfect human beings. We're destined to fail. The only love that never fails is God's love. His love for His children---us--is boundless, battle-tested, and bold. It's trustworthy, tried and true.

She logged in and read a few of her old posts, smiling at the issues she had raged about and shaking her head at how some of the rants now seemed pretentious and judgmental. She had grown so much without even realizing she had. Mythili typed out the draft, spicing it up subtly and after a last read, she published it. Admiring the brand new post on her main page, she realized she missed writing. She had barely written anything since her last by-line. Typing this out, she felt like she was back with a long-lost friend who understood her. It was like snuggling up in a warm blanket when a thunderstorm raged outside.

The question of who is, and who is not, "crazy" is at the heart of "Nightmare" — how sanity is defined, and how much depends upon who is doing the defining. "Nightmare" was rejected by College Humor, Cosmopolitan, Redbook, and the Saturday Evening Post, all magazines that had regularly and eagerly published Fitzgerald's work.... in 1932, this was not what readers expected under the byline "F. Scott Fitzgerald," and therefore not what editors wanted.

the perversity is not lost on me that the most oft-cited, well-respected, best-selling books about the caretaking of babies—Winnicott, Spock, Sears, Weissbluth— have been and are mostly still by men. On the front cover of The Baby Book—arguably one of the more progressive contemporary options (albeit oppressively heteronormative)—the byline reads “by William Sears (MD) and Martha Sears (RN).” This seems promising(ish), but nurse/wife/mother Martha’s voice appears only in anecdotes, italics, and sidebars, never as conarrator. Was she too busy taking care of their eight children to join in the first-person?

The snuffies’ stories were regularly handed out to civilian correspondents, who sometimes reshaped them and put them on the wire, which meant they sometimes showed up in little newspapers throughout the United States. Mention a marine’s hometown—something Berntson was always careful to do—and there was a good chance it would end up in his local paper. There were usually no bylines on these stories, but the marines remembered who wrote them. Berntson would be hailed by a grunt in the bush who said, in so many words: Hey, Storyteller, you lying sack of shit. You know all that bullshit you wrote about me? You know what? My mom clipped it and sent it to me! They think I’m a hero at home now and maybe they’ll buy me a beer when I get back! That felt better than a byline. Commanders heading off on a hairy patrol would say, “Get Storyteller. We’re going out on a romp.

Jimmy likely wrote all three editorials, and one, titled “Who Is for Law and Order?” carried his byline. He argued that the spectacle, seen in other recent conflicts and then repeated most dramatically in the Little Rock crisis, of white people defying police as well as state and federal troops raised the question, “If white people defy the Constitution, who then are the law-abiding citizens of the U.S. and who is for democracy?” Inherent in his answer was a reshaping of the relations between blacks and whites. On one hand this meant the loss of white people’s claim to civic and moral authority. “The Little Rock crisis has put an end to the era of the white man’s burden to preserve democracy,” he asserted. “The white man’s burden now is to prove that he believes in democracy and that he can follow the example of the colored people in upholding law and order.” As for black Americans, their newfound racial assertion struck a blow to the edifice upon which their subordination had long rested. “For years untold colored people have been forced to maneuver in all directions trying to avoid a head-on collision,” Jimmy wrote. “They have allowed white people to name them ‘Negroes’ by which the whites mean a thing and not a person. They have stayed out of the public parks, restaurants, hotels and golf courses, walked on the cinder path when meeting whites on the sidewalk, gone to separate schools, worked on the worst jobs under the worst conditions, smiled and acted unhurt when abused in public places.” But the recent tide of black protest revealed that African Americans were making “an about face.” Black people, he wrote, were not only pressing for their rights but were also beginning to “denounce” the people and practices that had denied them those rights. 80 Jimmy’s analysis of Little Rock differed from other commentaries, which tended to emphasize it as an advance in the struggle for integration, highlight the moral questions it raised, or discuss it as a crisis of authority played out through conflict among the local, state, and national governments. Instead, Jimmy said Little Rock represented a rather sudden transformation now taking place among black people. The importance of Little Rock for him was in revealing how black people were seeing themselves differently and thus making this “about face,” no longer accepting the southern way of life and even rejecting the standards by which white people had organized society and elevated themselves. This analysis, and all of the editorials on Little Rock more generally, continued the focus and tone of Jimmy’s previous writings in the paper, but they also reflected the greater attention that Correspondence was soon to give to the escalating civil rights movement.

Memories were such fleeting things, yet the human brain stored them like food for the winter of old age.

The Byline Boy at last, brining more death to the house of the dead.

Said G.R. to us, the guilt is Lee’s so prove it. It’s as if he always knew, and we won’t forget What he did to us, what is hid from view. Gone, truth is ever gone. As we travel on, that’s what we’ll remember. Kiss the hill goodbye and give me, please, no byline. He did what he wished to do. Won’t forget, will regret what we could not do, What was done to us, what is hid from view. Truth, truth is over wrung. As we travel on, that’s what we’ll remember. Kiss it all goodbye and give us not a mention, Bob gets the attention. So we all are shafted through. . .Won’t forget, will regret What we did for Lou, what was done to us, and they’ll kid you, too.

Yet many writers are paralyzed by the thought that they are competing with everybody else who is trying to write and presumably doing it better. This can often happen in a writing class. Inexperienced students are chilled to find themselves in the same class with students whose byline has appeared in the college newspaper. But writing for the college paper is no great credential; I’ve often found that the hares who write for the paper are overtaken by the tortoises who move studiously toward the goal of mastering the craft.

Rainer Maria Rilke said, ‘The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.’ I will witness many crimes and commit my share of sins. I shall nonetheless rally from heart rendering defeat and continue struggling to make my mind a cool reflection table that is capable of mirroring without distress all the conflict and greed that living entails. I will rebound from glorious defeat of cherished ideas by continuing to exhibit profound reverence for every facet of living in a world filled with both kind and beastly people. I can never cease learning and working to control my devious monkey mind. While I prefer that other people respect me, I will encounter many people whom dislike or ignore me. I cannot live an enlightened existence attempting to win other people’s affection. I desire success, but I must embrace failure and heartache as the preeminent means to encounter suffering that is essential to foster intellectual and spiritual growth. I aspire to make a mosaic of the mind out of personal failures and script a future byline that is admirable because it reflects living in a principled and disciplined manner.

Why did people have to hurt? Why did Almighty God make dreams come true and snatch them away?

Dale Spender coined the ‘one third rule’ in her book Man-Made Language. As soon as women are: more than one third of the speakers at a conference; more than one third of the members of the house; more than a third of the authors on the review pages of the papers; or one-third the contribution to the conversations the impression is – for both genders – that women are taking over.1 In late 2012, Chrys Stevenson completed research into how women are represented in Australian newspapers and found, by her comprehensive byline count and content analysis, the percentage of stories written by women with women as the subject, quoting women or using women as an expert or in the photo is between 20% and 30%, similar to findings from separate investigations all over the world.2

God is my assignment editor.” —RICHARD PEARSON, obituaries editor, Washington Post

Around about this time, stuck as we are without a breath of wind in the doldrums, Casino cons his way into writing an entertainment column for a newspaper back in Norway. He files his columns every Friday, which is handy because the London music papers come out on Thursday and that allows him to steal every single sentence, so the wheeze doesn’t have to take up a great deal of his time. What a scam. He gets paid plus he gets journalist credentials, so every week the record companies send all their new releases for him to review. This, of course, he never does. Instead, he takes each week’s stack down the street and sells them to a record shop. Another angle he’s working is that, since he’s using his maiden name for the newspaper byline, he can drop the handle ‘Casino Steel’ into his columns every now and again, mentioning this up-and-coming musician who’s really making waves in London. So it turns out Casino Steel is making quite a name for himself, especially for a man who’s not making quite a name for himself.

...though Leona refused to be a meddlesome old woman, she prayed every day that Kate would know the love of God and a husband, and that she'd have as many children as she wanted.

He had to remember that he and Kate were just friends--nothing more. But if Marcus hugged her again, Nick would be sorely tempted to bloody his nose.

I could read it so you don’t have to?” she offers, but I’m already halfway through. I start to read aloud. “ ‘I had this vision for creating a platform that would help people to connect and coalesce around the things that mattered most to them. It was a natural extension of what I’d been doing for years. People used to call me a humanist spirit guide—I guess that’s what I’m bringing to WAI now, just on a larger stage.’ “He doesn’t even mention us. Doesn’t say anything about how Jules and I dragged him kicking and screaming into this. I wanted to create a platform. Cyrus just wanted to baptize cats.” “To be fair, the Cat Baptism is one of the most shared rituals,” Destiny says, trying to lighten the tone. “Eight hundred thousand videos and counting.” I keep going. “ ‘I’m attracted to the solitary life, Jones says. You can imagine him in a monastery, although he’d have to cut off that halo around his head. In addition to creating a social network that millions of people are turning to for meaning and community, he is also taking care of his employees—he has just kicked off a mentorship program to give the women on his team the support they need to thrive in their roles.’ ” Destiny tells me to stop reading. “It’s just bullshit.” I take a shaky deep breath. “That’s my mentorship program,” I whisper. “Cyrus is telling them what he wants to hear. You and I both know that.” I’m stammering now, but I keep going. “ ‘He’s otherworldly but handsome in an almost comical way. His sentences are long, and when you’re in the middle of one, you wonder, where is this going? But he always manages to bring whatever he’s saying to a satisfying conclusion. Everything he says is mysterious and somehow obvious at the same time.’ ” At least this one is funny. I allow Destiny to laugh briefly. I get to the last line. “ ‘I have to say, I’m developing something of a crush.’ ” “Oh, for God’s sake, another woman in love with Cyrus. Take a number, sister.” Destiny leans over, reads the byline. “George Milos. Guess Cyrus appeals to all genders.” As we get up to leave, she says, “I don’t think Cyrus is a bad person. He’s just basking in a sea of adoration, and it makes him think more of himself than he should.” “Where does that leave me?” “You have a tough gig. No one wants to be married to the guy everyone thinks is going to save the world.

The Congress maintained its official by-line: that the minorities should not migrate and should carry on as though nothing had changed. This did not sit well with the Sindhi Hindus, who were looking for guidance on how to adjust to the new socio-political reality of Pakistan.

For the first two years of “Checking Out,” I had an epigraph that ran underneath my byline—a quote from Ernest Hemingway. A simple one-liner that read, “Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.

Faith is what allows us to see the daffodil in an ugly seed, the chick in an egg. We don’t understand how God works, but if we look, we see His handiwork everywhere—even in the mirror. Experience changes us, whether we want it to or not.

A wave of unease traveled the room. Everyone recalled Levi’s memorable introduction to the Surrey City Press. Kim had been a new hire, only on the job a few days. At Levi’s first staff meeting, he’d loudly noted that her byline—Kimmy Jones—made it sound as if she were writing for the school newspaper, which she had been only months before. Adding insult to injury, Levi had handed Kim back a redlined piece she’d done on the 140th anniversary of Benjamin Franklin Savings Bank. From there he’d remarked, “If you rewrite the lead, find a quote worth using, and back off the superlatives, it might not sound like a college student wrote it.” And that was the beginning of Levi St John—expert at handling a newspaper agenda, disturbingly dense in the area of personal communication.

Breaking News Online is a leading 24x7 News Portal, which also runs an Online News Service. While publishing fast and latest news on Web, Breaking News Online also serves its readers through its Facebook Page, Facebook Group and Twitter Handle. Whether Breaking News, Online News, Latest News, Fast News, India News, World News or Regional News, we try our best to cover all aspects on Politics, Business, Sports, Entertainment etc. Breaking News Online is highly active on Facebook and Twitter. It publishes articles, short posts and News Headlines in Morning, Midday, Afternoon and Evening to keep the readers updated on all latest developments. We also hold debates on Facebook to engage the readers and then compile their views in the form of articles and post on website with their byline.

Upbeat people have no need of pleasantries. They barely notice them. Only the tired and depressed truly appreciate good manners, and cling to them in desperation.

The popular press skews male as well. According to the Annenberg Public Policy Center, only 3 percent of the top positions in mainstream media are held by women. And bylines in the nation’s top intellectual and political magazines are heavily male. Meanwhile, according to the Columbia Journalism Review, in an analysis of eleven magazines published between October 2003 and May 2005, male-to-female byline ratios ranged from thirteen to one at the National Review to seven to one at Harper’s. When we become aware of just how many of the media stories we ingest are from a man’s point of view, it becomes much easier to understand why we struggle to believe that we as women can dream—and therefore dreaming does require that we dare.

…Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead. —Philippians 3:13 (NKJV) Chuck Lawrence is the minister at Christ Temple Church in Huntington, West Virginia. He’s also an accomplished musician and songwriter. In the 1980s, he wrote “He Grew the Tree,” which won a variety of accolades, including several Dove Awards. Barbara Mandrell recorded the sacred song about Calvary, which spoke of God nurturing the very tree that would become the old rugged cross. But today in his sermon Chuck had a different take on his accomplishment. He referred to Philippians 3:13, which says we are to forget those things that are behind us. “I believe that means even the good things. In 1982 I wrote ‘He Grew the Tree,’ but it’s not supposed to be my pinnacle. God wants us to look forward with anticipation to each new day.” Chuck’s words gave me pause. The 1980s were banner years for me too. I wrote for ten home-decorating magazines, where my byline was featured. Now, given the many changes in the publishing industry, I’m hard-pressed to find even one of my own articles. Chuck was urging me to look forward—not to yesterday, but to now, glorious today. Today’s a brand-new era, Lord. Help me to really look forward to it. Amen. —Roberta Messner Digging Deeper: Jer 29:11; Phil 3

A writer wasn’t a body, just a byline. My words would be sharp and spiky, punchy and pointed; my stories would be swift and lean, sleek and enviable, moving fast and hitting hard. I would not, I vowed, write like a fat girl.

Co jsme vlastně zač? Proč je možné s námi provádět, co se komu zlíbí? Vrátit matce místo syna zinkovou rakev a pak ji přesvědčit, aby žalovala spisovatelku, která napsala, jak ona nemohla svého syna na rozloučenou ani políbit a jak výtažkem z bylin omývala a poté hladila jen zinkový plech… Co jsme to za lidi?

She wasn't beautiful at all--except to a male condor and people who cared about her--yet she displayed a graceful poise that resonated in Kate's soul.

But if she did respond, she would bring up their father, an architect who spent his career blueprinting and supervising the construction of office buildings and restaurants and churches and houses all over the metro. Whenever they were driving, Dad never took a direct route, always going out of his way to visit a building of his, and when they passed it, he would slow and point and say, “I made that.” That’s the kind of satisfaction she feels every time she picks up a paper and sees her byline. “I made that.

I’ve come to volunteer.” “Go see Marie. She directs the nurses.” “No. I have an ambulance.” I can see that he wants to laugh but the expression on my face stops him. “We have no women drivers.” “You do now.” Honestly, I’m so tired of this bullshit. I can’t have a byline because I’m a woman. I can’t apply for a marriage license on my own because I’m a woman. I can’t drive an ambulance because I’m a woman.

That afternoon when I forgot about my kids, I was jolted into realizing how much of my sense of self and even my sense of worth was bonded to my writing. That’s why I could so easily become engrossed in my work, even forgetting I had children while I joyously ruminated over word choices: Should it be dismayed or distraught? How about perturbed? Would discomposed sound too Victorian? Time really flies when luxuriating over the 1,300-plus pages of a Roget’s Thesaurus.

The moment was raw, and our nation was traumatized, but of course humor and comedy would return—and soon—because it had to. Humor isn’t a luxury; it’s a survival tool. It releases anxieties from shared fears and concerns. It lets us laugh at the absurd, and even at evil. We need this.

Jewish teachings have inspired my professional ambitions and personal values. They have helped me build an empowering spiritual life and taught me to make my words count for the good. I will always continue to stand up proudly as a Jew even during dark times. Because a brighter tomorrow is sure to come.

I don't need your byline and your health benefits. I am the future, and you are the past.

Unfortunately, Ruth had two strikes against her. Not only was she an immigrant, she was an immigrant from a despised land, Moab. As people who were birthed out of incest and worshipers of a false god, Ruth’s family would have been ostracized and despised among the chosen children of Israel. If the conversation had stopped there, Ruth’s story might have ended as quickly as it began. But the overseer revealed to Boaz that Ruth was a hard worker who didn’t take lots of breaks. In that small byline, that brief inclusion, Ruth’s character spoke louder than her social status, marital status, or immigration status. Thank goodness there is always more to our stories; our history and heritage do not determine our outcomes.

But mostly Bussey and Marcus Brauchli, then the national news editor, and the other senior Journal editors encouraged me to blow off my assistant duties. “You want to be a writer, you have to write,” Bussey said. Marcus once saw me struggling over a pile of newsroom expenses to process and staged an intervention. He picked up a handful of receipts from various countries. The currency conversions alone were making my head spin. By then I’d written several features, including one about people who impersonate Navy SEALs, and helped with 2004 campaign coverage. But I hadn’t yet cracked the front page. “You are not allowed to file a single expense report until I see your byline on page one,” Marcus said. “That’s an order.

...In my endless search for meaning, I bought the lie that work—a title, a calling card, a byline, a corner office—offered usefulness. Purpose. A way to make a difference. But of course, what we do is not who we are, and although we know this, we still, continually, over red-pepper bisque at a dinner party, ask each other what we do for a living.

I know you will think me precious. But what you all seem to forget is that it is MY byline on the page. The buck stops with me, as dear old Barak might have said.

The FBI press office would receive inquiries about fictional scenarios from right-wing news outlets; we would shoot them down; the news outlets were unable to move forward. Then the story would appear on some fringe, alt-right website, without a byline. Once it was picked up by the blogosphere and on social media, an outlet such as Sinclair would have cover to repeat it, which would enable Fox News to get on board, and then Sean Hannity and Laura Ingraham would talk about it for weeks. This is a practiced, intentional strategy of news circulation. The stories may be fictional and the information false, but the consequences of the strategy are real.

deeply about. The answer was fiction writing for Byliner (“The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir about Writing and Life”),