Cordially Invited Quotes

Dear Mr. Devil, Sir Satan, Lord Lucifer, and all other crosses you bear, I cordially invite you to Breathed, Ohio. Land of hills and hay bales, of sinners and forgivers. May you come in peace. With great faith, Autopsy Bliss

I've been cordially invited to join the visceral realists. I accepted, of course. There was no initiation ceremony. It was better that way.

Overflowing with the milk of human kindness, the family had invited everyone they could think of, including people they cordially disliked.

She had, he thought, one of the world’s great laughs. The kind of laugh where a person didn’t feel that he was being laughed at. The kind of laugh that was an invitation: I cordially invite you to join in this matter that I find amusing.

She had, he thought, one of the world's great laughs. The kind of laugh where a person didn't feel that he was being laughed at. The kind of laugh that was an invitation: I cordially invite you to join in this matter that I find assuming.

What?” I ask, wondering why he’s keeping his body on the bed instead of coming down on top of me while he holds my shoulders. “You need an engraved invitation or something? ‘Maya’s hungry, talented vagina cordially invites your big penis to come stay the night.’ How’s that work for you?” I

JOSHUA ROYCE AND CALEB SMITH Cordially invite you to join them as they exchange vows in a celebration of marriage 02.14.15 4 o’clock in the afternoon Ralph’s Tavern 2900 South Boulevard Hintenville, MA Reception to follow

Because when your life is full of question marks, sometimes it’s just easier to sink your teeth into something that you can completely control.

It would take an extremely unattractive person to think of that." --Nero Wolfe, on the plot of "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" by Rex Stout, p. 159 of 192

The kind of laugh that was an invitation: I cordially invite you to join in this matter that I find amusing

You are cordially invited to go fuck yourself.

And the Prince, who had found Donnafugata unchanged, was found very much changed himself, for never before would he have issued so cordial an invitation; and from that moment, invisibly, began the decline of his prestige.

She had, he thought, one of the world's great laughs. The kind of laugh where a person didn't feel that he was being laughed at. The kind of laugh that was an invitation: I cordially invite you to join in this matter that I find amusing.

So I don’t try to kill off my fear. I don’t go to war against it. Instead, I make all that space for it. Heaps of space. Every single day. I’m making space for fear right this moment. I allow my fear to live and breathe and stretch out its legs comfortably. It seems to me that the less I fight my fear, the less it fights back. If I can relax, fear relaxes, too. In fact, I cordially invite fear to come along with me everywhere I go. I even have a welcoming speech prepared for fear, which I deliver right before embarking upon any new project or big adventure. It goes something like this: “Dearest Fear: Creativity and I are about to go

As sure as my name is Archie and not Archibald, I would have shot that goddamn orangutan dead in his tracks.

These repeated insults were not to be endured by an imperious nobility. Such invitations became less cordial—less frequent—in time they ceased altogether. The widow of the unfortunate Count Berlifitzing was even heard to express a hope "that the Baron might be at home when he did not wish to be at home, since he disdained the company of his equals; and ride when he did not wish to ride, since he preferred the society of a horse." This to be sure was a very silly explosion of hereditary pique; and merely proved how singularly unmeaning our sayings are apt to become, when we desire to be unusually energetic.

It is the way in which the Dark returns, Harrier. I will explain, if you like." "Oh, no," Harrier said. "I'd much rather not know a thing about what we're facing. Let me get dressed first." A few minutes later Harrier came back, dressed for the day. He made another cup of hot cordial for Tiercel, refilled the kettle and started the water brewing for tea, and set some dried fruit to soak for griddle-cakes. "Okay. Now. Ruin my day," he invited.

My wife and I had called on Miss Stein, and she and the friend who lived with her had been very cordial and friendly and we had loved the big studio with the great paintings. I t was like one of the best rooms in the finest museum except there was a big fireplace and it was warm and comfortable and they gave you good things to eat and tea and natural distilled liqueurs made from purple plums, yellow plums or wild raspberries. Miss Stein was very big but not tall and was heavily built like a peasant woman. She had beautiful eyes and a strong German-Jewish face that also could have been Friulano and she reminded me of a northern I talian peasant woman with her clothes, her mobile face and her lovely, thick, alive immigrant hair which she wore put up in the same way she had probably worn it in college. She talked all the time and at first it was about people and places. Her companion had a very pleasant voice, was small, very dark, with her hair cut like Joan of Arc in the Boutet de Monvel illustrations and had a very hooked nose. She was working on a piece of needlepoint when we first met them and she worked on this and saw to the food and drink and talked to my wife. She made one conversation and listened to two and often interrupted the one she was not making. Afterwards she explained to me that she always talked to the wives. The wives, my wife and I felt, were tolerated. But we liked Miss Stein and her friend, although the friend was frightening. The paintings and the cakes and the eau-de-vie were truly wonderful. They seemed to like us too and treated us as though we were very good, well-mannered and promising children and I felt that they forgave us for being in love and being married - time would fix that - and when my wife invited them to tea, they accepted.

Sadie laughed. It had been a long time since Sam had heard Sadie laugh genuinely. Many things had changed about her, but he was pleased to discover that her basic laugh was untouched, aside from an inevitable, slight change of key. She had, he thought, one of the world’s great laughs. The kind of laugh where a person didn’t feel that he was being laughed at. The kind of laugh that was an invitation: I cordially invite you to join in this matter that I find amusing. “No, you idiot, I want to schedule a time for us to see each other. I didn’t want you to show up and not find me here. “Promise me, we won’t ever do this again,” Sadie said. “Promise me, that no matter what happens, no matter what dumb thing we supposedly perpetrate on each other, we won’t ever go six years without talking to each other. Promise me you’ll always forgive me, and I promise I’ll always forgive you.” These, of course, are the kinds of vows young people feel comfortable making when they have no idea what life has in store for them.

he had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception that made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that these evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my benefit. I, indeed, talked comparatively

Life is hard. And maybe its less hard if you've got someone the in the trenches with you." "See I want that." "Just make sure you've got the right person in the trench with you." He said "Because someday you're going to get locked in a bathroom and the wrong person will scream at you the whole time. But the right person will drink a bottle of champagne with you and laugh until you get rescued.

Brahms' friends in Budapest finally managed to talk him into attending the performance of Don Giovanni - he had initially turned down their invitation, arguing that he preferred to read the score and had never seen or heard a decent performance of the work. He would even prefer a cold beer, he insisted. But in the end he allowed his friends to drag him along to their box, where he demonstratively settled down on a sofa at the back in the hope of enjoying a rest. But it was not long before he was making increasingly inarticulate noises indicative of his enthusiasm, and at the end of the first act he was heard to shout out: 'Most excellent, admirable, what a deuce of a fellow!' He then ran on to the stage and embraced Mahler with typically grumpy cordiality.

The essay had developed from there to meditate more generally on language barriers, class difference, Tony’s philosophy of teaching, and his first impressions of living in a foreign place; but to his detractors, the damage had already been done. A doctoral student in cultural studies (San Diego) was the first to tweet a link to the essay, writing ‘I can’t even deal with how much is wrong here’ and adding a trigger warning and the hashtags #whiteprivilege, #povertytourism, and #yuck. The fury spread from there. Tony’s name was trending in a matter of hours, and the more attention his essay attracted, the angrier his critics seemed to get. He was accused of colonialist condescension, of reinforcing harmful stereotypes, of sentimentalising violence, and of being yet another entitled white man presuming, in a way that somehow managed to be both predatory and insipid, that the most valuable aspect of a thing was always, and only ever, his experience of it. Disgusted tweeters demanded to know why, if Tony had travelled to Mexico in order to teach English, he had not learned Spanish before he arrived; they pointed out all the invidious ways in which his essay implied the inarticulacy of his native guide, as though it were Eduardo’s failure that Tony could not understand him; they asked what right he had to appropriate the fight that he had witnessed, to instrumentalise it, and to seek to profit from it in the form of cultural cachet; they analysed the inherent problematics of his rather florid prose style; and they invited him, in less than cordial terms, to apologise to Mexicans, renounce all forms of white supremacy, and go home.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Mr. Rock Hudson and Mr. Jim Nabors On Saturday afternoon, June 19, 1971

Sun's down," muttered one of the guardsmen by the windows. "Then it's time." Grady made to push away from the table, and the rest began to follow. "No," said Kit. Grady paused with his palm pressed flat against the tabletop; all the other men froze. "What?" "No," Kit said once more, very polite. "Be seated. All of you." "Why are we wasting-" "Be seated." Even his old nemesis knew to obey that tone. It sliced across the room slick as steel, resounding into silence. The guard at the window let fall the drapery, a soft stir of cloth that barely touched the air. He could almost feel his father's ghost, watching, waiting. Christoff remained silent until they were done, until the last of them had sunk into nervous attention, staring at him through the gloom. "I claim her," he said. "I will hunt her alone." Grady twitched. "But-" "I claim her," he repeated, silkier and more deadly than before. "She is mine. And if you have issue with that-any of you-I invite you to tell me now. We'll settle it here. I will not abide insubordination." Reckless, red-faced, Grady shot back to his feet. Kit was on his own in half a heartbeat, his arm slashing out, a streak of metal flashing across the table. The stiletto struck deep into the wall mere inches behind the other man's head, the hilt of carnelian and worked gold an ominous blur against the silk. Silently, weightlessly, the outermost curl of Parrish Grady's wig drifted down to the dining table, settling feather-light against the dark wood. No one else moved; no one spoke. "I beg your pardon," said Kit cordially into the hush. "Was there something you wished to say?" Grady looked down at the severed lock, then back up at Kit. His throat worked, though no sound came out. Slowly, in awkward motion, he resumed his seat. "Excellent." Christoff sent a cold smile around the room. "Anyone else?" -a guardsmen, Grady, & Kit

You are cordially invited to the Tapis Noir, our premier, no bounds after-party. Indulge and enjoy irresponsibly.  xx Mab

I have a mansion of an imagination, and I cordially invite you to come sleep in my shed.

1968 F. F. F.   Bunny’s black, white and gold invitation read:   You and a companion are cordially invited to:

Inside the decorative hand-crafted note, I read: Master Young Foong You are cordially invited To THE JEWEL OF INDIA Miram Mahārājñī Kunnathuparambil Fashion Extravaganza At THE BUTTERFLY GARDEN Rashtrapati Bhavan (President’s House) On the Thirtieth day of March, 1968 At Six o’clock, post meridian I look forward to seeing you Sincerely, Miram M. K.   Répondez s’il vous plait To Miss Anuja Singh Before the fifteenth Day of March, 1968

I thoroughly enjoy writing the type of ‘avant-garde’ novels I strongly believe no else would remotely write, and which possess an energetic ‘c-i-n-e-m-a-t-i-c’ quality that makes them not only intriguingly suspenseful and ‘audiovisually’ unique, but offer modern readers involving, sophisticated stories with a distinct, atmospheric style that justifies my ‘christening’ these beautiful volumes… ‘Cotayesque.’ What does that term actually signify in the ‘artistic’ context of my books? I cordially and wholeheartedly invite readers to find out, to ‘discover’ what I sincerely hope will be unanimously perceived as ‘aesthetically conscious,’ genuinely enthralling literary entertainment by a nouveau author of wide-canvassed tales in diverse genres that I’d absolutely recommend (and I’ve always been extremely selective about the n-o-v-e-l-s I read and, of course, the m-o-v-i-e-s I see) to a… family member, to a… friend. Thank you!

Would appreciate your convoying (sic) the following to Joe DiMaggio in the event the Yankees don’t pay more than $37,000: ‘We cordially invite you to try out with the 143rd Infantry, 36th Division.  The pay is only $21 a month but that’s better than nothing.  Please advise.  P.S. Why settle for yesterday’s salary?

I want to fuck you right here, teacup.” “The engraved invitation’s in the mail.” I raised my leg over his waist and he tucked his hand behind my knee. “It says, ‘Your dick is cordially invited to come inside.’” He

The girls had staked out one as a group, while the guys were left to their own devices in the other. As a rule, I avoided theirs. The cleanliness level was considerably lower and you never knew if you were going to step on a wet towel or just some unidentifiable puddle.

Beckett had surfer looks, with his light brown hair and blue eyes, and a buoyant, laid back personality to match.

The Haunting ensures the current state of Dy5topia―a nightmarish world where terrified 'Creeple' nervously travel through an ever-changing, phantasmagorical land filled with Mutants, Robots, unDead, Specters, Beasts, Landscape-lifeforms, and Others. With these things in mind, consider yourself cordially invited to enter the regions of Chet Zar’s Dark Universe!

On the day after the victory, the Congress, then sitting in Richmond, upon receiving the dispatch of the President from the field of Manassas, adopted resolutions expressive of their thanks to the most high God, and inviting the people of the Confederate States to offer up their united thanksgiving and praise for the mighty deliverance. The resolutions also deplored the necessity which had caused the soil of our country to be stained with the blood of its sons, and to their families and friends offered the most cordial sympathy; assuring them that in the hearts of our people would be enshrined "the names of the gallant dead as the champions of free and constitutional liberty.

He teased me every day for two years when I had braces, and he’s taken every single opportunity to humiliate me and tear me down, ever since we were three years old. And now I’m supposed to be on good terms with him? I’m supposed to act cordial and thank him for inviting me, act like the way he bullied me for years didn’t leave scars?

This is your cordial invitation to try 10 world famous Kona Coffee Bean brands from 10 of Hawaii's best 100% Kona Coffee bean roasters and estates. If you love a strong coffee bean brew then only fresh roasted Kona Coffee Beans, slow grown on the Big Island will do. Buy the 100% Kona Coffee Bean direct to enjoy a coffee bean that just tastes better! Our freshness promise "only the best" 100% Kona Coffee beans.

A CLASSIC WAITS for me, it contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking if taste were lacking, or if the endorsement of the right man were lacking. O clublife, and the pleasures of membership, O volumes for sheer fascination unrivalled. Into an armchair endlessly rocking, Walter J. Black my president, I, freely invited, cordially welcomed to membership, My arm around John Kieran, Pearl S. Buck, My taste in books guarded by the spirits of William Lyon Phelps, Hendrik Willem Van Loon, (From your memories, sad brothers, from the fitful risings and callings I heard), I to the classics devoted, brother of rough mechanics, beauty-parlor technicians, spot welders, radio-program directors (It is not necessary to have a higher education to appreciate these books), I, connoisseur of good reading, friend of connoisseurs of good reading everywhere, I, not obligated to take any specific number of books, free to reject any volume, perfectly free to reject Montaigne, Erasmus, Milton, I, in perfect health except for a slight cold, pressed for time, having only a few more years to live, Now celebrate this opportunity. Come, I will make the club indissoluble, I will read the most splendid books the sun ever shone upon, I will start divine magnetic groups, With the love of comrades, With the life-long love of distinguished committees. I strike up for an Old Book. Long the best-read figure in America, my dues paid, sitter in armchairs everywhere, wanderer in populous cities, weeping with Hecuba and with the late William Lyon Phelps, Free to cancel my membership whenever I wish, Turbulent, fleshy, sensible, Never tiring of clublife, Always ready to read another masterpiece provided it has the approval of my president, Walter J. Black, Me imperturbe, standing at ease among writers, Rais'd by a perfect mother and now belonging to a perfect book club, Bearded, sunburnt, gray-neck'd, astigmatic, Loving the masters and the masters only (I am mad for them to be in contact with me), My arm around Pearl S. Buck, only American woman to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature, I celebrate this opportunity. And I will not read a book nor the least part of a book but has the approval of the Committee, For all is useless without that which you may guess at many times and not hit, that which they hinted at, All is useless without readability. By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms (89¢ for the Regular Edition or $1.39 for the DeLuxe Edition, plus a few cents postage). I will make inseparable readers with their arms around each other's necks, By the love of classics, By the manly love of classics.

Chronicling the Great Plague of London, Daniel Defoe wrote in 1722: The people were more addicted to prophecies and astrological conjurations, dreams, and old wives’ tales than ever they were before or since … almanacs frighted them terribly … the posts of houses and corners of streets were plastered over with doctors’ bills and papers of ignorant fellows, quacking and inviting the people to come to them for remedies, which was generally set off with such flourishes as these: ‘Infallible preventive pills against the plague.’ ‘Neverfailing preservatives against the infection.’ ‘Sovereign cordials against the corruption of the air.

This is why we have to be careful of how we handle our fear—because I’ve noticed that when people try to kill off their fear, they often end up inadvertently murdering their creativity in the process. So I don’t try to kill off my fear. I don’t go to war against it. Instead, I make all that space for it... It seems to me that the less I fight my fear, the less it fights back. If I can relax, fear relaxes, too. In fact, I cordially invite fear to come along with me everywhere I go.

You need an engraved invitation or something? ‘Maya’s hungry, talented vagina cordially invites your big penis to come stay the night.’ How’s that work for you?” I can’t be less subtle than I’ve been. His

I was in merry mood throughout, as always when about to get another whack at Anatole's cooking. Jeeves presumably felt the same, for he, like me, is one of that master skillet-wielder's warmest admirers, but whereas I sang a good deal as we buzzed along, he maintained, as is his custom, the silent reserve of a stuffed frog, never joining in the chorus, though cordially invited to.