D Conner Quotes

Kneel, please," Connor said. "I wish to study you better." Come as close to me as you'd like," I answered. "Study me here, on my feet." "You won't kneel?" "Would a prince?" Conner raised his voice. "You're not a prince until I say so." "I don't need you to say so, sir. As you see me standing here, I am the prince of Carthya.

Any number of hours later, Mott came with a rock that he said was as shiny as the one I'd had before. He pointed out that it was a little bigger than the other one and looked more valuable. I could have this rock. I only had to return the other one to Conner.

That's like the tenth time you've looked at your reflection in the past five minutes." Chuito narrowed dark eyes at her as he leaned forward from his seat in the back and contemplated Jules. "Do you have a crush on me?" ... Chuito got out of the car, studying Jules fussing with her outfit. "I was joking, but now you got me scared. You're not really after me, are you?" Jules rolled her eyes. "No." "Thank God. That'd be like doing it with my mother.

She hated Mr. Meanie. But she'd gotten to know him and they'd reached an understanding of sorts. Now she was to have him for supper. "Don't tell me you're feeling guilty?" Breaking off a piece of the wing, she brought it to her lips and took a bite. It did taste good. Very good. "I wonder if all grouchy males are this palatable." Drew choked. She looked up, tilting her head. "Are you all right?" He turned a dull red. "Eat your supper, Connie.

Conner laughed at his own prediction. “And I’d just be trying to survive Algebra, not an army of thousands.

Conner hadn’t liked leaving the gravesite with his father still not buried. But he’d learned from his grandmother’s funeral that you have to go. It’s expected. Nobody hangs around the cemetary. Grief—a little or a lot—is tucked into your pocket and carried away.

If you don’t get in them and rev them up every now and then, they turn in to cranky old bitches who refuse to do a damn thing for you.” Connerism from Quinn's Need

The whole time, I’d never seen, all you had spread before me. The whole time, I’d never seen, all I need was inside me. Now, I feel so different.

But, if you've decided to go out on a limb and kill one, for goodness' sake, be prepared. We all read, with dismay, the sad story of a good woman wronged in south Mississippi who took that option and made a complete mess of the entire thing. See, first she shot him. Well, she saw right off the bat that that was a mistake because then she had this enormous dead body to deal with. He was every bit as much trouble to her dead as he ever had been alive, and was getting more so all the time. So then, she made another snap decision to cut him up in pieces and dispose of him a hunk at a time. More poor planning. First, she didn't have the proper carving utensils on hand and hacking him up proved to be just a major chore, plus it made just this colossal mess on her off-white shag living room carpet. It's getting to be like the Cat in the Hat now, only Thing Two ain't showing up to help with the clean-up. She finally gets him into portable-size portions, and wouldn't you know it? Cheap trash bags. Can anything else possible go wrong for this poor woman? So, the lesson here is obvious--for want of a small chain saw, a roll of Visqueen and some genuine Hefty bags, she is in Parchman Penitentiary today instead of New Orleans, where she'd planned to go with her new boyfriend. Preparation is everything.

Where are you going?" "To get my Bible." "Right now? You can't get your Bible out right now! I'm, I'm, we're just about to..." She'd never be able to go through with this if he got out his Bible. She wiped all humor from her face. "I believe you. Proverbs 5:18. Rejoice, relish, and romp with your husband." He chuckled. "I'm serious, Connie, and I won't have you feeling ashamed or unclean over anything we do in that bed, tonight or any other night." "I won't. I feel unashamed and very clean. I promise. But please don't get out that Bible." "What? Think you that God can't see us right now?" Groaning, she slid off his lap and covered her face with her hands. He sunk to his knees in front of her, drawing her hands down. "I love you. You love me. We are man and wife. God is watching, Connie, and He is very, very pleased.

Bitch, you should know by now that I’d do anything for you. You’re my ride or die. The Dominic Toretto to my Brian O’Conner. The Shrek to my Donkey. The James P Sullivan to my Mike Wazowski.

Conner took a deep breath, "Francesca, I am not going to let you to give your first kiss away in a bet. A first kiss should be special." He leaned down whispering in my ear. "When I do kiss you it is going to mean something.

Sorry, Conner, I can’t be your girlfriend,” Bree said. All the color drained from Conner’s face, and he did his best not to look disappointed. “That’s-totally-fine-no-worries-I’m-super-okay-with-staying-friends,” he said without pausing between words. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Bree said. “I just know that as soon as I get home I’m going to be grounded for months. But once I’m free, I’d love to be your girlfriend.

Now you’re a reader also?” Rising anger tinged Tobias’s voice. “It’ll be good practice.” Roden settled onto his bed with a book. Tobias’s face reddened. “You think this will convince Conner of anything? I’m twice as smart as either of you.” “And half as strong as me or Roden, even if we’re asleep,” I said. “You have to do better, Tobias.” “Is that a challenge?” he asked. “I’d never challenge an inferior. Now go to sleep. You’ll need rest before whatever humiliation comes your way tomorrow.” “You sleep,” Tobias said. “You’ll need some strength for sneaking out later tonight.

Alex was so confused, she shook her head. The others felt their sanity slipping from their brains just by being in proximity to the caterpillar. This is going great," Conner said with a massive eye roll. "This worm is clearly insane; let's find someone who can actually help us." "Let me handle this one, kids," Mother Goose said. "He's not crazy, the hookah is just making his brain sleepy. I might understand him if I get on his level." Mother Goose walked up to the caterpillar and had a bouncy seat on the mushroom beside him. "May I?" she asked, and gestured to the hookah. The caterpillar passed it to her and Mother Goose smoked it. After a few moments, her eyes became as glossy as his and she also spoke in complete nonsense. "Who are you?" Mother Goose asked the caterpillar. "What I am," he said. "Where are you?" she said. "Here with you," the caterpillar said. "And if this were the Castle of Hearts?" Mother Goose asked. "We'd be there," he said. "But where?" she asked. "In the castle," he said. "Ah, so there would be here,: she said, and they nodded together. "Here would be what's left." The caterpillar nodded. "Am I what's left?" she asked. "You're what's right, of course." "But what's right is wrong." "And what's left is right." "I understand completely," Mother Goose said. "Thank you so much, Mr. Caterpillar." The others stared at them absolutely dumbfounded. Mother Goose hopped down from the mushroom and moseyed back to them. :The caterpillar said to go back to the fork and take a left," she said. "He did?" Alex asked. "It's all about the keywords," Mother Goose said.

Michael’s Magical Sweet Potato Muffins WHISK TOGETHER 1 cup dark brown sugar, 1/2 cup oil, 1 running-over teaspoon vanilla, and 2 eggs. Then, in another bowl, mix together 2 cups all-purpose flour, 2 teaspoons baking powder, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 1 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/2 teaspoon allspice, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. To that, add 2 big giant sweet potatoes—either baked or boiled—and mashed. I suppose you COULD use canned ones, but it kinda makes me gag to think about. Add your egg/sugar mixture to all of that and stir it up without beating it to death. Put it in greased muffin tins and bake for about 25 to 30 minutes at 350°F. (If you want to, you could add 1/2 cup raisins or 1 cup pecans. I’d go with the pecans—not a big fan of raisins in stuff, but that’s just me.)   Okay—I have got

Great writers and my mom never used food as an object. Instead it was a medium, a catalyst to mend hearts, to break down barriers, to build relationships. Mom's cooking fed body and soul. She used to quip, "If the food is good, there's no need to talk about the weather." That was my mantra for years---food as meal and conversation, a total experience. I leaned my forehead against the glass and thought again about Emma and the arrowroot. Mom had highlighted it in my sophomore English class. "Jane Fairfax knew it was given with a selfish heart. Emma didn't care about Jane, she just wanted to appear benevolent." "That girl was stupid. She was poor and should've accepted the gift." The football team had hooted for their spokesman. "That girl's name was Jane Fairfax, and motivation always matters." Mom's glare seared them. I tried to remember the rest of the lesson, but couldn't. I think she assigned a paper, and the football team stopped chuckling. Another memory flashed before my eyes. It was from that same spring; Mom was baking a cake to take to a neighbor who'd had a knee replacement. "We don't have enough chocolate." I shut the cabinet door. "We're making an orange cake, not chocolate." "Chocolate is so much better." "Then we're lucky it's not for you. Mrs. Conner is sad and she hurts and it's spring. The orange cake will not only show we care, it'll bring sunshine and spring to her dinner tonight. She needs that." "It's just a cake." "It's never just a cake, Lizzy." I remembered the end of that lesson: I rolled my eyes----Mom loathed that----and received dish duty. But it turned out okay; the batter was excellent. I shoved the movie reel of scenes from my head. They didn't fit in my world. Food was the object. Arrowroot was arrowroot. Cake was cake. And if it was made with artisan dark chocolate and vanilla harvested by unicorns, all the better. People would crave it, order it, and pay for it. Food wasn't a metaphor---it was the commodity---and to couch it in other terms was fatuous. The one who prepared it best won.

You'd make a lot of people feel better if you'd just wake," Kevis hung the new bag on the pole beside Breanne's bed. "You're safe where you are, I promise. I talked with Graegar—he came to see me. He says that he loves you. Barrigar does, too. You've never really talked with Barrigar. He's one of the best Larentii I know. Doesn't say much, but he sees everything around him." Kevis took a chair beside the bed with a sigh. "I think Barry's talent for noticing everything around him makes him a really good Protector. I know Conner loves him a lot—just like she loves Graegar. Connegar is Barrigar's son, you know. Barrigar is a wonderful parent. Connegar was Conner's first Larentii child, so he was named after her. Garegar is Graegar's child with Conner, and since he was second-born, he took a variation of his father's name for himself. Are you cold?" Kevis leaned forward and pulled the blanket up a little, covering Breanne's body up to her chin. "Now," he said, "Pheligar is Renegar's father. Kiarra is Renegar's mother. Renegar is Graegar's father; Grace is Graegar's mother. Graegar is Garegar's father, Conner is Garegar's mother." "If you don't shut up with Larentii lineage, I may punch you," Breanne's cobalt-blue eyes opened and she blinked in the light filtering through a nearby window. Even Bill heard Kevis' whoop of joy and popped out of his deck chair at a run.

      Technicians are triply invisible. First, they have traditionally been invisible to historians and sociologists of science. . . . Second, they have been largely, if not entirely, invisible in the formal documentary record produced by scientific practitioners. Even when one is committed to doing so, it is extremely difficult to retrieve information about who they were and what they did. Third, technicians have arguably been invisible as relevant actors to those persons in control of the workplaces in which scientific knowledge is produced. . . . Technicians have been “not there” in roughly the same sense that servants were, and were supposed to be, “not there” with respect to the conversations of Victorian domestic employers.

I thought we could have a picnic where we met.” “The stable,” I said. “Eric. That’s a great idea.” He smiled. “I had a feeling you’d like it.” We walked in comfortable silence to the stable. The lights had been dimmed and no one else was here. “Are we allowed to be here?” I asked. “I asked Mr. Conner yesterday,” Eric said. “He’s around here somewhere. He’ll probably jump out from behind a hay bale if I try to kiss you.” Eric whispered the last sentence.

met him, he’d charm the shit out of them. Because that’s what he did. My mom started to lap the kitchen island. I knew what she was thinking. How could I go off script? This wasn’t how we did things in the Conner family. “I need to process this.” She stopped and pressed her palms into the counter. “I know it’s fast. We’ve only been dating a few months, but he’s—” I had planned to list my favorite things about him. He was smart, he was a gentleman, he was close with his own mom.

As far as dads go, he wasn't great. He got angry a lot for no reason, he took absolutely no interest in stuff that you liked but he thought was dumb (...) He made you think you were crazy or oversensitive or misremembering the way something happened, he could be really caustic and negative about the state of the world." That last one hit a little too close to home for me. One of my biggest fears was turning out like my dad in someway, and his sarcastic humor was definitely one thing I'd inherited, for better or for worse. "But he was just a dude," Conner said again. "A really sad dude, when you think about it. He had so many opportunities to have really close, meaningful relationships with his kids, and he never took any of them.

He’d shot a 136—a full ten strokes better than Conner.

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we’d all go mad if we had to experience what life throws at you every day with the same shock and wailing intensity of just-born emotions.

She leaned close to him, her voice low as she shared, "It looks like I'm free tomorrow night." Conner met her gaze, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Did you have something in mind that you'd like to do?" She nodded, biting the inside of her lip. "You," she breathed.

The fact is that no language can be truly alive that is not used by women.

Far off, the geyser-like plumes of whales expelling water caught the star-light—beautiful, strange, and too close for Avery’s liking. “Gorgeous, ain’t they?” said Janx. “You’d never guess what terrors they are.” “I

Responsibility, Aunt Too-Tai said, is a ladder. We move up, we move down, and sometimes we miss a rung and swing out into the void, but the ladder is forgivingly endless. I was young, she said. Don’t worry, she said. I’d have many chances at that ladder. She set her bucket down in the dirt and gave me a hug.

... Old neighbors viewed each other strangely, and as strangers,'" I said softly to myself. From behind me, Conner laughed. "If anyone is acting strangely here, it's you. This is a real '"'Tis," replied Aunt Helga' moment you're in." I'd been quoting Truman Capote's classic In Cold Blood; trust my brother to answer with a reference to one of our favorite Simpsons episodes when we were kids.

Finally, as Elsie looked on, Cookie's arms and legs slowed and relaxed, even his strained eyes eased with the acceptance of the inevitable. The passing man came to peace with the fact that he was outpowered, and his savior was not appearing today. It was now knowledge that his own friend had become his own demise.

If she were a few years younger, he would just smile and nod, but still send Conner back to his village.  There would have been some kicking and screaming and yelling and tantrums, but in the end she would have lost the battle.  But now that she was older, with power and clout, her words meant something and her orders were to be listened to.  She would have to be obeyed.  At least until the king heard of it.  And then he would take care of it.  He could handle his daughter and the anger that would ensue.  His large shoulders and even larger heart would handle that burden.  He also was the only one who had the authority right now to tell the princess no. Conner stood like a man, waiting for Brace to say something.  All the knights stood waiting for something to be said.  Brace knew what this all meant, probably more so than the princess did.  Certainly more than Conner did.  Maybe the princess thought it was a game, or maybe she really did understand what being a Champion meant.  But Conner was certainly not a Champion.  Yes, he was able to help her survive the forest, keep her from the ambushers and bring her back to safety.  But a Champion must stand up to any who would come against her or challenged her authority.  He had a hunting bow and was a good shot.  A small knife hung at his side.  It was unlikely that Conner ever even held a sword, much less swung one.  A Champion would have to know the skills of the blade and be ready to defend the princess.  He would go along with this game for the moment, but he knew that the king would put an end to it.  This boy, for all his heart and confidence, could not possibly serve properly as her champion. He felt sorry for Conner because he was simply a victim in this game.  He didn’t act proud to be called the Princess’ Champion.  In fact, based on the way his cheeks turned red each time it was mentioned, it was likely that Conner really didn’t want the honor.  But the princess asked him, and he accepted.  So for at least for the time being, he was her Champion.   But the king would put an end to it and then the boy would go back to his home.  Maybe he’d be lucky enough to spend a night or two in the castle, but it wouldn’t be long.  He’d be given a decent reward and a horse to return to his home.  He’d probably even be allowed to keep the horse for his trouble.  But he would be forgotten in time.  The princess would move on to be courted by serious men.  Men who would be able to provide her with a proper blood line, men who would be able to stand in until a male heir was able to take the crown.  Conner was a commoner, and that was all that he could ever be.