Dixie Girl Quotes

Often when we read, especially when we are younger, we are looking for a mirror, echoes of our voices, people who might look and sound like us.... Write for the twelve-year-old girl, who is looking at a mirror, at a window. ~Edwidge Danticat

A boy makes his girl jealous of other women. A man makes other women jealous of his girl. -How to be a man Cleo

The single-biggest proof that the Dixie Chicks are Van Halen is their audience; they are singing to the same teenage boys, except those boys are now teenage girls.

This was why Mom had told me to keep an eye on her. As tough as Dixie was, when it came to Dad she was a regular girl who wanted her father to love her. So

Dixie Flynn may be the most kick-ass heroine ever created. Kudos to M.C. Grant for giving us the ultimate 'girl power' thriller." —TESS GERRITSEN, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE SILENT GIRL

It doesn't take a wizard to figure out the last thing a girl should do is go running hundreds of miles away from home to Vermont just because a man asks her to do so.

Life isn’t a fairytale. Sometimes one has to pull up her big girl panties and get the fuck over it.

You’re not so bad-looking yourself. A bit too clean, like a metrosexual fella. Probably got a bunch of antiaging cream in your bathroom or something, but you in Dixie now, boy. You walk around looking pretty and these Southern girls will scratch your eyes out because they’re afraid you’ll tempt their husbands into committing horrible, unnatural sins.” “I should hope so.” “It’s the least you could

Marsh Girl. Even male birds woo the females for a while, flashing brilliant feathers, building bowers, staging magnificent dances and love songs. Yes, Chase had laid out a banquet, but she was worth more than fried chicken. And “Dixie” didn’t count as a love song.

All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo Big Nate series by Lincoln Peirce The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain) by Lloyd Alexander The Book Thief  by Markus Zusak Brian’s Hunt by Gary Paulsen Brian’s Winter by Gary Paulsen Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis The Call of the Wild by Jack London The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White The Chronicles of Narnia series by C. S. Lewis Diary of a Wimpy Kid series by Jeff Kinney Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury The Giver by Lois Lowry Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling Hatchet by Gary Paulsen The High King (The Chronicles of Prydain) by Lloyd Alexander The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien Holes by Louis Sachar The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins I Am LeBron James by Grace Norwich I Am Stephen Curry by Jon Fishman Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell Johnny Tremain by Esther Hoskins Forbes Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson LeBron’s Dream Team: How Five Friends Made History by LeBron James and Buzz Bissinger The Lightning Thief  (Percy Jackson and the Olympians) by Rick Riordan A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle Number the Stars by Lois Lowry The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton The River by Gary Paulsen The Sailor Dog by Margaret Wise Brown Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan Shiloh by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor “A Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury Star Wars Expanded Universe novels (written by many authors) Star Wars series (written by many authors) The Swiss Family Robinson by Johann D. Wyss Tales from a Not-So-Graceful Ice Princess (Dork Diaries) by Rachel Renée Russell Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt Under the Blood-Red Sun by Graham Salisbury The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

But if you look under the "girls gone wild" surface, which was easy for me to do since I was sover and actually below everyone wo formed that surface, ou could see that it was just a bunch of insecure teenagers guzzling alcohol and Kool-Aid from Dixie cups and freaking out about how "stressed out" they were about SATs and APs and rehearsals and auditions and résumé-padding efforts.

my phone beeped. I took it from my handbag and saw a text message from Dixie. It read: that man is sizzling HOT HOT HOT!!!! truth! I texted back. omg! his accent! his body! im in lurv i noticed! hes a bilf wtf??? boss id like 2 fuk! I snorted out loud with laughter. Heller flicked his cold eyes to me. I wrote: norty girl! ooh! does he like norty asian girls? Another involuntary snort from me. “Ms Chalmers,” he warned. gotta go. my new daddys strict, I texted. spankz for u 2nite! lolz! only if im lucky! c u soon xx - heller 1

details from her biology books and had seen more creatures copulating—and it wasn’t merely “rubbing their bottoms together” like Jodie had said—than most people ever would. But this was too abrupt—picnic, then mate the Marsh Girl. Even male birds woo the females for a while, flashing brilliant feathers, building bowers, staging magnificent dances and love songs. Yes, Chase had laid out a banquet, but she was worth more than fried chicken. And “Dixie” didn’t count as a love song. She should’ve known it would be like this. Only time male mammals hover is when they’re in the rut.

then they walked back to the wicker picnic basket and sat on a plaid blanket eating cold fried chicken, salt-cured ham and biscuits, and potato salad. Sweet and dill pickles. Slices of four-layer cake with half-inch-thick caramel icing. All homemade, wrapped in wax paper. He opened two bottles of Royal Crown Cola and poured them into Dixie cups—her first drink of soda pop in her life. The generous spread was incredible to her, with the neatly arranged cloth napkins, plastic plates and forks. Even minuscule pewter salt and pepper shakers. His mother must have packed it, she thought, not knowing he was meeting the Marsh Girl. They talked softly of sea things—pelicans

Church is important to most folks in the South. So the most important thing going is basically ruled by men as decreed by the Big Man himself. Not only that, but the church puts pressures on women that it does not put on men. Young women are expected to be chaste, moral, and pure, whereas young men are given way more leeway, ’cause, ya know, boys will be boys. Girls are expected to marry young and have kids, be a helpmate to their husbands (who are basically like having another child), and, of course, raise perfect little Christian babies to make this world a better place. So while it’s the preacher man who controls the church, it’s the women—those helpmates—who keep that shit going. They keep the pews tidy and wash the windows; type up the bulletins; volunteer for Sunday school, the nursery, youth group, and Vacation Bible School; fry the chicken for the postchurch dinners; organize the monthly potluck dinners, the spaghetti supper to raise money for a new roof, and the church fund drive; plant flowers in the front of the church, make food for sick parishioners, serve food after funerals, put together the Christmas pageant, get Easter lilies for Easter, wash the choir robes, organize the church trip, bake cookies for the bake sale to fund the church trip, pray unceasingly for their husband and their pastor and their kids and never complain, and then make sure their skirts are ironed for Sunday mornin’ service. All this while in most churches not being allowed to speak with any authority on the direction or doctrine of the church. No, no, ladies, the heavy lifting—thinkin’ up shit to say, standing up at the lectern telling people what to do, counting the money—that ain’t for yuns. So sorry.

Last night, dancing alone on the lagoon shore, swaying about with the moon and mayflies, she'd imagined she was ready. Thought she knew all about mating from watching doves. No one had ever told her about sex, and her only experience with foreplay had been with Tate. But she knew the details from her biology books and had seen more creatures copulating- and it wasn't merely "rubbing their bottoms together" like Jodie had said- than most people ever would. But this was too abrupt- picnic, then mate the Marsh Girl. Even male birds woo the females for a while, flashing brilliant feathers, building bowers, staging magnificent dances and love songs. Yes, Chase had laid out a banquet, but she was worth more than fried chicken. And "Dixie" didn't count as a love song. She should've known it would be like this. Only time male mammals hover is when they're in the rut.

This place looks better than it did when Mr. Hendley had it. It used to have a weird smell.” Quinn took an even breath and looked at Mhisery, “Now, all I can smell is you and I can tell you baby girl, Mr. Hendley never had me wanting to kiss every inch of his flesh to seek out just what the fragrance was.

Once it had been simple. Civil rights supporters knew who their enemies were: special interests such as the real estate associations (who lobbied against the Mathias compromise for making something evil “palatable to the American people”). The lunatic far right (the executive director of the Liberty Lobby testified that King’s movement employed “mass brainwashing” just like “in Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, Communist Russia, and Communist China”). The old-line racist Dixie gargoyles (they kept on rehearsing for a revival of Birth of a Nation: Senator George Smathers wondering why “when a colored boy rapes a white girl, he gets off easier”; Representative William C. Cramer raising the specter of the “Social Security widow in my district” forced to rent to a black man—and you could almost picture the lusty young buck he had in mind). This opposition was predictable. The curveball was the new opposition: the Pucinskis and the Rostenkowskis; the Jerry Fords, moderate Republicans who used to be the backbone of every civil rights vote. Now, the Dixie gargoyles were gloating, an ancient piece of Southern political folk wisdom was receiving its vindication: that once civil rights bills started affecting North as much as South, it wouldn’t just be Southerners filibustering civil rights bills.

I’ve been called names you probably don’t even know the meaning of. And you can keep throwing your bitchy-ass attitude in my face every time I breathe too close to you if that’s what you need to do to be happy. I’ll smile. And I might even wink or blow you a kiss. I’m from Oklahoma, honey. I can bless your heart and hate your crazy ass all at the same time. But if you ever, and I mean ever, make another comment about Trace, his drinking or otherwise, then I promise, you won’t be able to whistle fucking Dixie when I’m through with you.” She watched as Mia took a step back. Clearly, she’d gotten her point across. So she winked. “Anyways. Lovely chatting with you. As usual. See you at dinner.

The Grits Guide to Southern Humor “If you don’t make fun of yourself, somebody is going to do it for you.” -Martie Maguire, Texas Grits and member of the Dixie Chicks

“No one in the South ever asks if you have crazy people in your family. They just ask what side they’re on.” --Julia, played by Tennessee Grits Dixie Carter, on Designing Women

Luckily, Dixie, Ernie, and the two girls, Sissy and Mary Ann, all loved his money. Money was power, no question about it. Sanders remembered how his father used to recite the Golden Rule—he who has the gold makes the rules. And Sanders had the gold. The power. The control. And

Fear does not stop failure. It stops success. Never let fear cheat you out of the blessings that are meant for you.

You get prettier every day, don't you?" Red said, as he spun the stool. No one called Angela's little girl by her real name. No one could spit it out. Angela had found the name in the family Bible. Apparently, it wanted to stay there. "She's cute as a Dixie cup," Willie said from the service window. "Are you my little Dixie cup?" Red asked, giving her nose a tap. Clapping her hands, the child giggled and squealed. And just like that, Aubrette Orianna Belle was christened Dixie.

Song For a Dark Girl Way Down South in Dixie ​(Break the heart of me) They hung my black young lover ​To a cross roads tree. Way Down South in Dixie ​(Bruised body high in air) I asked the white Lord Jesus ​What was the use of prayer. Way Down South in Dixie ​(Break the heart of me) Love is a naked shadow ​On a gnarled and naked tree.

Poop started to ooze from the back of the girls shoulders, over her shirt, and then even further to reach down to her stomach.

Thurgood Marshall arranged a meeting with agents of the New York office of the FBI "in connection with his efforts to combat communist attempts to infiltrate the NAACP," as the FBI put it. The future U.S. Supreme Court justice informed them that Robert Williams had been suspended from the NAACP "due to his actions in connection with the defense of two Negro children who were sent to a North Carolina Training School for allowing white girls to kiss them." Williams should be investigated, Marshall allegedly told them, because he "will seek to arouse the people in the North Carolina area to take action which could become violent and cause racial unrest and tension." Marshall was, the FBI report stated, "afraid of people agitating on such matters in the South since race tension can be easily aroused, especially during the summer months.

He looks up and notices the Plexiglas box on the rickety shelf above the toilet and his eyes grow two sizes bigger. He looks at me and back at the trophy. "Is that a fucking Stanley Cup ring?" "Yeah. Jude's first," I explain. "He gave it to my dad. Dad used to keep it here. It was a prized possession in his favorite place." "In the shitter?" Holden is both stunned and horrified as he rises to his feet and leans forward to admire it. "He kept it on his dresser, where he could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night." I say and I almost smile as I explain the rest. "But Sadie, Dixie and I always move it to the bathroom. At first, Jude actually thought Dad kept it there, but then he realized it was our way of keeping him humble. Reminding him rings and trophies mean shit to us. He still has to be a good person." Holden chuckles and I'm surprised by how good it feels to make him laugh. "You girls sure know how to keep a guy in place ... and dishonor a symbol of the hardest trophy to win in sports.

I’m fine. I want you. I miss you. I hate you. You’re a dick. Come back. Bring cake. Why are you touching me? -Girls on their periods