Don Larsen Quotes

I'm not such an idiot that I don't realize that if a man calls me a nigger it's his fault the first time, but mine if he has the opportunity to do it again.

Children aren't everything. There are other things in the world, thought I admit some people don't seem to suspect it.

It’s easy for a Negro to ‘pass’ for white. But I don’t think it would be so simple for a white person to ‘pass’ for colored.

Why…” I trailed off again when he fiddled with something on his phone and soft music filled the air. “We never got to dance at the wedding,” he said simply. “You don’t like it when I dance,” I half-joked, trying to hide the emotion welling in my chest. What happened in the library during Nikolai’s reception would forever be etched in my mind. “I love it when you dance. But only with me.” He placed his free hand on the small of my back. “You don’t dance.” “Only with you.” The burn intensified. “Careful, Mr. Larsen, or I’ll think you actually like me.” His mouth curled into a grin. “Baby, we’re way beyond like.

Children aren't everything. There are other things in the world, though I admit some people don't seem to suspect it

A word to the wise, Devil, don't fuck with God!

IF YOU’RE CRAZY, I DON'T WANT TO BE SANE. -Colin

You don’t dance.” “Only with you.” The burn intensified. “Careful, Mr. Larsen, or I’ll think you actually like me.” His mouth curled into a grin. “Baby, we’re way beyond like.

This is all new to me. Every single part of this life is new. And yes, some of it is a little scary sometimes. I get surprised by my own reactions to things sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I want to stop or go backwards … so if you want to stop or step back for your own reasons then ok. But if you’re stopping because I flipped out for a second, then don’t. I’m going to weird out occasionally, please be ok with that.” … “Stay with me, Ed.

Trick.” I say a little louder. “Shhh, sleep baby.” He mumbles. I laugh and smack his arm. “Wake up. I can feel your morning wood.” This gets his attention and he sits up, taking me with him. The arms wrapped around my middle graze my breasts as he shifts up and a tingle shoots straight between my legs. “God, Caroline, I’m so...” He stops, probably realizing that he doesn't have morning wood, “I don't have...” He’s actually pretty cute all sleepy. He laughs. “I know but I couldn't figure out how else to get your attention.” I shrug.

Brian darling, I’m really not such an idiot that I don’t realize that if a man calls me a nigger it’s his fault the first time, but mine if he has the opportunity to do it again.

I like my friends at a functional enough level of mediocre to where I don't feel incompetent.

You don't dance." "Only with you." The burn intensified. "Careful, Mr. Larsen, or I'll think you actually like me." His mouth curled into a grin. "Baby, we're way beyond like.

Don’t worry, we didn’t see a thing.” The reassurance comes from the boy-next-door face of Will Larsen. “I saw your tits and one butt cheek,” Beckett Dunne says helpfully.

You knew what his opinion of you was, while he -- Well, 'twas ever thus. We know, always have. They don't. Not quite. It has, you will admit, its humorous side, and sometimes, its conveniences.

Well, you see, it’s like this. When we were first married, she was as white as—as—well as white as a lily. But I declare she’s gettin’ darker and darker. I tell her if she don’t look out, she’ll wake up one of these days and find she’s turned into a nigger.

You just ruined a perfectly delicious Danish!” I squawk at him. “Man,” he laughs, “note to self, don't mess with Elle’s pastries.” I scrape a giant hunk off my chin and smush it across his lips. He licks them and moans. “Oh man, that is seriously one amazing Danish.” “Now you understand.” I laugh at him. I wipe my face off and we finish our treats without wasting anymore.

When I was younger, I remember taking pride in people’s well-meaning remarks: “You’re so lucky that no one would ever know!” or “You don’t even look like a guy!” or “Wow! You’re prettier than most ‘natural’ women!” They were all backhanded compliments, acknowledging my beauty while also invalidating my identity as a woman. To this day, I’m told in subtle and obvious ways that I am not “real,” meaning that I am not, nor will I ever be, a cis woman; therefore, I am fake. These thoughts surrounding identity, gender, bodies, and how we view, judge, and objectify all women brings me to the subject of “passing,” a term based on an assumption that trans people are passing as something that we are not. It’s rooted in the idea that we are not really who we say we are, that we are holding a secret, that we are living false lives. Examples of people “passing” in media, whether through race (Imitation of Life and Nella Larsen’s novel Passing), class (Catch Me if You Can and the reality show Joe Millionaire), or gender (Boys Don’t Cry and The Crying Game), are often portrayed as leading a life of tragic duplicity and as deceivers who will be punished harshly by society when their true identity is uncovered. This is no different for trans people who “pass” as their gender or, more accurately, are assumed to be cis or blend in as cis, as if that is the standard or norm. This pervasive thinking frames trans people as illegitimate and unnatural. If a trans woman who knows herself and operates in the world as a woman is seen, perceived, treated, and viewed as a woman, isn’t she just being herself? She isn’t passing ; she is merely being.

off other people’s underpants.” Amalia pulled herself from her father’s lap, but he grabbed her back again. She acquiesced and collapsed into him beneath the weight of his arm. “Why don’t you sit down at the table with us?” Oskar suggested. “Amalia plays hearts better than anyone else,” he said to Polina. “She’s

That’s what led George to Yogi’s museum in New Jersey in 1999 to apologize in person. It’s the same feeling that led Yogi, a man who had vowed never to return to Yankee Stadium so long as George owned the team, to accept George’s apology. Together they made plans for a grand return, a Yogi Berra Day that July. Before the game, Don Larsen, the Yankees pitcher who threw the first perfect game in Yankees history, during the 1956 World Series with Yogi behind the plate, tossed the ceremonial first pitch to Yogi. A few hours later David Cone finished another perfect game, the third in the team’s history. As if we needed another sign that all was right in the world.

I don’t like talking about it.” “We all have chapters we’d rather keep unpublished, tiger.

back into her office and handed her a glass of iced water.  The dizziness had passed but her stomach was threatening to roil.  “Thank you.”  She took a short sip, and it felt so good going down her throat that she finished the small glass in about five gulps.  “That’s better.” Tony dropped into the chair and rubbed his forehead.  “I have to be very careful how I handle this situation.  It’s a crisis of major proportions.  One misstep and this law firm could be history.” “I understand.  Heck, as co-partner, I agree with you.  But I have to hear it from you, Tony.  Do you believe in me?  Do you think I’m guilty of misconduct?” He studied her face and smacked his lips.  “I don’t want to, God knows I don’t.  I don’t want to believe Henry had any misconduct either.  But the FBI investigated him and arrested him.”  He huffed out a tight breath.  “I don’t know what to believe Nora, I really don’t.” “But they didn’t arrest me,” she said softly. “You’re right, they didn’t.”  He took one of his hands in the other and massaged it.  “I have to be honest, Nora.  I’m gaining some advice from law firm partners in the city on how I should handle this.  I’ve never been through this before.” “Yeah, me neither.  Okay, that’s probably a good approach.” “Why

Brian, darling, I’m really not such an idiot that I don’t realize that if a man calls me a nigger, it’s his fault the first time, but mine if he has the opportunity to do it again.

I’ve lied to people for him. I’ve covered for him all this time. Downplaying all the terrible words he’s said to me, things he’s destroyed, and for what? Did I think my lies would come true? That he was kind and caring? That he didn't mean what he did? There’s a moment of truth in my lies and tears fall down my face at an alarming rate but I don't feel sad. My thoughts are crystal clear. I’ve never felt so perfectly in tune with myself before.

don't

...But I know as well as the next werewolf who’s fallen that you don’t get to choose who trips you. Once your soul recognises its other half, what follows is no longer within your control..." ~ Connor Larsen

A Rabbit Noticed my Condition I was sad one day and went for a walk; I sat in a field. A rabbit noticed my condition and came near. It often does not take more than that to help at times-- to just be close to creatures who are so full of knowing, so full of love that they don't chat, they just gaze with their marvelous understanding. St. John of the Cross Love Poems From God Twelve Sacred Voices From the East and West Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Family is family, even if you don’t agree with what they’re doing.

Miss Larsen’s eyes are glittering strangely, and a red rash has crept up her neck. “Did you hear the girl, Mr. Sorenson?” she says in a strained voice. “There was an attempted . . . violation. And Mrs. Grote, coming upon the appalling scene, cast her out. Surely you don’t expect Dorothy to return to that, now, do you? Frankly, I wonder why you don’t ask the police to go out there and take a look. It doesn’t sound like a healthy place for the other children there, either.” Mr. Sorenson is nodding slowly,

If you don’t fit into your life those things that you’re passionate about, those things that you love to do, that bring you happiness, your life will be empty.

Buttermilk Fried Chicken PREP TIME: 7 MINUTES / COOK TIME: 20 TO 25 MINUTES / SERVES 4 370°F FRY FAMILY FAVORITE Fried chicken is perhaps the most decadent of fried foods. But many people don’t make it at home because oil splatters everywhere when you fry chicken. And it’s just not healthy to eat it too often. The air fryer comes to the rescue with this wonderful adaptation. 6 chicken pieces: drumsticks, breasts, and thighs 1 cup flour 2 teaspoons paprika Pinch salt Freshly ground black pepper ⅓ cup buttermilk 2 eggs 2 tablespoons olive oil 1½ cups bread crumbs 1. Pat the chicken dry. In a shallow bowl, combine the flour, paprika, salt, and pepper. 2. In another bowl, beat the buttermilk with the eggs until smooth. 3. In a third bowl, combine the olive oil and bread crumbs until mixed. 4. Dredge the chicken in the flour, then into the eggs to coat, and finally into the bread crumbs, patting the crumbs firmly onto the chicken skin. 5. Air-fry the chicken for 20 to 25 minutes, turning each piece over halfway during cooking, until the meat registers 165°F on a meat thermometer and the chicken is brown and crisp. Let cool for 5 minutes, then serve. Variation tip: You can marinate the chicken in buttermilk and spices such as cayenne pepper, chili powder, or garlic powder overnight before you cook it. This makes the chicken even more moist and tender and adds flavor. Per serving: Calories: 644; Total Fat: 17g; Saturated Fat: 4g; Cholesterol: 214mg; Sodium: 495mg; Carbohydrates: 55g;

Since it’s my graduation night, let’s play a game. It’s called Getting to Know Rhys Larsen.” “Sounds boring.” Rhys flicked his eyes around the restaurant. “I already know Rhys Larsen.” “I don’t.

Don’t think I’ve ever been in as much danger as since you became my client, though.” Her brow scrunched in confusion, and I almost smiled. Almost. “My risk of rupturing increased tenfold.” “Glad to see you found your sense of humor, Mr. Larsen. It’s a Christmas miracle.

Do I have to stop calling you princess now? Queen doesn’t roll off the tongue as nice.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare. By royal decree, you’re never allowed to stop calling me princess.” “I thought you hated the nickname.” “As much as you hate when I call you Mr. Larsen.” I used to. Not anymore.

Mr. Larsen, I do believe you’re a secret romantic after all.” “Don’t tell anyone. Or I’ll have to spank you again.

Kiss me,” I said softly. “Princess…” The nickname came out low and rough. Pained. “We can’t. You’re my client.” “Not here. Here, I’m just me, and you’re just you. Bucket list number four, Mr. Larsen. Remember?” “You don’t know what you’re asking me.” “Yes, I do. I’m not drunk like I was the night after Borgia. I know exactly what I’m doing. The question is, do you?” Just when I thought he would shut me down and walk away, he let out a low curse, turned, and yanked me to him, and I only had time to draw a quick breath before his hand fisted my hair and his mouth crashed down on mine.

Is that a joke, Mr. Larsen?” “An observation. I don’t—” “Joke,” she finished. “I know.

Every time I so much as smile at a man, you bulldoze your way between us like a territorial bear. Why is that, Mr. Larsen? Especially when you told me in no uncertain terms when we first met that you don’t get involved in your clients’ personal lives.” I didn’t answer, but my jaw continued to tick in rhythm with my pulse. Tick. Tick. Tick. A bomb waiting to go off and blow up our lives as we knew it. “Maybe…” Bridget’s expression turned contemplative as she took a step toward me. Mistake number one. “You want to be in their place. Do you want me, Mr. Larsen? The princess and the bodyguard. It would make a nice story for your buddies.” Mistake number two. “You want to stop talking now, Your Highness. And be very, very, very careful what you do next.” “Why? I’m not afraid of you. Everyone else here is, but I’m not.” She placed her hand on my chest. Mistake number three.

It’s like we’re sneaking around again.” “Just like old times.” “So, tell me. Was this where you expected to end up as a kid? Hiding in a royal drawing room with your wife on the night of your wedding?” “Not exactly. But someone once told me we always end up where we’re meant to be, and this is where I’m meant to be. With you.” “Mr. Larsen, I do believe you’re a secret romantic after all.” “Don’t tell anyone. Or I’ll have to spank you again.

Well, in that case, it really doesn’t matter what you want.” Anger sparked inside me. “Of course it matters. This is my life. The path I choose matters.” “The path is inconsequential if you don’t know what you want. If you don’t know your destination, the path you take makes no difference.

But then, this probably wasn’t your first near-death experience.” Ridgeway collected himself. “No … no, of course not. It’s just that in the Army you don’t usually have video to prove how close you came to dying.

I don’t break my promises, Mr. Larsen.

Here, I’m just me, and you’re just you. Bucket list number four, Mr. Larsen. Remember?” “You don’t know what you’re asking me.

I do wish, Brian, that you wouldn't talk about lynching before Ted and Junior. It was really inexcusable for you to bring up athing like that at dinner. There'll be time enough for them to learn about such horrible things when they're older." "You're absolutely wrong! If, as you're so determined, they've got to live in this damned country, they'd better find out what sort of thing they're up against as soon as possible. The earlier they learn it, the better prepared they'll be." "I don't agree. I want their childhood to be happy and as free from the knowledge of such things as it possibly can be." "Very laudable," was Brian's sarcastic answer. "Very laudable indeed, all things considered. But can it?

You don't need a crown to be queen, Princess." - Rhys Larsen

Almost,” Clare asserted. “You’d be surprised, ’Rene, how much easier that is with white people than with us. Maybe because there are so many more of them, or maybe because they are secure and so don’t have to bother. I’ve never quite decided.

Maybe I’m surprised that his photos seem to be good. You kind of hope someone you sort of don’t like will also be bad at things.

Children aren’t everything,” was Clare Kendry’s answer to that. “There are other things in the world, though I admit some people don’t seem to suspect it.” And she laughed, more, it seemed, at some secret joke of her own than at her words.

Most of our lives we spend dreaming about all the things that we don't have, or where we want to go. We forget to focus on the present, the now, who and what we are today. But why? Life might not be what you want, but it is what you have, and you need to embrace it.

Sometimes we’re related to people purely out of chance. We don’t love them; they’re simply there, like the forest.

always knew I was different. I walk to school, watching the half-asleep parents and zoned out students arrive and know I'm not like them. I'm special, meant for more than their lives have to offer. I can feel it in my bones. I just, don’t know how yet.

Just listen to the story. Don’t be so critical all the time. It isn’t good for you.

Rule #238: Don’t do it because you can. Do it because you must.