Fiddle Stick Quotes

He says softly, "I don't just want you in my dreams, baby. Been wanting you a long while." fiddle sticks I whisper, "Niki." He puts his lips close to mine and breathes deep, "You're all I think about." I feel the tingles start in my in my nose. A sure sign I'm going to bawl. "Stop." But he just keeps coming with the sweet, "I thought I needed a woman like you. Turns out I just needed you." My breath hitches. "Stop." What he says next melts my frozen heart. "You're it, Tina." I no longer have doubts My heart skips a beat and I whisper fiercely, "I want to kiss you. Real bad.

Fiddling with damp tarragon left me so intensely irritated that when I was done I had to stick the ramekin/mise en place bowls back in the fridge and go watch both the episode where Xander is possessed by a demon and the one where Giles regresses to his outrageously sexy teen self and has sex with Buffy’s mom, just to get over it.

This was supposed to be enjoyable, Matthew thought grimly. Berry had taught him the positions and steps last week, but with the fiddling and the drumming and Gilliam Vincent’s stick poised to strike a blow for artful perfection

He asked, "What is the problem, Isa?" And tired of being coy all the time, I wanted to say, "I like when you are tender with me. I wish you were tender all the time." It was the feeling that his tenderness was selective, and I wanted to be the object of all of it. I fiddled with my straw. The pulp of the lime trembled in the glass. I said, "You know," and he said, "No, I don't." I have tried to stick together tenderness from each person. It's a natural urge to want to be important in someone's life. The soft underbelly of a coarse man. A preview is never enough because I am insatiable. (150)

Around Christmas 2003, we visited Chris’s parents in Texas. I found myself exceptionally hungry, though I couldn’t figure out why. When we came back to California, I just felt something was off. Could I be…pregnant? Nah. I bought a pregnancy test just in case. Chris and I had always planned to have children, but we weren’t in a rush about it. In fact, we had only recently decided to be “a little less careful.” It was a compromise between our spontaneous impulses and our careful planning instincts, which we both shared. We figured, if it happens somewhere in the next year… I was upstairs in the house working when I decided to take a break and check things out. Wow. WOW!!! Chris happened to be home fiddling with something in the garage. I ran downstairs, holding the stick in my hand. When I got there, I held it up, waving. “Hey, babe,” he said, looking at me as if I were waving a sword. “Come here,” I said. “I have to show you something.” He came over. I showed him the stick. “Okay?” “Look!” “What is it?” “Look at this!” Obviously, he wasn’t familiar with home pregnancy tests. Maybe that’s a guy thing-given that the tests reveal either your worst nightmare or one of the most exciting events of your life. I’d wager every woman in America knows what they are and how they work. Slowly it dawned on him. “Oh my God,” he said, stunned. “Are you…?” “Yes!” We confirmed it at the doctor’s soon after. I know you’re supposed to wait something like twelve weeks before telling anyone-there’s so much that can go wrong-but we couldn’t keep that kind of secret to ourselves for more than a few days. We ended up sending packages with an ultrasound and baby booties-one pink, one blue-to our parents, telling them we had a late Christmas surprise and to call us so we could be on the phone when they opened them.

When everyone had been dispatched, he turned to Loretta, one dark eyebrow cocked, his indigo eyes twinkling with laughter. “One wife and only one wife, forever with no horizon?” Loretta’s gaze chased off, and her cheeks went scarlet. Clasping her hands behind her, she rocked back on her heels, then forward onto her toes, pursing her lips. “I told you, Hunter, I refuse to play second fiddle.” He smiled--a slow, dangerous smile that made her nerves leap. His heated gaze drifted slowly down the length of her. He grasped her arm and led her toward his lodge. “Now you will show this Comanche how good you play number one fiddle, yes?” “I--” Loretta’s mouth went as dry as dust as she tripped along beside him, her arm vised in his grip. “Surely you don’t mean right now.” Her startled gaze focused on the lodge door. “It’s not even dark yet. People are still awake. You haven’t eaten. There’s no fire built. We can’t just--” He lifted the door flap and drew her into the dark lodge. “Blue Eyes, I have no hunger for food,” he said huskily. “But I will make a fire if you wish for one.” Any delay, no matter how short, appealed to Loretta. “Oh, yes, it’s sort of chilly, don’t you think?” It was a particularly muggy evening, the kind that made clothing stick to the skin, but that hardly seemed important. “Yes, a fire would be lovely.” He left her standing alone in the shadows to haul in some wood, which he quickly arranged in the firepit. Moments later golden flames lit the room, the light dancing and flickering on the tan walls. Remaining crouched by the flames, he tipped his head back and gave her a lazy perusal, his eyes touching on her dress, eyebrows lifting in a silent question. “Do you hunger for food?” he asked her softly.

The flute is a cat that ripples its fur against the deep purring saxophone. The drum throws sticks. The cat jumps on the piano keyboard. Hi diddle, hi diddle, the cat and the fiddle. Crimson Gardens... hurrah!.. jumps over the moon. Crimson Gardens! Helen..O Eliza..rabbit-eyes sparkling.- (Page 101

One only had to go to Kabul airport to see a classic example of the aid community helping itself rather than Afghans. The scariest part of going to Afghanistan was flying in from Dubai on the state airline Ariana. Its planes were in such bad condition that they were banned from most places on earth. Even the model plane in the sales office was held together by sticking plaster and elastic bands. The UN has its own airline to fly staff in and out of danger spots, so it quickly began its own service from Dubai or Islamabad to Kabul. As I stood nervously fiddling with my Ariana boarding pass, I would enviously watch the foreign aid workers and diplomats boarding the shiny UN planes. What I didn’t realise was that the millions of dollars to subsidise this service was coming from the money pledged to help Afghanistan. Ghani was indignant. ‘The first thing the UN system provided through the $1.6 billion of donor money channelled to UN agencies in 2002 was an airline devoted to serving UN staff, and occasionally (after much lobbying) some Afghan government officials.

The flute is a cat that ripples its fur against the deep purring saxophone. The drum throws sticks. The jumps on the piano keyboard. Hi diddle, hi diddle, the cat and the fiddle. Crimson Gardens... hurrah!.. jumps over the moon. Crimson Gardens! Helen..O Eliza..rabbit-eyes sparkling. - (Page 101)

the boys who spend all their days finger-fiddling with matchsticks line us up & proceed to stick tiny yellow & black truth-telling flowers between our teeth. one by one, they ask us if we know what crime we’re guilty of. after a brief pause to gather our thoughts, we say, “the only thing we’re guilty of is being women.” this is simultaneously the right & wrong answer. to the match-boys, our existence is the darkest form of magic, usually punishable by death. they don’t even know what’s coming. how cute. we shouldn’t be afraid of them. no no no. they should be afraid of us. - the first lesson in fire.

Sawyer: Are you at home? I slowly lifted my eyes to meet Beau’s. “It’s Sawyer asking if I’m at home.” Beau put his cue stick up and reached for mine. “Tell him I’m taking you home now.” I didn’t want to go home right then, but there was no other explanation I could give Sawyer. I texted him back. “Beau’s taking me home now.” Beau nodded toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.” He didn’t reach for my hand or touch my back the way he used to when we left the bar. Instead he walked beside me, not touching me or looking at me. I got another text message. Sawyer: Tell him to bring you to my house. Everyone’s in bed, and I’m in the pool house. Come see me. I’ll take you home. That wasn’t something I could ask Beau to do. He’d been wonderful after our fight tonight. Asking him to drop me off at Sawyer’s was too much. Once we were in the truck, I fiddled with my phone, trying to decide what to tell Sawyer. “What is it, Ash? What did he say to make you start chewing your bottom lip?” I sighed and kept my eyes on the phone in my lap. “He wants you to bring me to his pool house. I don’t want you to do that.” Beau pulled the truck off the side of the road and then turned to look at me. “Why?” I glanced up at him. “Because,” I replied. Beau let out a growl and slammed his palms against the steering wheel, causing me to jump. “I can’t do this, Ash. It’s killing me. Having you this close and not touching you is driving me insane. You’re his, Ash. You’re his. You made your choice, and I understand why you chose him. I don’t hold it against you, but dammit, Ash, it hurts.” My chest felt as if it had been ripped open again. “I’m so sorry, Beau. I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I can’t make it better. I’m sorry.” “Stop it, Ash. You got nothing to be sorry for. I started this, and I’m the one who needs to end it. I just can’t seem to bring myself to stay away from you.” I slid over and straddled the stick shift and laid my head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around me and pulled me tight up against him. I closed my eyes as he kissed the top of my head. Neither of us knew what to say. We sat in silence, holding each other until my phone alerted us of another text message. I started to pull away, but Beau held me against his side and cranked the truck. “Just let me hold you a little longer,” he whispered hoarsely as he pulled back onto the road. When we pulled onto Sawyer’s street, Beau kissed my head one more time. “You better move over now.