Firefly Best Quotes

That was the thing about best friends. Like sisters and mothers, they could piss you off and make you cry and break your heart, but in the end, when the chips were down, they were there, making you laugh even in your darkest hours.

That was the thing about best friends. Like sisters and mothers, they could piss you off and make you cry and break your heart, but in the end, when the chips were down, they were there, making you laugh even in your darkest hours.

That was what a best friend did: hold up a mirror and show you your heart.

Best friends forever. They'd believed it would last, that vow, that someday they'd be old women, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking deck, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing...

I realize it's not the best timing-it's only been a month, but life isn't about waiting for perfect timing. If you're not careful, life happens while your stuck in a holding pattern

(He) let evil into his mind and it took over his heart. We best be on our guard and keep our minds on what's right and true so we don't become things we'll regret.....That's why we all need to know Jesus in our hearts.....Ain't no one else who can keep watch over our hearts like He can. Ain't no one else who can take the bad out and replace it with good.

What mattered was not caring. And the best way not to care was to surround yourself with noise and people.

and she smiles at me, my best friend, with her long, tangled blond hair and thick eyelashes and her smile that lights up any room. My other half. The girl who took my hand all those years ago and didn’t let go until she had to.

The best mirror is an old friend. —GEORGE HERBERT

I’ll be good. If I don’t, you have my permission to bend me over your knee and spank the shit out of me.” Oh Jesus Christ… seriously? That’s worse that her innocent “best friend” kiss to my cheek.

When she says margarita she means daiquiri. When she says quixotic she means mercurial. And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again," she means, "Put your arms around me from behind as I stand disconsolate at the window." He's supposed to know that. When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading, or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he is raking leaves in Ithaca or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate at the window overlooking the bay where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway. When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels drinking lemonade and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed where she remains asleep and very warm. When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks. When she says, "We're talking about me now," he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says, "Did somebody die?" When a woman loves a man, they have gone to swim naked in the stream on a glorious July day with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle of water rushing over smooth rocks, and there is nothing alien in the universe. Ripe apples fall about them. What else can they do but eat? When he says, "Ours is a transitional era," "that's very original of you," she replies, dry as the martini he is sipping. They fight all the time It's fun What do I owe you? Let's start with an apology Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead. A sign is held up saying "Laughter." It's a silent picture. "I've been fucked without a kiss," she says, "and you can quote me on that," which sounds great in an English accent. One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it another nine times. When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the airport in a foreign country with a jeep. When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that she's two hours late and there's nothing in the refrigerator. When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake. She's like a child crying at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end. When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking: as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved. A thousand fireflies wink at him. The frogs sound like the string section of the orchestra warming up. The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.

Our lives are a blink of a firefly in the night. You’re just barely here. You have to make the most of every minute, which doesn’t mean you chase some stupid desire for your entire life. What it means is every second you have on this planet is very precious, and it’s your responsibility to make sure you’re happy and interpreting everything in the best possible way. [9]

was the thing about best friends. Like sisters and mothers, they could piss you off and make you cry and break your heart, but in the end, when the chips were down, they were there, making you laugh even in your darkest hours.

Sometimes you meet your partner too soon, but love persuades you to leap, trusting that he’ll catch you. Life is real and it’s right now. Life is fireflies in your palm, gleaming gold, and then setting them free. In the best moments, life is fireworks. Sometimes life is having the rug pulled out from under you and the one you love helping you up. But most of all, life is what happens when you open the door and let beauty in, even if it doesn’t fit according to your plans.

No, because we don't have minds as such these days, but tiny snarls of firefly neural pathways signalling no/yes/no, suspended in a greyish cloud inside a round bone bowl. Yes: lovely. No: too lonely. Yes. The world that we think we see is only our best guess.

Jessilyn, ain't no man can't get someplace he never thought he'd get to. You let enough bad thoughts into your head, you can end up doin' all sorts of things you never thought possible. Otis let evil into his mind and it took over his heart. We best be on our guard and keep our minds on what's right and true so we don't become things we'll regret. His words scared me. I wanted to always be able to trust people, to know that good people stayed good people, but I was realizing all too quickly that the human heart is fragile and needs constant attention. I'd seen enough bleakness in my own heart to know my daddy was speaking the truth. That's why we all need to know Jesus in our hearts, Daddy said. Ain't no one else who can keep watch over our hearts like He can. Ain't no one else who can take the bad and replace it with good.

By the power of lost retainers and Jamaica and bad cornrows and fireflies and Madonna, by all these things I rebuke you.

And the best way not to care was to surround yourself with noise and people.

Now she knew better, of course. For more than a year she’d been telling herself it was okay, that she could go on without a best friend. Sometimes she even believed it.

I’ll give you fireflies on your birthday because the best gift is to remind someone of the light that shines within them

That’s one of my major themes in Firefly Lane—that we need to accept that we are good enough, that all we can do is our best.

I want it all little firefly. I want a life I'm terrified to lose." Nash Carter

I turn to Kate, see her glowing face and her beautiful green eyes. In them, I see my whole life. Everything I’ve ever been, and ever wanted to be. That’s what your best friend is: a mirror.

Shelly’s jaws dropped. For a moment, she wondered if Bo and Luke Duke would come skidding down the road in the General Lee because Marianne was doing her best to look like their cousin Daisy.

I love you, Mommy,” Marah said. To the world at large, perhaps this was an ordinary moment in an ordinary day, but to Kate it was extraordinary. This was the reason she’d chosen to stay home instead of work. She judged the meaning of her life in nanoseconds, perhaps, but she wouldn’t trade this instant for anything. “I love you, too. That’s why we’re playing hooky for the rest of the day. We’re going to go to a matinee of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.” Marah slid out of the booth, grinning. “You’re the best mommy ever.” Kate laughed. “I just hope you remember that when you’re a teenager.

Best friends forever. They'd believed it would last, that vow, that someday they'd be old women, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking desk, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing...

I used to imagine a boyfriend who could see me, you know? It was more than attention. I wanted to be known. I imagined us parking a car out by the river, hidden by the tall grass, fireflies everywhere, and I could talk and he would listen and nod, his eyes wide in the dark. And the way I imagined it, he would want to listen. He would want to see me. And he’d listen until he knew everything there was to know.” Tiffany laughed at herself. “There were times I imagined it so long, I ran out of things to tell him, and we’d just look at each other. In a way, that was the best part.

Best friends forever. They’d believed it would last, that vow, that someday they’d be old women, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking deck, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing. Now she knew better, of course. For more than a year she’d been telling herself it was okay, that she could go on without a best friend. Sometimes she even believed it.

Johnny’s with her now,” Mrs. M. said, touching his shoulder. For the first time in years, Tully felt like an outsider in this family. “I should be with her.” “Don’t you worry, Tully,” Mrs. M. said, watching her closely. “She’ll always need you.” “But things are different now.” “Of course they are. Katie’s married. You girls are on separate paths, but you’ll always be best friends.” Separate paths. There it was; the thing she should have seen but somehow hadn’t.

Do you know the names of the stars?" I ask Luna. Luna turns from the cauldron and points. "Those two at the very top are Lerrel and Sillis. The brightest one above the left eye is Shalev, and Mal is below the right. The dimmest is Ness--" "Ness," I interrupt, feeling the name light me up like a firefly surrounded in pitch-black darkness. I like that this star is the dimmest in the entire constellation. I've spent too much of my life on the wrong stages and I wouldn't mind going unnoticed until I'm ready to present the best version of myself. "Call me Ness from now on.

Best friends forever. They’d believed it would last, that vow, that someday they’d be old women, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking deck, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing. Now she knew better, of course. For more than a year she’d been telling herself it was okay, that she could go on without a best friend. Sometimes she even believed it. Then she would hear the music. Their music. “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” “Material Girl.” “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “Purple Rain.” Yesterday, while she’d been shopping, a bad Muzak version of “You’ve Got a Friend” had made her cry, right there next to the radishes.

Rainey said you read Moby Dick. Perhaps you’re familiar with the line, ‘Give not thyself up, then, to fire, lest it invert thee, deaden thee, as for the time it did me. There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness’. It’s a good warning, don’t you think?” I shrugged, too weary to think. “Anger is a part of grief, but I think Melville saw the danger in letting it consume you. If you don’t overcome it, it will lead you down a path so dark you won’t be able to find your way back. You’re better off turning that anger into defiance and fighting for the best possible life you can live. That’s the only way forward.” “It’s not that easy.” Matthew smiled bitterly. “Nothing worthwhile is easy. That’s what makes it worthwhile. We have to fight for it, and the fighting makes us stronger, and the more we suffer, the stronger we become. Truthfully, I don’t think we can achieve greatness without suffering. We can be good, maybe, but not great.” I would have settled for good, I thought.

Trudy let out a long breath and hung her head. “Actually, it’s kinda embarrassing,” she said from beneath a curtain of curls. “My mum, she’s been perfecting bioluminescent yeast and lactobacillus strains, some with firefly splices, some with blue glowing Noctiluca plankton splices. Last week, for a lark she grabbed the wrong starter—the perils of using lab equipment for lab work and yogurt starter, I guess—and cultured some goats milk. We enjoyed it for breakfast. The cats got intae it, they ate it as weel. There was also some question, possible contamination of the kraut,” she said brightly. “We first noticed Boo’s—my baby brother, Boo’s short for the ‘Nobu’ in ‘Schrödinger Nobu Duncan Yamaguchi’—glowing nappy later thae evening when I helped put him tae bed. Next we saw the litter box, the glowing cat box, full of glowing cat turds.” She made a disgusted, resigned face. “Ye ken whit they’re like! They play catty-cake with their leavings and as ye can see, whaur kitty’s shitty paws go so does the yellow glow. Nar, I know,” she finished. “Wait, not so fast Yamaguchi,” said Olivia. “Does this mean you’ve been dropping glow sticks off at the pool, leaving bioluminescent raver monkey arms in the bowl, stocking the ole’ lake with incandescent brown trout much?” Trudy looked truly horrified, mortified. “SHUT UP,” she whispered in crisply articulated exasperation, pale green eyes bulging. “I really, really dinna want tae talk aboot it, much less think aboot it,” she added with a convulsive shiver. “Ye, Rosebeetle, dinna even think aboot it either!” He gave her his best what-who-me-? look in reply. “And stop looking at my bahookie!” With difficulty he and Olivia tore their eyes from her curvy derrière. “Glow-poops,” said Byron quickly, “we’re all thinking it.” Trudy glared at him.

Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe your aunt is about to announce supper. Pray agree to dine with me." "I am not sure I can, since the place cards may require otherwise." "Then we shall simply have to switch them so they're arranged to our liking," he said, adding a naughty wink that sent tingles whirling through her system like maddened fireflies. He stood and offered his arm. "You wouldn't really switch them, would you?" she asked as she gained her feet. "What do you think?" She studied him, his azure eyes unreadable. "I think," she said, "that you are the wickedest man I've ever met." He choked out a laugh, then leaned over so that his lips were a mere inch from her ear. "You had best take care to avoid me, then, else I cease being a gentleman and decide to lead you astray.

Acclaim for the past works of Charles Martin “Beautiful writing . . . offers hope and redemption without too-neat resolution.” —Publishers Weekly regarding Maggie “. . . charming characters and twists that keep the pages turning.” —Southern Living, regarding When Crickets Cry Southern Living Book-of-the-Month selection, April 2006 “How is Charles Martin able to take mere words and breathe such vibrant life into them? Each character is drawn with an artist’s attention to detail, beauty and purpose. Readers won’t want the story to end because that means leaving these lovable people who have become so much more than just a name in a book.” —inthelibraryreviews.net regarding When Crickets Cry “[The Dead Don’t Dance is] an absorbing read for fans of faith-based fiction . . . [with] delightfully quirky characters . . . [who] are ingeniously imaginative creations.” —Publishers Weekly “[In When Crickets Cry,] Martin has created highly developed characters, lifelike dialogue, and a well-crafted story.” —Christian Book Previews.com “Martin spins an engaging story about healing and the triumph of love . . . Filled with delightful local color.” —Publishers Weekly regarding Wrapped in Rain “[O]ne of the best books I’ve been asked to review, and certainly the best one this year!” — bestfiction.tripod.com regarding When Crickets Cry “Charles Martin has proven himself a master craftsman. Double the story-telling ability of Nicholas Sparks, throw in hints of Michael Crichton and Don J. Snyder, and you have Charles Martin.

That morning i awoke. I felt the rising sun. A glimpse of true restoration, with kings crying, emperors imploring mercy, world living, earth within. The light of the rays throughout magnificent pieces of hollow stone. I'm happy. I'm happy. The sun it did shine. The sunrise, it was beautiful, sitting in between the vast open crests of the mountains. The sky's color orange. The mountains a deep pink. This view was a sensation of the universal language. And the best part had to be the sun's fiery, multicolored, rays! Where the glory of this moment, this sunrise, originated. What a bountiful moment. It was filled with glory and strength. The firefly lighting inescapable and somewhat inexpressive. Because of this, all insecurities melted away. There was something comforting about this rise. It was as if it was a message from God. It had the energy of a new day. No, not a new day. Not another day to wake up. Not ANOTHER PLAIN DAY! No, this was a "new day". The beginning of a new era. That's what this sunlight told me. Situations will now explode and dissolve. In a benevolent way. It said, Feel the warmth of the sun. Let it's warm welcoming waves of light surround and caress your being. Feel its care and courage. Connect and let its power become yours. Once i connected i no longer reflected. The time for reflection ended. And being pushed aside, the time or immortality began. The invincible irresistible, sensational, nature of the sun brought a new wave. The nine waves of the sun, They touched me on that sunrise. They touched my heart. Just as they mixed and breed with the unusually blue but now pink mountains. The loving amalgamation of sunrise and environment. It was truly a spectacle to behold. This was a true sunrise. The first true sunrise of my life. THE SUNRISE OF THE NEW DAY. MAY YOU SEE IT AS WELL!

The birds singing are a constant reminder of life outside our walls, of a whole world out there, and the peace it can have if we all slow down enough to recognize our strengths. You’ll never find an anxious bird, worried about where its next worm will come from. They just get up every morning singing and then do what they do best. And they’re always fed. That’s really all any of us should do.

I’ll be good to her, Mama Jo. I’ll make her happy, I swear it. I’ll be the best flipping husband there ever was.

Unfortunately these days, hardly a day goes by without news of an incident of childhood bullying. Some of these are so horrific or tragic that they defy understanding. Those really grab our attention. Others are all too easily dismissed as some sort of rite of passage, an acceptable part of growing up. The truth, though, is that bullying of any kind has the power to change who a child is, the kind of person he or she grows up to be. When ignored, the victim can be scarred for life, emotionally, if not physically. The perpetrator grows up with a skewed value system that suggests it’s perfectly okay to make another person’s life miserable, to feel powerful, even for a moment, at the expense of someone weaker. It’s up to adults—parents, teachers, entire communities—to take a stand, to say bullying is not okay, not ever, not by anyone! And that’s exactly what happens in Serenity when schoolteacher Laura Reed and pediatrician J. C. Fullerton realize a student is being bullied. Both Laura and J.C. have experienced the damaging effects of bullying, so what’s happening to Misty Dawson is personal and unacceptable. While there are often subtle messages tucked away in my stories, I hope the message in Catching Fireflies is loud and clear. There is nothing cute or normal or acceptable about bullying, whether it’s a toddler on the playground or a teenager using the internet to torment a classmate. Pay attention to what may be happening to your children, no matter how young or how old. Pay even closer attention to how they’re treating others. Bullying is wrong. It needs to stop. And alert parents and teachers and a united community can make that happen. I hope you’ll enjoy spending time with all the Sweet Magnolias once more, and that you’ll take their message—and mine—to heart. All best, Sherryl

Well, I left him in my room so my mother wouldn’t see him.” “ ’Cause you hadn’t convinced her to let you keep him yet,” Mark said reasonably. “Did you leave the cats to keep him company?” “Yes,” Augusta said. “And did they become best friends?” Maripat asked, happily sensing the end of the story. “No,” Augusta said, knowing she was in too deep. “He ate them.

What about Tiny?” Maripat asked shyly. “Well, I left him in my room so my mother wouldn’t see him.” “ ’Cause you hadn’t convinced her to let you keep him yet,” Mark said reasonably. “Did you leave the cats to keep him company?” “Yes,” Augusta said. “And did they become best friends?” Maripat asked, happily sensing the end of the story. “No,” Augusta said, knowing she was in too deep. “He ate them.

If your life had been different, you wouldn’t be who you are. Now you can help other people because of who you are and the privilege you’ve known. Try to remember that when the voice in your head gets the best of you.

That’s one of my major themes in Firefly Lane—that we need to accept that we are good enough, that all we can do is our best. The whole supermom/superwoman thing is an idea that needs to be retired. We’re just women, and while we are super, we don’t have superpowers.

Best friends fight. They lose sight of what matters.

I sat wrapped in a thick carpet blanket on the hard kitchen floor, trying my best to listen, but only being able to hear once, just as one cop whispered, “another fiend,” to the other. I ain’t know

I shrug. Truth is, Daddy never made us do much cleaning around the house. Whenever he was home, Daddy would do all the cleaning. He was the only person I ever saw who loved cleaning like it was something fun to do. He would always start by turning on music, and the music would always match his mood. When he was in a good mood, Michael Jackson or Prince would blare from the little CD player on top of the fridge, and Daddy would twirl around in the kitchen with his broom, trying out all his best moves on his favorite girls.

And what was behind the harmony of the apples, of the pink lady’s slippers I found on my farther-ranging walks, or of the yellow mayflies and the trout that sipped them in nearby Great Brook? It seemed to me the result of the inevitable unfolding of laws laid down by the universe and embedded in the elements at hand: air and water, sunshine and earth. It was not by chance that the trees and leaves assumed their unique colors and shapes, or that small streams flowed into bigger streams, or that the fireflies lit their little lanterns of phosphorescence among the grasses at night. All of this was the consequence of what the universe had commanded. It was chemistry, biology, physics and some inexpressible something else mixed together into one thing, and that thing was inevitability. We respond to the grasses, the trees and the brooks because we sense a deeper truth in them. A brook cannot be false or a tree deceptive, and because we as a species grew up with them, and among them, we are essentially part of them and they of us. By what other means can we be said to be made? What is evolution but the interaction of our potential with the reality of nature? The apples, the leaves, the mayflies, the trout – they express the harmony of nature, as well as the miracle of nature. We are included in this miracle, and the surprise would be that a separation from nature would result in anything *but* alienation from our deepest and earliest selves, that a reconnection would be anything but a sense of coming home. All of us, it seems to me, seek to recapture the sensations and selves of our childhoods, and nature offers the best way back, to the freshest parts of our true and original essence.

You never know when life will give you lemons, so it’s best to have all the ingredients for lemon bars on hand.

Would you like me to tell you about it? It sits on acres of land. If you can believe it, I dig around in the earth. Me. I’m not going to be joining the garden club anytime soon but there have been carrots.” My laugh punctures the politeness. She relaxes. “We made food and sat on the lawn. I was nervous, but a friend of mine had recently been through cancer and I thought, if she can be here … It was a filthy gorgeous day. I mean really it was greedy of us. Slight breeze. Air you could get drunk on. Even the grass was shining. The food was good, well, the food was okay. We did our best but the steak kebabs were dry. Another friend made a silly remark when she walked outside—a silly joke, but we were crying with laughter. Do you remember, a million years ago, when the old lady walked through the screen door? It was like that. Everyone in a good mood on the same day. I didn’t want it to end. It felt like a sin when the sun set. But then the yard was filled with fireflies. I’d been in the city for so long I forgot about fireflies. I stood in the center of the lawn, everyone stood around me. I said, ‘I’m Simone.’ Everyone said, ‘Hi, Simone.’ That was it. We sat down and ate the crappy kebabs.” She pantomimes eating kebab. Her wrists are thin and mapped with veins, like mine. She holds this woman’s grace and the person I used to know’s ability to entertain with an offhanded gesture. She is simultaneous. Wholly present. Wholly past. Wholly grandmother. Wholly bird. I struggle to lace up my understanding.

May you always have the best of all possible things and even things that are impossible,” she