Fletcher Best Quotes

I had become awkward and tried my best to avoid everyone. I hated attention, people asking me questions or putting me in the spotlight; I preferred to blend into the background unnoticed. I felt safer that way

Sometimes we have so much to say, we cannot say it. Sometimes it's best we do not say goodbyes.

But maybe the best thing I learnt was this: that we cannot know a person's soul and nature until we've sat beside them, and talked.

Always best to start with violence and attempt communication second. People reacted more favorably when they knew you would snuff a few lives to get what you wanted... or for no reason whatsoever.

Looking back at those early days in the band house, we can all see how important they were in helping us bond as a band. It could have gone so wrong. Danny and I had picked Harry and Dougie after, literally, two days of knowing them. We could have all hated each other. We could have found that we had nothing in common, or that we resented the time we spent with each other. In fact, we had such a lot of fun. We weren’t yet famous or successful, but already we were having the time of our lives. Even when we hit the big time, we didn’t want to go out to clubs or celebrity haunts. Not our scene. For us, the best thing about being in a band was being in a band, doing band stuff - not all the trappings that went with it. We liked working on our music, and we liked hanging out together. All this meant we gelled more than most bands ever have the opportunity or inclination to do. Within a couple of months of moving into the band house, I had three new best friends. Their names were Danny, Harry and Dougie. No matter what the future held for us, our friendship was something we now know we could always rely on.

I didn't know what to do next. Doing something is always the best way to think

Yes, she is ugly, but she is mine. She deserves the best of me as I do of her.

It is an extraordinary world - full of love, grief, coincidence - and we shall never understand it. We should never try to. We should only be grateful for it. I reckon we should love, breathe, and say all will be well and believe it. And we should share our best stories, as often as we can.

Don't just survive. Shine.

Because school, no matter how insignificant and annoying it may seem as we get older and can't wait to get away, sets us on our life's path. It's plants ideas for us to thrive upon, teaches us where we want to go and who we want to be - feeding us the notion that our dreams are limitless, that we can do anything if we believe in it enough and truly set our minds to it. But, best of all, it encourages us to seek friendships of others, to learn to lean on them for support and to console them in return. After all, it's the people you meet along the way who really make a lasting impression and who will, if your lucky, stick with you for the rest of your life.

We are each living a story. What many of us are too afraid to admit is that we are the authors of our story. You are living the life you chose for yourself. You are living the result of each and every one of your choices. If you are letting others make decisions for you, you are allowing them to write your story. Do they have your best interests at heart? If you are unhappy, whose fault is that? Don’t like your life, go write yourself a better one.

She never choose anything except her husband, her motherhood and her trust in God. The rest of it was put upon her and she bears it and does her best.

We have nothing to fear but fear itself, unfortunately I'm very, very afraid!

If you’re thinking about doing something you won’t be able to confess to your spouse or best friend, then DON’T DO IT! YOU ALREADY KNOW IT’S WRONG!

Taylor Swift wasn’t actually one of them—she was just pretending, the same way Jesus had pretended to be a man. That was why she stood in front of the line, ahead of the others rather than among them. Because she was the teacher, the role model. She’d already shaken off the haters and the doubters and activated her best self. She was there to show the world what happiness and freedom looked like. You glowed with it. You did exactly what you wanted to. And whatever costume you wore, you were still yourself, unique and beautiful and unmistakable for anyone else.

Did someone have to always be the best at something in order for it to have worth? Was life that black and white? Could she merely be just okay at something, even good at a push, and be content with just telling stories that made people feel things, despite not winning awards left, right and centre or knowing her name as an author wouldn’t be remembered and revered for the rest of time?

us, Will had invited his camp counselor buddy, Dylan, and Dylan had brought along his roommate, this annoying kid named Sanjay. I mean, it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with Sanjay, and no, I’m not prejudiced against Indian people or anyone else. It was just awkward. The rest of us were jocks and hard partiers, and Sanjay was a skinny nerd who looked like he was about twelve years old. And that’s fine, you know? Go ahead and be a nerd if that’s what makes you happy. Go design your app or whatever. Just don’t ask me to give a shit. “Sanjay’s in the Honors College,” Dylan informed us. “Majoring in Electrical Engineering. Talk about badass.” I guess you have to give Dylan some credit. He was trying to be a good roommate, doing his best to include Sanjay in the conversation and make him feel comfortable. It was just a waste of time, that’s all. Sanjay wasn’t going to be friends with us, and we weren’t going to be friends with him.

From pg. 172 “You know how in Bible stories whenever an angel shows up, first thing he always says is, “Fear not!” “Yeah.” “Well, it took me most of my life, but I finally figured out that he’s not trying to comfort us when he says that. He’s giving us an order. It’s a command given more than 300 times in the Bible. The Lord’s telling us not to let ourselves be afraid. We can’t afford to be scared. It just gets in the way of us doing whatever it is that we’re supposed to be doing.” I was stunned. Such an interpretation had never occurred to me and it sure wasn’t what they taught in church. Fearlessness didn’t come from being comforted, being patted on the back by God, and having our fear reduced. It meant making a conscious decision not to indulge ourselves. We had to intentionally turn things around, like when Virgil convinced Dante that the best way out of hell was to climb up the hairy-legged devil himself. I said, “I don’t know if I’ve got that kind of courage.” “But that’s just it,” Fletcher said. “Everybody gets scared. It’s okay to feel scared. But you can’t let it run your life. If you’ll just mind the Lord on this one thing, you don’t hardly need any courage – or even faith. “Just mind Him in the one thing, ” Fletcher said.

FLETCHER: The truth is I don’t think people understand what it is I did at Shaffer. I wasn’t there to conduct. Any idiot can move his hands and keep people in tempo. No, it’s about pushing people beyond what’s expected of them. And I believe that is a necessity. Because without it you’re depriving the world of its next Armstrong. Its next Parker. Why did Charlie Parker become Charlie Parker, Andrew? ANDREW: Because Jo Jones threw a cymbal at him. FLETCHER: Exactly. Young kid, pretty good on the sax, goes up to play his solo in a cutting session, fucks up -- and Jones comes this close to slicing his head off for it. He’s laughed off-stage. Cries himself to sleep that night. But the next morning, what does he do? He practices. And practices and practices. With one goal in mind: that he never ever be laughed off-stage again. A year later he goes back to the Reno, and he plays the best motherfucking solo the world had ever heard. Now imagine if Jones had just patted young Charlie on the head and said “Good job.” Charlie would’ve said to himself, “Well, shit, I did do a good job,” and that’d be that. No Bird. Tragedy, right? Except that’s just what people today want. The Shaffer Conservatories of the world, they want sugar. You don’t even say “cutting session” anymore, do you? No, you say “jam session”. What the fuck kind of word is that? Jam session? It’s a cutting session, Andrew, this isn’t fucking Smucker’s. It’s about weeding out the best from the worst so that the worst become better than the best. I mean look around you. $25 drinks, mood lighting, a little shrimp cocktail to go with your Coltrane. And people wonder why jazz is dying. Take it from me, and every Starbucks jazz album only proves my point. There are no two words more harmful in the entire English language than “good job”.

Gratefulness that while Fletcher’s time on this earth was cut short, I was lucky enough not only to know him, but to have him as a big brother and a best friend.

She waves me off easily. “You’re an adult, Fletcher. Live a lot.” I can’t help laughing, still shaking my head at the best woman I’ve ever known. God, do I love her. “The saying is live a little.” “Eh, life is short. Live a lot. Love a lot.

The man who has not lived in the secrecy and intelligence environment—really lived in it and fully experienced it—cannot write accurately about it. There is no substitute for the day to day living of a life in which he tells his best friends and acquaintances, his family and his everyday contacts one story while he lives another.

The war in Vietnam is undoubtedly the best example of this. Why is it that after more than thirty years of clandestine and overt involvement in Indochina, no one had been able to make a logical case for what we had been doing there and to explain adequately why we had become involved; and what our real and valid objectives in that part of the world were? The mystery behind all of this lies in the area we know as “Clandestine activity,”“intelligence operations,”“secrecy,” and “cover stories,” used on a national and international scale. It is the object of this book to bring reality and understanding into this vast unknown area.

These brief statements are truly amazing and in some respects may be among the most important lines in the entire New York Times presentation of the Pentagon Papers. They show how deeply the clandestine, operating side of the CIA hid behind its first and best cover, that of being an intelligence agency. How can the Times miss the point so significantly? Either the Times is innocent of the CIA as an intelligence organization versus the CIA as a clandestine organization, a highly antagonistic and competitive relationship, or the Times somehow played into the hands of those skillful apologists who would have us all believe that the Vietnam problem was the responsibility of others and not of the CIA operating as a clandestine operation. Let us consider an example:

The New York Times goes on to editorialize: “The Pentagon study does not deal at length with a major question. Why did the policy makers go ahead despite the intelligence estimates prepared by their most senior intelligence officials?” These brief statements are truly amazing and in some respects may be among the most important lines in the entire New York Times presentation of the Pentagon Papers. They show how deeply the clandestine, operating side of the CIA hid behind its first and best cover, that of being an intelligence agency. How can the Times miss the point so significantly? Either the Times is innocent of the CIA as an intelligence organization versus the CIA as a clandestine organization, a highly antagonistic and competitive relationship, or the Times somehow played into the hands of those skillful apologists who would have us all believe that the Vietnam problem was the responsibility of others and not of the CIA operating as a clandestine operation.

Good heavens, those men really did hit your head hard, didn’t they?” Millie pressed the wet cloth into Reverend Gilmore’s hand before heading Everett’s way. Reaching out, she plucked the meat off his face and peered into his eyes. “Your pupils seem to be working all right, but . . . perhaps we should summon the physician to make certain you haven’t been grievously injured.” “My wits aren’t addled.” “I imagine that’ll change once Caroline hears about your latest foray—which means venture—into brawling.” Everett simply stared at Millie for a long moment before he laughed. “There’s nothing funny about this, Everett. Caroline is determined to pull off the ball of the summer season tonight, and she’ll be hard-pressed to do that if everyone at the ball spends their time discussing your recent activities.” “She probably won’t even notice the new bruises I incurred today.” “Do you think she’s not going to notice that your father is sporting bruises as well, and Reverend Gilmore’s lip is twice its normal size?” “I wasn’t planning on attending the ball, dear,” Reverend Gilmore said. “And I was only punched because one young gentleman got a little too enthusiastic when the mayhem began.” Fletcher smiled but then winced as if smiling caused him pain. “That certainly did put an end to everything rather quickly, once everyone realized an elderly gentleman—and a man of the cloth, at that—had been pulled into the fray.” Reverend Gilmore suddenly looked a little smug. “I’m sure the local churches will see an increase in their attendance, especially since I just couldn’t seem to resist suggesting all those gentlemen repent and make reparations for speaking such vile things about my lovely Lucetta.” Everett grinned. “That was the best part of the whole brawl.” Reverend Gilmore returned the grin. “I do still have my uses, son, but . . .” He rose slowly to his feet and sighed. “I think I’ll go have a nice lie down. As Fletcher so kindly pointed out, I am an elderly gentleman, and brawls can be rather taxing on us, even though, truth be told, I’ve never been in the midst of one before today.” Everyone

falling in love is a lot like buying a new pair of boots. You start off head over heels. These are the best boots you’ve ever owned! But then, inevitably, they start to chafe. They’re uncomfortable and feel like they’re trying to force your foot into some awkward new shape rather than conforming to the bones defining you. They look so good though you hesitate to let them go. And what’s a little discomfort? You go through this with every pair of boots anyway, right? So, you give them a little time. Maybe your foot changes a little where the leather won’t give, and the boot gives where your foot refuses. Soon, you have the best boots you’ve ever owned. They’re comfortable and still new enough they look great. All you see is what’s right about them.

Life is funny, you know. Funny like when you’re in a really good mood and wearing your best shirt and the sun is shining and a pretty girl gives you the eyes and then some passing seagull takes a massive wet shit on your head.

Instead of giving him her real name, like an idiot she gives him a pseudonym because she's convinced herself she doesn't need anyone other than herself, that work is more important, that relationships only hurt you and that dying alone is the best option she has because it's better than getting hurt over and over and over and over and over...

Mr. James would have preferred a younger and more attractive secretary, but he merely sighed and said, “Oh well . . . Of course you know best, Mrs. B. She certainly seems very keen.

Yes, I am,” he admitted. “I’m thinking about a sermon I heard some time ago. The text was, ‘Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another.’ Why don’t we speak often to one another about important things? I don’t mean just you and me, I mean everyone. Why is religion kept shut up in a cupboard and only taken out on Sundays—put on like your best hat?” “It should be a part of everyday life.” “Yes,” said Reggie. “Why don’t we talk about it? Of course the answer is that it’s ‘not done’. Fellows would think you had gone a bit queer in the head if you started talking about the Lord.” Bel could not help smiling. “It’s true, isn’t it?” asked Reggie. “Yes it’s perfectly true.

I’ve had quite the life but even the best books come to an end.

instance, U.S. Route 11 splits into U.S. Route 11E (east) and U.S. Route

One of the best things about living in Germany is that Nigel Farage doesn’t.

his bland blue eyes not perceiving an essential difference in worth between the diseased or injured whore and the best citizen of the city.

I did my best to stay away from Pierce, even if ignoring him completely was impossible. It wasn't enough that he was popular at school and the local ice arenas, but a few news outlets had grabbed a hold of his YouTube channel, mostly his greatest hockey hits and the video equivalent of selfies, and turned him into a web celeb.

Despite what she said, it wasn't okay. I'd kiss my best friend. I acted like an idiot who didn't know how to human, not the confident hockey player who kissed girls all the time. But the worst part? Worse than the kiss or the embarassment or awkwardness that followed. I liked kissing Malina. A lot. I was screwed.

Oh, God. Could she tell Jackson had kissed me? Was there some kind of visible evidence on my lips? Was there a "my best friend's mouth was on mine" expression that I didn't know about and therefore didn't know how to hide?

Because despite everything: the insatiable appetite and lack of manners and slacking on keeping in touch, and the fact that we were growing apart as we grew up and our priorities changed and clashed. I did miss my best friend.

Then, almost as if my brain wasn't attached to my body, I tipped her chin up and pressed my lips to hers. Everything slipped away: the show in the background, the broken glass in the kitchen, the fact that I was kissing my best friend.

Best while you have it use your breath, There is no drinking after death. John Fletcher, The Bloody Brother

Children!' Santa said with a smile. 'Children?' William said. 'Children aren't magic. I'm a child and I'm not magic at all!' All the elves giggled and Santa smiled knowingly. 'Oh, but you are! You really, truly are. You just don't know it! You can create impossible worlds in your imagination that don't really exist. That is magic. Because you can only see the best in people, the best in the world, in life. That is magic. Because you understand the importance of silliness, the importance of fun, of laughing and playing, which grown-ups have forgotten. That is magic. But, most of all, because you believe, without question, in the impossible. Without needing proof. Without hesitation. That is magic.' William couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could do all those things and he hadn't even realized that they were magic!

Diplomacy, women's like eunuchs: "The diplomacy of women is very much like that of eunuchs; it is false and dangerous, ultimate good seldom comes of it. Women are good as counsellors but bad as actors. Perhaps no negotiation has ever been perfected since the creation of the world without their interference and advice, but they are best kept out of sight. Their judgement is shrewd and clear on any abstract question submitted to them; but their own conduct is always too much influenced by personal feelings to render their entire management of affairs either proper or expedient." — Grenville Murray, cited by Sir Victor Wellesley Diplomatic life: "American diplomacy is easy on the brain, but hell on the feet." — Charles G. Dawes [Henry Prather Fletcher retorted: "It depends on which you use."] Diplomatic life: "A diplomat's life is made up of three ingredients: protocol, Geritol, and alcohol." — Adlai E. Stevenson, Jr.

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