Guy Gardner Quotes

There is no growth in assuming. For it does not give, it takes away.

It wasn't you're fault," I whisper. And then out of self-protection more than anything else, I bring the glory. I don't warn him or anything. I don't damp it down. I bring it. The room fills with light. "This is what I am," I say, my hair ablaze around my head. He squints at me. his jaw juts out a little in pure stubbornness. He stands his ground "I know," he says. I take a step towards him, close the space between us, put my glowing hand against his cheek. He starts to tremble. "This is what I am," I say again and my wings are out now. His knees wobble, but he fights it. He puts his hand at my waist, turns me, pulls me closer, which surprises me. "I can accept that," he whispers, and holds his breath, and leans in to kiss me His lips brush mine for an instant, and an emotion like victory tears through him, but he pulls away and glances at the front door. Groans. Christian is standing in the doorway. "Wow," Tucker says, trying to grin. "You really know how to cramp a guy's style." His legs give out. He falls to his knees. My light blinks off.

Be confident in who you are, regardless of what you don't have. The more confident you are, the more open you become to share your fears and challenges with your partner.

Miggy sees me watching the approaching wave of dark clouds. "Maybe it will slow him down." The guy who's been outfitted by Survivalists "R" Us? No, he probably has some waterproof supersuit that repels lightning. I hate him so much.

There were men in their fifties, men who take a stab at fitness, men who try. They may not look young, but they still look viable. Lammers wasn't one of those. Lammers was one of those crack-in-the-ass guys ten months pregnant with a beer baby.

In a perfect cinematic world we would’ve captured the bad guys in spectacular fashion with explosions, car chases, and a parting kiss. She would’ve been played by Ava Gardner, and I would’ve been played by Robert Taylor. I looked at her. “I was wrong.” She looked back at me, and I could feel her eyes on the side of my face.

For a bit, he picked up the paperbacks, thumbed the worn edges. Military thrillers. Books with clear right and wrong where the good guys always won in the end. Zero or hero. A part of Telly clearly wanted to be the hero. The brother who’d saved his sister. The troubled teen who, according to his PO, was trying to do better.

Oh, wait till you meet this guy. Ever watch that show? The medical drama?" "ER?" "No, the one with more sex." "Grey's Anatomy?

Well," I sigh. I glance at Cole. He stares at

Sergeant, I could've caught her in bed with the man, and I still wouldn't have killed her. Not that kind of guy? Not that kind of marriage.

Today is going to be the real thing. I have a hard time breathing. My heart races, I can feel my palms start to sweat. And I think so many things at once, my head begins to hurt and I hear someone groan and it confuses me until I realize it is myself. Her smile, her sweet, sweet smile. The way she looks at me, as if I’m ten feet tall, as if I can hold the world in the palm of my hand. And then, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “No, no, no. Please, Aidan, stop. No …” The cops will come for me. Sooner or later. Two of them, three of them, an entire SWAT team, converging upon my doorstep. That’s why guys like me exist. Because every community has gotta have a villain, and no amount of pretend normal is ever gonna change that. Gotta think. Gotta plan. Gotta get the fuck out of here. To where? For how long? I don’t have that kind of cash…. I try to get my breathing under control. Find some sort of comfort. Tell myself it’s gonna be all right. I’m keeping with the program.

In mathematics, students are at the mercy of rigidly applied algorithms. They learn to use certain formalisms in certain ways, often effectively, if provided with a pre-arranged signal that a particular formalism is wanted. In social studies and the humanities, the enemies of understanding are scripts and stereotypes. Students readily believe that events occur in typical ways, and they evoke these scripts even inappropriately. For example, they regard struggles between two parties in a dispute as a "good guy versus bad guy" movie script.

In biology, the most basic assumptions of evolutionary theory elude otherwise able students who insist that the process of evolution is guided by a striving toward perfection. College students who have studied economics offer explanations of market forces that are essentially identical to those preferred by college students who have never taken an economics course. Equally severe biases and stereotypes pervade the humanistic segment of the curriculum, from history to art. Students who can discuss in detail the complex causes of the First World War turn right around and explain equally complex current events in terms of the simplest "good guy-bad guy" scenario. (This habit of mind is not absent from political leaders, who are fond of portraying the most complicated international situations along the lines of a Hollywood script.) Those who have studied the intricacies of modern poetry, learning to esteem T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound, show little capacity to distinguish masterworks from amateurish drivel once the identity of the author has been hidden from view.

with his daughter.” “Incest?” Rainie looked at Quincy incredulously. “Jesus, SupSpAg, how do you sleep with that mind?” “I can’t be sure,” Quincy said modestly, “but it has all the classic signs. Domineering father alone with his young daughter for the first thirteen years of her life. Seems very doting on the outside. I’m sure if you conducted further interviews you’d find plenty of neighbors and teachers telling you how ‘close’ Mr. Avalon and his daughter were. How ‘involved’ he was in her life. But then she hits puberty and the jig is up. To continue risks pregnancy, plus she’s starting to get a woman’s body, and many of these men aren’t interested in that. So Mr. Avalon goes ahead and takes a wife, some poor, passive woman to serve as window dressing and help him appear suitable to the outside world. Now he clings to the fantasy of what he once had. And protects it jealously.” “Does Mr. Avalon have access to a computer?” Rainie asked Luke. “In his office.” She turned to Quincy. “If Mr. Avalon was involved with his daughter, would he have problems with her relationship with VanderZanden?” “He’ll have problems with any of her relationships. In his mind, she’s his.” “That’s it then. He found out, got angry—” “And got an alibi,” Luke interrupted flatly. They looked at him sharply. He was nearly apologetic. “I tried, Rainie. I stayed in town till eleven last night trying to break this guy’s story. I’ve probably pissed off every blue blood in the city and it still holds. Mr. Avalon was in a business meeting all day Tuesday. His secretary swears

On the deck was a skeleton. Some of the bugs seemed to be fighting for the last scraps of flesh but pretty much everything but bone and some scraps of skin and hair were gone. Bugs were even crawling in and out of the eye sockets, cleaning out the brains. “Holy crap,” Woodman said, “I don’t want those getting on me!” “I just figured out what they are,” Gardner said, stepping through the hatch after a flash around with her light. Every step caused a crunch. “And they won’t bite.” “They stripped that guy to the bone!” Woodman said. “That’s what they do,” Gardner said, bending down and picking up one of the beetles. It skittered along her arm and she shook it off. “They’re carrion beetles.” “Carrion?” Woodman said. “So they eat people?” “They eat dead flesh,” Gardner said. “I’d heard Wolf say he’d ‘seeded’ the boat. I didn’t know it was with these.” “Wolf did this?” Woodman said angrily. “To our people?” “Six of us came off, Woodie,” Gardner said softly. “Ninety-four and twenty-six refugees didn’t. You’ve carried bodies. You know how heavy they are. Now . . . they’re not.” “That’s horrible,” Woodman said. “No,” Gardner said, flashing her light around. “It’s efficient, simple and brutal. It’s Wolf all over if you think about it. These things only eat dead flesh. They may get into some of the electronics but those are mostly thrashed by the infecteds, anyway. It cleans the boat out of the main issue, the dead meat on the dead people. If we ever get around to clearing this out, all we’ll have to do is bag the bones.” “We won’t know who’s who,” Woodman said. “Does it matter?” Gardner said. “There’s a big thing, it’s called an ossuary, in France. All the guys who died in a certain battle in World War One. They buried them, waited for bugs like this to do their work, then dug them back up. All of certain bones are on the left, all the others are on the right and the skulls are in the middle.” She picked up the skull of the former Coast Guard crewman and looked at it as beetles poured out. “I don’t know who you were but you were my brother,” Gardner said. “This way, I know I can give you a decent burial. And I will remember you. Now, we’ve got a mission to complete, Woodman, and people waiting on us. Live people. Let the dead bury the dead.

Although the sight of the man was imposing, Eddie didn't fear him. He understood well, that this was one of the good guys. More than a good guy. Commander Chrono, was the main mascot of the video game. The hero, who leads humanity to victory against the Reptilians.

Jimmy Fratianno did worry and rightly so, for he suffered for Sinatra’s behaviour being hassled by the Vegas cops – until he had a word that someone might get much more than hassled unless the aggravation against him ceased. The Mob thought Sinatra stupid for his behaviour. It was not the place or time. Nevertheless, in those fledging days at the Desert Inn, with seven different law agencies monitoring operations, Sinatra also spent even more time with Johnny Rosselli, who was the perfect mobster for Las Vegas. He could be anything anybody wanted him to be. He was attractive to women (by now lovers included Betty Hutton, Lana Turner and Donna ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ Reed) and Sinatra found him fun, good company and a generous all-around guy. He was a facilitator. He could arrange the murder of ‘Russian Louis’ Strauss who tried to blackmail his friend Benny Binion the owner of the Horseshoe Casino. He could get a girl a date with Frank Sinatra and vice versa. He met with Howard Hughes, who had a jealousy-inspired (Marilyn Monroe and Ava Gardner) lifetime hatred for Sinatra, and acted as Hughes’s go-between with Meyer Lansky and Moe Dalitz. They said George Raft was a great dancer, yet Johnny Rosselli could expertly waltz to anybody’s tune.

The rule was: everything in its place. To this day I paint in one part of my house, write in another, read in another; read in fact, in two others: frivolous and delicious reading such as Simenon and Erle Stanley Gardner in one room, scholarship in another. And when I am away from home, I am somebody else. This may seem suspicious to the simple mind of a psychiatrist, but it seems natural enough. My cat does not know me when we meet a block away from home, and I gather from his expression that I'm not supposed to know him, either.

get the bad guys. That’s all I’m sayin’. Let’s go.” Once again, Jessica looked at her as if she’d lost all sense. Hayley was already at the door. “If you don’t want to come with

He’s a guy with a one-track mind. When he starts for one objective he can’t think of anything else.

When a book, any sort of book, reaches a certain intensity of artistic performance, it becomes literature. That intensity may be a matter of style, situation, character, emotional tone, or idea, or half a dozen other things. It may also be a perfection of control over the movement of a story similar to the control a great pitcher has over the ball. That is to me what you have more than anything else and more than anyone else. . . . The character that lasts is an ordinary guy with some extraordi-nary qualities. Perry Mason is the perfect detective because he has the intellectual approach of the juridical mind and at the same time the restless quality of the adventurer who won’t stay put. I think he is just about perfect. So let’s not have any more of that phooey about “as literature my stuff still stinks.” Who says so—William Dean Howells? Raymond Chandler to Erle Stanley Gardner, 1946

I mean, if this guy is her brother, why is she so freakin’ anxious to get away from him?

Kind of guy who’d sell out his own mother to get ahead, that’s for sure. Maybe he did.

Nah, his fake company produced paperwork that real people could use to apply for real visas. Guy got greedy, though. Soon enough, the powers that be got wise to a small firm needing hundreds of engineers. Especially when none of the foreigners applying for work had an engineering degree. Good while it lasted, though.

As early as November 1966, the Red Guard Corps of Beijing Normal University had set their sights on the Confucian ancestral home in Qufu County in Shandong Province. Invoking the language of the May Fourth movement, they proceeded to Qufu, where they established themselves as the Revolutionary Rebel Liaison State to Annihilate the Old Curiosity Shop of Confucius. Within the month they had totally destroyed the Temple of Confucius, the Kong Family Mansion, the Cemetery of Confucius (including the Master’s grave), and all the statues, steles, and relics in the area... In January 1967 another Red Guard unit editorialized in the People’s Daily: To struggle against Confucius, the feudal mummy, and thoroughly eradicate . . . reactionary Confucianism is one of our important tasks in the Great Cultural Revolution. And then, to make their point, they went on a nationwide rampage, destroying temples, statues, historical landmarks, texts, and anything at all to do with the ancient Sage... The Cultural Revolution came to an end with Mao’s death in 1976. In 1978 Deng Xiaoping (1904–97) became China’s paramount leader, setting China on a course of economic and political reform, and effectively bringing an end to the Maoist ideal of class conflict and perpetual revolution. Since 2000, the leadership in Beijing, eager to advance economic prosperity and promote social stability, has talked not of the need for class conflict but of the goal of achieving a “harmonious society,” citing approvingly the passage from the Analects, “harmony is something to be cherished” (1.12). The Confucius compound in Qufu has been renovated and is now the site of annual celebrations of Confucius’s birthday in late September. In recent years, colleges and universities throughout the country—Beijing University, Qufu Normal University, Renmin University, Shaanxi Normal University, and Shandong University, to name a few—have established Confucian study and research centers. And, in the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Olympics, the Beijing Olympic Committee welcomed guests from around the world to Beijing with salutations from the Analects, “Is it not a joy to have friends come from afar?” and “Within the fours seas all men are brothers,” not with sayings from Mao’s Little Red Book. Tellingly, when the Chinese government began funding centers to support the study of the Chinese language and culture in foreign schools and universities around the globe in 2004—a move interpreted as an ef f ort to expand China’s “soft power”—it chose to name these centers Confucius Institutes... The failure of Marxism-Leninism has created an ideological vacuum, prompting people to seek new ways of understanding society and new sources of spiritual inspiration. The endemic culture of greed and corruption—spawned by the economic reforms and the celebration of wealth accompanying them—has given rise to a search for a set of values that will address these social ills. And, crucially, rising nationalist sentiments have fueled a desire to fi nd meaning within the native tradition—and to of f set the malignant ef f ects of Western decadence and materialism. Confucius has thus played a variety of roles in China’s twentieth and twenty-first centuries. At times praised, at times vilified, he has been both good guy and bad guy. Yet whether good or bad, he has always been somewhere on the stage. These days Confucius appears to be gaining favor again, in official circles and among the people. But what the future holds for him and his teachings is difficult to predict. All we can say with any certainty is that Confucius will continue to matter.

If something you do hurts no one but yourself, then you have a choice to make. Your choice. Not mine, not the guy over there jacking off in the corner,

I’ve not done much living in my life, but I met this guy who makes me want to live it.

In a perfect cinematic world we would've captured the bad guys in spectacular fashion with explosions, car chases, and a parting kiss. She would've been played by Ava Gardner, and I would've been played by Robert Taylor.

Every woman has a moment in her life when she realizes she genuinely loves a guy, and he’s just not worth it.

She could easily count the number of times she’d had sex since—and she only needed one hand. It didn’t take long for the few guys she had dated to sense she had “issues” that needed to be dealt with before she could have any sort of meaningful relationship.

But it was Archie, the creation of an eccentric radio writer-director named Ed Gardner, who refined the insult and made it an art form. When the tavern was visited by noted critic Clifton Fadiman (the similarity of whose name to Clifton Finnegan needed no elaboration), Archie greeted him with “Whaddaya know, besides everything?” Dancer Vera Zorina was introduced as “da terpsicorpse from da ballet.” To heavyweight party-giver Elsa Maxwell, Archie quipped, “Speakin’ of th’ Four Hundred, how’re you and the other 398?” About highbrow music critic Deems Taylor, Archie informed Duffy: “He’s got no talent of his own, he just talks about the other guys at the Philharmonica.

That summer, Hagarty told Harold Gardner and Jeff Reeves, was the happiest summer of his life —he should have been on the lookout, he said; he should have known that God only puts a rug under guys like him in order to jerk it out from under their feet.