Hawthorne Brothers Quotes

When words are real enough, when they’re the exact right words, when what you’re saying matters, when it’s beautiful and perfect and true—it hurts.

Let the rest of the players think I’m dealing with daddy issues. Hawthornes have grandaddy issues instead.

Some of us exist just a little too loudly for the comfort of those who would prefer we did not exist at all

I'm not good at losing people." Grayson paused. "Either that," he continued hoarsely, "or I am exceptionally good at losing people.

I'll have you know that most celebrity sites rank me as the second-hottest Hawthorne." -Jameson

It always came down to power and control—who had them, who didn’t, who would lose them first

He saw the stylists first, then Avery, and once he saw Avery, it was like he couldn’t see anything else.

If you want, Mystery Girl, you can start calling me Mystery Boy." -Jameson

Screw Ian. Jameson didn't need Ian. It was--now and always--Jameson and Avery against the world

When you're old enough, when you're ready, be warned: There is nothing frivolous about the way a Hawthrone man loves.

Four Hawthornes, four suits. Avery wore black.

ALICE HAWTHORNE IS ALIVE.

The world is kinder to winners

I never meant to hurt you," Grayson told her. "I know," Gigi said simply. She's not leaving. I haven't lost her. Grayson didn't ignore the emotions twisting in his gut and rising up inside him. For once in his life, he just let them come. "I like my sister," he told her. This time, there was nothing pained about Gigi's smile. "I know.

Once you see that web of possibilities laid out in front of you, unencumbered by fear of pain or failure, by thoughts telling you what can and cannot, should and should not be done… What will you do with what you see?

Everything about her killed him in the best possible way.

You don’t have pockets,” she said slowly. “Only abs.” She frowned. “Brothers should not have abs.” “I agree,” Xander said solemnly. “Put on some clothes, man!

Repeat after me, Gray: My feelings are valid.” “Stop talking,” Grayson ordered. “My emotions are real,” Xander continued. “Go on. Say it.” “I’m hanging up on you now.” “Who’s your favorite brother?” Xander called loudly enough that Grayson could still hear him even as he removed the phone from his ear. “Nash,” he answered loudly. “Lies!” Grayson’s phone vibrated. “I’m getting another call,” he told Xander. “More lies!” Xander said happily. “Give my regards to Girl Grayson!” “Good-bye, Xander.” “You said good-b—

Because when you love a woman or a man or anyone the way we love, there is no going back.

Regret never pays dividends

Then why haven’t you noticed I’m not your only tail?” —Nash

H, the word is, two lowercase letters at the very end: v and e.

I am asking you," she continued fiercely, "to remember that this matters." His pain. His body. "You matter.

It was made with love,” Xander told him. “Just like I tackle with love.” “No tackling,” Nash said.

Which one of those explains your face?" Nash asked Jameson. The bruises and swelling clearly suggested that their brother had been in one hell of a fight. "Some faces need no explanation," Jameson replied. He gestured to his own. "Work of art.

All one really has to do to win is control the players

And Nash? He’s going to kill you—and me.” “Libby won’t let him. Killing bad. Cupcakes good.

Where angels fear to tread, have your fun instead.” Rohan’s voice was almost musical, but there was something dark in his tone. A promise. One that Jameson suspected that men in Rohan’s position had been making for centuries. “But be warned: The house always wins.

May his crotch forever itch in places that are very difficult to scratch and his fingers turn to sausages on his hands.

He had a winged nature; she was rather of the vegetable kind, and could hardly be kept long alive, if drawn up by the roots. Thus it happened that the relation heretofore existing between her brother and herself was changed.

You're Hawthornes," the old man said. "If you're going to do something- and I do consider wrestling to be something- then do it well. Do it right.

Dont have hobbies... have specialties

Great.My brother was an entertainer and I was a sleeping pill.

Who I am is less important than who I work for

Most people considered power and weakness opposites, but Grayson had learned early in life that the real opposite of weakness was control.

When words are real enough, when they're the exact right words, when what you're saying matters, when it's beautiful and perfect and true - it hurts.

Accuracy is the twin brother of honesty; inaccuracy, of dishonesty.

76. David Hume – Treatise on Human Nature; Essays Moral and Political; An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding 77. Jean-Jacques Rousseau – On the Origin of Inequality; On the Political Economy; Emile – or, On Education, The Social Contract 78. Laurence Sterne – Tristram Shandy; A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy 79. Adam Smith – The Theory of Moral Sentiments; The Wealth of Nations 80. Immanuel Kant – Critique of Pure Reason; Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals; Critique of Practical Reason; The Science of Right; Critique of Judgment; Perpetual Peace 81. Edward Gibbon – The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire; Autobiography 82. James Boswell – Journal; Life of Samuel Johnson, Ll.D. 83. Antoine Laurent Lavoisier – Traité Élémentaire de Chimie (Elements of Chemistry) 84. Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison – Federalist Papers 85. Jeremy Bentham – Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation; Theory of Fictions 86. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe – Faust; Poetry and Truth 87. Jean Baptiste Joseph Fourier – Analytical Theory of Heat 88. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel – Phenomenology of Spirit; Philosophy of Right; Lectures on the Philosophy of History 89. William Wordsworth – Poems 90. Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Poems; Biographia Literaria 91. Jane Austen – Pride and Prejudice; Emma 92. Carl von Clausewitz – On War 93. Stendhal – The Red and the Black; The Charterhouse of Parma; On Love 94. Lord Byron – Don Juan 95. Arthur Schopenhauer – Studies in Pessimism 96. Michael Faraday – Chemical History of a Candle; Experimental Researches in Electricity 97. Charles Lyell – Principles of Geology 98. Auguste Comte – The Positive Philosophy 99. Honoré de Balzac – Père Goriot; Eugenie Grandet 100. Ralph Waldo Emerson – Representative Men; Essays; Journal 101. Nathaniel Hawthorne – The Scarlet Letter 102. Alexis de Tocqueville – Democracy in America 103. John Stuart Mill – A System of Logic; On Liberty; Representative Government; Utilitarianism; The Subjection of Women; Autobiography 104. Charles Darwin – The Origin of Species; The Descent of Man; Autobiography 105. Charles Dickens – Pickwick Papers; David Copperfield; Hard Times 106. Claude Bernard – Introduction to the Study of Experimental Medicine 107. Henry David Thoreau – Civil Disobedience; Walden 108. Karl Marx – Capital; Communist Manifesto 109. George Eliot – Adam Bede; Middlemarch 110. Herman Melville – Moby-Dick; Billy Budd 111. Fyodor Dostoevsky – Crime and Punishment; The Idiot; The Brothers Karamazov 112. Gustave Flaubert – Madame Bovary; Three Stories 113. Henrik Ibsen – Plays 114. Leo Tolstoy – War and Peace; Anna Karenina; What is Art?; Twenty-Three Tales 115. Mark Twain – The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; The Mysterious Stranger 116. William James – The Principles of Psychology; The Varieties of Religious Experience; Pragmatism; Essays in Radical Empiricism 117. Henry James – The American; The Ambassadors 118. Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche – Thus Spoke Zarathustra; Beyond Good and Evil; The Genealogy of Morals;The Will to Power 119. Jules Henri Poincaré – Science and Hypothesis; Science and Method 120. Sigmund Freud – The Interpretation of Dreams; Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis; Civilization and Its Discontents; New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis 121. George Bernard Shaw – Plays and Prefaces

My brother," I said with emphasis, in case the snow had blinded her and she hadn't realized exactly who she'd been standing there with.

Some of us exist just a little too loudly for the comfort of those who would prefer we did not exist at all.

There were no coincidences in Hawthorne House.

Jameson thought about what he’d written down, and it took everything in him not to look at Avery, because suddenly, her presence here didn’t seem like a boon. It was a risk. After all, Jameson could hear the Proprietor saying, these things are always more interesting when at least a few players have “skin in the game.” Anyone reading those words would be bad. Avery reading them would open Pandora’s box.

Gigi took in that info. “I am starting to feel distressingly sober. I think I need another mimosa.” “You got drunk on mimosas?” Nash asked mildly. Gigi held up a single finger. Xander interpreted. “On one mimosa?” “And four cups of coffee,” Gigi admitted.

a sharply feminine smile that said I could kill you with a strand of pearls.

Let the rest of the players think I’m dealing with daddy issues. Hawthornes have granddaddy issues instead.

Nothing hurts unless you let it. Nothing matters unless you let it.

But the last girl at this school who got tangled up with the Hawthorne brothers? The last girl who spent hour after hour in that house? She died.

A lot of people hated our grandfather. It was kind of his thing - that and painstakingly creating the perfect heirs even though he always intended to disinherit us. Those were really his two things.

You both love Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, Hawthorne and Melville, Flaubert and Stendahl, but at that stage of your life you cannot stomach Henry James, while Gwyn argues that he is the giant of giants, the colossus who makes all other novelists look like pygmies. You are in complete harmony about the greatness of Kafka and Beckett, but when you tell her that Celine belongs in their company, she laughs at you and calls him a fascist maniac. Wallace Stevens yes, but next in line for you is William Carlos Williams, not T.S. Eliot, whose work Gwyn can recite from memory. You defend Keaton, she defends Chaplin, and while you both howl at the sight of the Marx Brothers, your much-adored W.C. Fields cannot coax a single smile from her. Truffaut at his best touches you both, but Gwyn finds Godard pretentious and you don't, and while she lauds Bergman and Antonioni as twin masters of the universe, you reluctantly tell her that you are bored by their films. No conflicts about classical music, with J.S. Bach at the top of the list, but you are becoming increasingly interested in jazz, while Gwyn still clings to the frenzy of rock and roll, which has stopped saying much of anything to you. She likes to dance, and you don't. She laughs more than you do and smokes less. She is a freer, happier person than you are, and whenever you are with her, the world seems brighter and more welcoming, a place where your sullen, introverted self can almost begin to feel at home.

Where was his cheat sheet?

Promises mattered to Grayson Hawthorne—and so did Avery Kylie Grambs. The girl who had inherited their grandfather’s fortune. The stranger who had become one of them.

When didn’t I stop for pie?” Xander replied philosophically.

Got any cookies?" Grayson asked quietly. "I always have cookies!" Xander disappeared into the suite's kitchen and came back with a half-empty package of double-stuffed Oreos and the single tallest Oreo that Grayson had ever seen. "Octuple-stuffed Oreo?" Xander offered.

Grayson felt his eyes turn to slits. "Not now, Alexander." "Too fresh?" Xander asked. "Sorry, double sorry, triple, up to and including octuple sorry. You needed someone to get you out of your own head, and Nash keeps telling me that there are times when tackling people is inappropriate." "Most times," Nash said. Xander was not so convinced. "Personally, I think tackling is a valid love language, but let's not debate semantics here.

Heiress

love a woman who has her priorities in order. Tacos first, then diamonds.

But lay a hand on anyone who does not want a hand there or who is too inebriated to consent, and I cannot guarantee that you will still have a hand in the morning.

Grayson Hawthorne was power and control.

Jameson hated to see any similarity between himself and his spoiled, sometimes homicidal mother,

But Jameson excelled at pissing people off, and he'd always been taught to play to his strengths.

Nash." The gleam in Jamie's eyes was downright wicked, "I dare you to eat your hat.

Because I think I fell for her the moment I laid eyes on her. It’d been like getting punched in the face. I saw fucking stars. Fucking. Stars.

the last girl at this school who got tangled up with the Hawthorne brothers? The last girl who spent hour after hour in that house? She died.

But what-if is different once you have kids, because all of a sudden, everything leading up to their births, those choices, those realities are set in stone. Because if things had been even a little different, they might not exist, and that is the one possibility you cannot bear.

That won't be enough." How many times had Jameson heard some iteration of those words? How many times had he said them to himself? When you have certain weaknesses, you have to want it more.

He’d taken Emily cliff-jumping, and she’d died. He’d failed to go to Avery when his father’s bomb had nearly killed her, and he’d lost her to his brother. He’d trusted Eve, and she’d betrayed him.

There is no other fear so horrible and unhumanizing as that which makes man dread to breathe heaven’s vital air lest it be poison, or to grasp the hand of a brother or friend lest the grip of the pestilence should clutch him.

He would likely either leave engaged or unconscious, depending on how things went with Lady Miranda and her brothers. Women weren’t usually forgiving when they learned they’d been fooled, and men were rarely restrained when a sister felt her honor had been slighted.

Grayson’s expression became, in a word, murderous. “He touches her when she doesn’t want to be touched. I saw the father do the same thing to Acacia—a hand on her shoulder, inching toward her neck.” There were slabs of granite softer than Grayson’s jaw at that moment. “The son is whiny,” he told them. “The father is dangerous.” “So we take him out.” Nash took off his second-favorite cowboy hat. Jameson smiled. Kent Trowbridge didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. No one stood a chance against any two of the Hawthorne brothers, let alone all four. “What do we have to work with, Gray?

Tacos first, then diamonds

There are never any guarantees, Kate. Not in life, certainly not in love.

Wright died in his room at home at 7 Hawthorn Street at 3:15 in the morning, Thursday, May 30, 1912. He was forty-five years old.

It was a rare man who could effectively threaten a bloke and tease a brother in the same breath.

Griffith didn’t like losing to his younger brother.

This is Katara. She’s a sexy beast that loves cuddles but will scratch you if the situation calls for it.

This was what it meant to be a Hawthorne. This should probably be in a museum, but my brothers and I like to hit things with it instead.

How many times had he heard himself described that way? How many times had he punished himself for being anything less?

Nash leaned back. “You accusin’ me of a being a mother hen, Gray?

The more Gigi talked, the faster she talked. Grayson was beginning to develop the sense that she should not be given caffeine. At all.

Nash already proposed. He and Libby are already engaged.

There was nothing that got under Nash’s skin like a man mistreating a woman.

It always came back to that word—needing more, wanting more, wanting to be more.

It was so unexpected that Jameson almost didn’t notice—I have his laugh.

If yes is no, and once is never, then how many sides does a triangle have? -Jameson Hawthorne

You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Avery asked. Jameson opened his eyes, stared into hers, then lit the fuse. “No, Heiress. We are.

Jameson Winchester Hawthorne wasn’t giving that up. He wasn’t giving up, period.

Seven thousand, one hundred, and forty-five days" he whispers into my throat, his lips close to my ear. I lean back, catching his eye. "What's that?" "That's how many days I've loved you.

So. Should I be offended you threw my brother’s face behind your couch?” I wince. “I really hoped you didn’t see that.” “I mean, at least you tossed an ambulance back there to keep him company. The EMTS can dress his wounds if anything happened to his very pretty face.

unless there be real affection in his heart, a man cannot,—such is the bad state to which the world has brought itself,—cannot more effectually show his contempt for a brother mortal, nor more gallingly assume a position of superiority, than by addressing him as "friend.

You have a girlfriend,' Gigi said with a roll of her eyes. 'Fine, then. What is this imaginary girlfriend like?' 'Smart,' Grayson said, and there was still a part of him - a fainter part now, like an echo or a memory or a shadow - that had to fight to keep from seeing Avery's face when he said it.

Nah, I knew it was you. Nate texted and asked if I wanted to let you in.” “Wait, you could have said no?” Brody asks. “Rude.” “Brilliant,” Perry says. “I’d love to be able to screen people before they make it to my porch.” “But then you’d just say no to everyone,” Lennox says. Perry smiles. “Exactly.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” Xander quoted, wiggling his eyebrows—one of which had only just started to grow back after an experiment gone wrong. “And anything done well can be done better.” Why would a Hawthorne settle for better, a voice whispered in the back of Grayson’s mind, when they could be the best?

I could ask you where my brothers are." Xander fell in next to me in the hallway. "And what they're up to. Or..." He flashed me a ridiculous smile. "I could beckon you to the dark side through the overwhelming power of my charisma." "the dark side?" I snorted. "Would it help if I brooded?"Xander asked as we came to the door of my next class. "I can brood!

Under the pretense of wanting to record the history of my brother’s year at college, I’d asked to take a picture of Sam with his roommate. Unfortunately, the zoom on my digital camera had somehow been pressed—by a renegade finger, I assumed—and I’d only been able to get a really good close-up shot of Brad. No evidence of Sam in sight. Gosh, darn. What a shame! The photo was now the background wallpaper on my computer desktop.

Of the immediate family of 7 Hawthorn Street, only Bishop Wright had yet to fly. Nor had anyone of his age ever flown anywhere on earth. He had been with the brothers from the start, helping in every way he could, never losing faith in them or their aspirations. Now, at eighty-two, with the crowd cheering, he walked out to the starting point, where Orville, without hesitation, asked him to climb aboard. They took off, soaring over Huffman Prairie at about 350 feet for a good six minutes, during which the Bishop’s only words were, “Higher, Orville, higher!

For two months, Dad, it would be like you had a son. Someone to pitch baseballs to--” “I pitch baseballs to you.” “Someone to hit fly balls to--” “I hit fly balls to you.” “You’d have a real boy--” “He’s not Geppetto,” Tiffany said, “waiting for the blue fairy to touch us with her magic wand.” Maybe not, but I knew Dad had always wanted a son. What father didn’t? But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was: I wanted a boyfriend this summer, and to have a boyfriend, I needed to meet boys, and the Lonestar League was guys, guys, guys. Honesty time. I released a big sigh. “All right, so maybe I’d like to have a brother for the summer.” Okay, not so honest.

Once he stared the car, I said, “I just want you to know I’m paying for my meal, because I know it’ll be full price, and I didn’t want you to think I was expecting you to pay for it, because this isn’t a date. It’s just the team and the host sisters, brothers, whatever, getting together to have some fun tonight since it’s raining…or was raining…it’s obviously not raining now. And you’re just giving me a ride, not a meal.” Shut me up! Shut me up! Shut me up! He shifted into reverse, then backed out of the driveway. “I’m buying your dinner.” “No, really--” “Dani.” It was the first time I could recall him actually saying my name. I loved the way it just rumbled, his voice so deep, so perfect. I wanted him to say it again, over and over. But he’d stopped in the middle of the street. I figured any minute Dad was going to come barreling out of the house to find out what was wrong. I looked over at Jason. “I’m buying your dinner, as my thanks to you for convincing your family to host me. Just accept it, okay?” I nodded. “Okay.” He drove, and I settled into my seat, wondering what other surprises the night might hold.

Are you driving?” I asked Sam. “Nope. I plan to do some drinking,” Sam said. “You’re not old enough,” I reminded him. “Never stopped me before.” “Sam!” He halted and glared at me. “What? You gonna tattle to Mom and Dad?” Was I? No. But he didn’t know that. Besides, as irritating as my brother was, he was good for one thing: blackmail. And it was payback time for the snowball he’d hit me with yesterday. “Not if you make a contribution to the Kate-have-a-good-time fund.” “Ah, Kate, come on. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m a responsible drinker.” “How can you be responsible if you’re breaking the law?” “I don’t drive when I drink. No one gets hurt except me, if I happen to fall flat on my face.” “You get that drunk?” “I’ve got better things to do than discuss my life with you.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “How much?” “Twenty should do it.” “Five.” “Ten.” He held out the bill that had one of my favorite presidents on it. “You know, Kate, no one likes a snitch.” I snatched it from his fingers, folded it up, and shoved it into the front pocket of my jeans. “Payback’s a bitch, Brother.” “What?” “I wouldn’t have tattled. But I didn’t like getting hit with a snowball yesterday, either. So now we’re even.” He snapped his fingers. “Give it back.” “Nope. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” “You don’t even know what that means.” “And I suppose you do.

Sweet to me your voice, said Caolcrodha Mac Morna, brother to sweet-worded sweet-toothed Goll from Sliabh Riabhach and Brosnacha Bladhma, relate then the attributes that are to Finn's people. [...] I will relate, said Finn. Till a man has accomplished twelve books of poetry, the same is not taken for want of poetry but is forced away. No man is taken till a black hole is hollowed in the world to the depth of his two oxters and he put into it to gaze from it with his lonely head and nothing to him but his shield and a stick of hazel. Then must nine warriors fly their spears at him, one with the other and together. If he be spear-holed past his shield, or spear-killed, he is not taken for want of shield-skill. No man is taken till he is run by warriors through the woods of Erin with his hair bunched-loose about him for bough-tangle and briar-twitch. Should branches disturb his hair or pull it forth like sheep-wool on a hawthorn, he is not taken but is caught and gashed. Weapon-quivering hand or twig-crackling foot at full run, neither is taken. Neck-high sticks he must pass by vaulting, knee-high sticks by stooping. With the eyelids to him stitched to the fringe of his eye-bags, he must be run by Finn's people through the bogs and the marsh-swamps of Erin with two odorous prickle-backed hogs ham-tied and asleep in the seat of his hempen drawers. If he sink beneath a peat-swamp or lose a hog, he is not accepted of Finn's people. For five days he must sit on the brow of a cold hill with twelve-pointed stag-antlers hidden in his seat, without food or music or chessmen. If he cry out or eat grass-stalks or desist from the constant recital of sweet poetry and melodious Irish, he is not taken but is wounded. When pursued by a host, he must stick a spear in the world and hide behind it and vanish in its narrow shelter or he is not taken for want of sorcery. Likewise he must hide beneath a twig, or behind a dried leaf, or under a red stone, or vanish at full speed into the seat of his hempen drawers without changing his course or abating his pace or angering the men of Erin. Two young fosterlings he must carry under the armpits to his jacket through the whole of Erin, and six arm-bearing warriors in his seat together. If he be delivered of a warrior or a blue spear, he is not taken. One hundred head of cattle he must accommodate with wisdom about his person when walking all Erin, the half about his armpits and the half about his trews, his mouth never halting from the discoursing of sweet poetry. One thousand rams he must sequester about his trunks with no offence to the men of Erin, or he is unknown to Finn. He must swiftly milk a fat cow and carry milk-pail and cow for twenty years in the seat of his drawers. When pursued in a chariot by the men of Erin he must dismount, place horse and chariot in the slack of his seat and hide behind his spear, the same being stuck upright in Erin. Unless he accomplishes these feats, he is not wanted of Finn. But if he do them all and be skilful, he is of Finn's people.

I would rather face the devil himself than that man,” Elizabeth said with a repressed shudder. “I daresay,” Lucinda agreed, clutching her umbrella with one hand and the side of the cart with her other. The nearer the time came, the more angry and confused Elizabeth became about this meeting. For the first four days of their journey, her tension had been greatly allayed by the scenic grandeur of Scotland with its rolling hills and deep valleys carpeted in bluebells and hawthorne. Now, however, as the hour of confronting him drew near, not even the sight of the mountains decked out in spring flowers or the bright blue lakes below could calm her mounting tension. “Furthermore, I cannot believe he has the slightest desire to see me.” “We shall soon find out.” In the hills above the high, winding track that passed for a road, a shepherd paused to gape at an old wooden wagon making its laborious way along the road below. “Lookee there, Will,” he told his brother. “Do you see what I see?” The brother looked down and gaped, his lips parting in a toothless grin of glee at the comical sight of two ladies-bonnets, gloves, and all-who were perched primly and precariously on the back of Sean MacLaesh’s haywagon, their backs ramrod-stiff, their feet sticking straight out beyond the wagon. “Don’t that beat all,” Will laughed, and high above the haywagon he swept off his cap in a mocking salute to the ladies. “I heered in the village Ian Thornton was acomin’ home. I’ll wager ‘e’s arrived, and them two are his fancy pieces, come to warm ‘is bed an’ see to ‘is needs.” Blessedly unaware of the conjecture taking place between the two spectators up in the hills, Miss Throckmorton-Jones brushed angrily and ineffectually at the coating of dust clinging to her black skirts. “I have never in all my life been subjected to such treatment!” she hissed furiously as the wagon they were riding in gave another violet, creaking lurch and her shoulder banged into Elizabeth’s. “You may depend on this-I shall give Mr. Ian Thornton a piece of my mind for inviting two gentlewomen to this godforsaken wilderness, and never even mentioning that a traveling baroche is too wide for the roads!” Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something soothing, but just then the wagon gave another teeth-jarring lurch, and she clutched at the wooden side. “From what little I know of him, Lucy,” she managed finally when the wagon righted, “he wouldn’t care in the least what we’ve been through. He’s rude and inconsiderate-and those are his good points-“ “Whoa there, whoa,” the farmer called out, sawing back on the swayback nags reins and bringing the wagon to a groaning stop. “That’s the Thornton place up there atop yon hill,” the farmer said, pointing.