Holly Jolly Quotes

How do I love thee? wondered Orion. "Let me see. I love thee passionately and eternally...obviously eternally-that goes without saying." Holly blinked sweat from her eyes. "Is he serious?" she called over her shoulder to Foaly. "Oh, absolutely," said the centaur "If he asks you to look for birthmarks, say no immediately." "Oh, I would never." Orion assured her. "Ladies don't look for birthmarks; that is work for jolly fellows like the Goodly Beast and myself. Ladies, like Miss Short, do enough by simply existing. They exude beauty, and that is enough." "I am not exuding anything." said Holly, through gritted teeth. Orion tapped her shoulder. "I beg to differ. You're exuding right now, a wonderful aura. It's pastel blue with little dolphins." Holly gripped the wheel tightly. "I'm going to be sick. Did he just say pastel blue?" "And dolphins, little ones," said Foaly.

It's supposed to be jolly, with mistletoe and holly... and other things ending in olly.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly.

As she stood there looking about, that radio sound resolved into the bluff baritone of Burl Ives, encouraging all the world to have a holly jolly Christmas, and never mind it was the third week of March. The voice was coming from the attached garage, a dingy building with a single roll-up door and four square windows looking into it, milky with filth.

My Holly Jolly. My forever date. For as long as we both shall live.

Being in love wasn’t just about how you felt about the other person. It was how you felt about yourself when you were with that person. It was knowing, without a doubt, that you were living each day as the best version of yourself.

All we can do is stand up for what we believe in, be a good person, and do our best not to harm anyone in the process.

And then, as if overnight, we’re of marriageable age. Suddenly, we’re not girls in need of protection but women, and being very single was our very own fault.

Gingerbread had always been Helen’s favorite. And that made sense. After all, Christmas was Helen’s favorite time of year.

Dead is dead; and cheap is cheap!

What is it?” Banks asked. “Nothing. Just a guy eating pie.

Inequality is everywhere, Niki,” Diya continued. “Even in Seattle. Some countries are simply better at hiding it.” I smiled weakly. She was right. But it didn’t make it any less difficult to see up close.

Diwali was the Festival of Lights. The celebration of the goodness in this world over darkness. A holiday that could be whatever anyone wanted it to be. And for Sam and me, having first fallen for each other on Diwali, I knew it would always be the day we celebrated our love for each other, too.

(I also barely understood Punjabi, nor did I speak Hindi or any of the hundreds of languages spoken across the subcontinent.) It was a land of unknowns, a place that in my mind existed in the past, a history book of where our family came from. The thought of facing the place for the first time without my parents was suddenly making my heart race.

thought it was Mike who was sobbing. The poor guy! And then there was the time the magic wind switcherooed Katie into Slinky, class 4A’s pet snake. Just thinking about shedding Slinky’s skin still made her itch. Most fourth-grade girls don’t shed. The magic wind was the reason Katie didn’t make wishes anymore. She knew what kinds of weird things could happen if they came true. But she still really, really wanted a Christmas tree, even if she couldn’t wish for one. Luckily, Katie didn’t have to wish this time. Instead, Nick said, “I think we should go to a tree farm and pick one out.

The Last Noel by Jean Hager, A Holly, Jolly Murder by Joan Hess, Midnight Clear by Kathy Hogan Trocheck, Mistletoe from Purple Sage by Barbara Burnett Smith, Ransome for a Holiday by Fred Hunter and We Wish You a Merry Murder by Valerie Wolzien.

Nother

But I was old enough to have learned that sometimes lies—very small ones—weren’t wrong. They were important. Sometimes lies were what held a family together.

We always loved each other as sisters, but now we were starting to love each other as friends, too. The resentment I’d been hiding my whole life had dissolved—completely—and it had left a space for so much more to bloom.

A Holly Jolly Christmas by Burl Ives was playing from a plugged-in plastic radio behind the counter, but the tune did nothing to ease the tension in the room.

Funny how love worked, sometimes fast, sometimes slow; sometimes exactly like the idea of love you had in your head, and sometimes not at all.

Do you know what I remembered?” I interrupted, unable to bite my tongue any longer. The bridesmaids turned to look, as did Masooma, Sam, and the others in our vicinity. I waited a beat, holding their gaze. “My manners.

A babe who hurt you, so as far as I’m concerned, he has warts on his face, his hair line is prematurely receding, and he has three and a half balls.

Oh, you know,” he answered. “I’m just in my car, listening to a power ballad, wondering why you never called me. Again.” “Poor you.” I raised one eyebrow at Jasmine, who was devouring her salmon and nodding approvingly. “Sounds like you’re having a terrible night.” “It could get better.” “Could it?

I would have FedExed you one of my sweaters,” I joked. “And you could have worn it like a hug.” “Would you have sprayed it with Dior?” I laughed, happy that she remembered my brand of perfume. “Absolutely.

Holly Berries A Confederate Christmas Story by Refugitta There was, first, behind the clear crystal pane, a mammoth turkey, so fat that it must have submitted to be killed from sheer inability to eat and move, hung all around with sausage balls and embowered in crisp white celery with its feathered tops. Many a belated housekeeper or father of a family, passing by, cast loving glances at the monster bird, and turned away with their hands on depleted purses and arms full of brown paper parcels. Then there were straw baskets of eggs, white and shining with the delightful prospect of translation into future eggnogs; pale yellow butter stamped with ears of corn, bee hives, and statuesque cows with their tails in an attitude. But these were all substantials, and the principal attraction was the opposition window, where great pyramids of golden oranges, scaly brown pineapples, festoons of bananas, boxes of figs and raisins with their covers thrown temptingly aside, foreign sauces and pickles, cheeses, and gilded walnuts were arranged in picturesque regularity, jut, as it seemed, almost within reach of one’s olfactories and mouth, until a closer proximity realized the fact of that thick plate glass between. Inside it was just the same: there were barrels and boxes in a perfect wilderness; curious old foreign packages and chests, savory of rare teas and rarer jellies; cinnamon odors like gales from Araby meeting you at every turn; but yet everything, from the shining mahogany counter under the brilliant gaslight, up to the broad, clean, round face of the jolly grocer Pin, was so neat and orderly and inviting that you felt inclined to believe yourself requested to come in and take off things by the pocketful, without paying a solitary cent. I acknowledge that it was an unreasonable distribution of favors for Mr. Pin to own, all to himself, this abundance of good things. Now, in my opinion, little children ought to be the shop keepers when there are apples and oranges to be sold, and I know they will all agree with me, for I well remember my earliest ambition was that my papa would turn confectioner, and then I could eat my way right through the store. But our friend John Pin was an appreciative person, and not by any means forgetful of his benefits. All day long and throughout the short afternoon, his domain had been thronged with busy buyers, old and young, and himself and his assistant (a meager-looking young man of about the dimensions of a knitting needle) constantly employed in supplying their demands. From the Southern Illustrated News.

I know that many people including our President insist that it be called the Christmas Season. I’ll be the first in line to say that it works for me however that’s not what it is. We hint at its coming on Halloween when the little tykes take over wandering the neighborhood begging for candy and coins. In this day and age the idea of children wandering the streets threatening people with “Trick or Treat!” just isn’t a good idea. In most cases parents go with them encouraging their offspring’s to politely ask “Anything for Halloween.” An added layer of security occurs when the children are herded into one room to party with friends. It’s all good, safe fun and usually there is enough candy for all of their teeth to rot before they have a chance to grow new ones. Forgotten is the concept that it is a three day observance of those that have passed before us and are considered saints or martyrs. Next we celebrate Thanksgiving, a national holiday (holly day) formally observed in Canada, Liberia, Germany Japan, some countries in the Caribbean and the United States. Most of these countries observe days other than the fourth Thursday of November and think of it as a secular way of celebrating the harvest and abundance of food. Without a hiccup we slide into Black Friday raiding stores for the loot being sold at discounted prices. The same holds true for Cyber Monday when we burn up the internet looking for bargains that will arrive at our doorsteps, brought by the jolly delivery men and women, of FedEx, UPS and USPS. Of course the big days are Chanukah when the Maccabean Revolt against the Seleucid Empire, regained control of Jerusalem. It is a time to gather the family and talk of history and tell stories. Christmas Eve is a time when my family goes to church, mostly to sing carols and distribute gifts, although this usually continued on Christmas day. This is when the term “Merry Christmas” is justified and correct although it is thought that the actual birthday of Christ is in October. The English squeezed another day out of the season, called Boxing Day, which is when the servants got some scraps from the dinner the day before and received a small gift or a dash of money. I do agree that “Xmas” is inappropriate but that’s just me and I don’t go crazy over it. After all, Christmas is for everyone. On the evening of the last day of the year we celebrate New Year’s Evening followed by New Year’s Day which many people sleep through after New Year’s Eve. The last and final day of the Holiday Season is January 6th which Is Epiphany or Three Kings Day. In Tarpon Springs, the Greek Orthodox Priest starts the celebration with the sanctification of the waters followed by the immersion of the cross. It becomes a scramble when local teenage boys dive for the cross thrown into the Spring Bayou as a remembrance of the baptism of Jesus Christ in the Jordan River. This tradition is now over a century old and was first celebrated by the Episcopal Church by early settlers in 1903.

Neil, who everybody calls the nude kid, even though he wears clothes.

On the verge of a scandal. Had broken up with her deadweight boyfriend du jour. (Oh god. Let it be that!) Or maybe she was just being a run-of-the-mill pain yet again, and my parents wanted to vent about it before they ran off to whatever function was on that evening.

She knows very well what a dating app is. Niki, are you on the Tinder? The Bumble? The Hinger?” I smiled, even though I was irritated. Clearly, they’d done their research before the big talk.

Mom narrowed her gaze at me. “And when do you see all these boyfriends and girlfriends? On the bus home from work? Do you sneak them into your parents’ house after you come straight home every day?

I stopped myself before that very unflattering train of thought could run away again. I loved Jasmine more than anything, honestly. I didn’t actually begrudge her happiness. I just wished that I had managed to find some happiness, too.

Until you are stuck in an Indian traffic jam of speeding cars, rickshaws, scooters, and occasional livestock, you can never really know what it’s like.

Even though Diya was privileged, she was still a woman, and sexism cut through everything—class or caste or socioeconomic status—no matter the industry. No matter the country. Back home, tech was notoriously male, and although strides were being taken to make the industry more equitable, there was still a way to go. At my old company, the board of executives that had mandated that ten percent of the company be laid off was made up of one hundred percent men.

They all lived within a stone’s throw from the gurdwara, went to Punjabi school twice a week, and hung out together afterward at one another’s houses—watching Bollywood movies or Punjabi dramas, or practicing bhangra dances they made up and performed at folk festivals and celebrations.

So, you don’t think you were meant to lose that job?” Sam whispered. He moved in closer to me, his elbows resting against the guardrail. “That it was the universe’s way of forcing you to look for one you will love even more?

Fun, giggly Jasmine thought she could go around doing whatever she wanted her whole life, and then tell me not to? How was that fair?

So of course I had to be the good daughter. Live my life the way they wanted. I didn’t want to cause my parents that sort of pain. I had to think carefully about how not to make those same mistakes, to be the calm in the storm rather than the hot, dizzying puff of air that caused it.

Our presents on Christmas morning were minimal, our school supplies the generic brand, our extracurricular activities limited to those freely available through the community center or local Y.

Rationally, I knew I shouldn’t feel guilty. My parents had worked for the life they built in the US for their daughters’ futures, but I wasn’t feeling all that rational these days. “I don’t know how I feel.

I laughed out loud, as if changing the name of the skin lightening cream made a single bit of difference. As if people of color all over the world, particularly women, weren’t still made to feel inferior for having a healthy dose of melanin.

Basically, every auntie who’s ever been told to buy Fair and Lovely.” “Haven’t you heard? Colorism has been dismantled,” Sam joked. “It’s called Glow and Lovely now.” I laughed out loud, as if changing the name of the skin lightening cream made a single bit of difference. As if people of color all over the world, particularly women, weren’t still made to feel inferior for having a healthy dose of melanin.

Diya was exactly like her namesake. She was a light, a shining gift to the world. And I was determined to help wind her back up to the one hundred percent sparkly, optimistic, and love-fueled Diya she always was.

Jasmine was right. I’d caught feelings. I’d caught them bad. And lying there with Sam as he looked so deeply into my eyes it hurt, I knew that he’d caught them, too.

My whole life I’d made practical decision after practical decision, and yes, my parents were happy with me, but I wasn’t. I had a career I wasn’t passionate about and an older sister I was jealous of and an addiction to romantic comedies that I lived through vicariously, and that was it.

What about all the women and girls who didn’t have that option? And not just here in India, but even in the US and the rest of this whole damn world? My head spun, thinking about all of them. Wondering if the world would ever fucking change.

felt his breath hot on my neck. My body was roaring. I was not myself. I was not Niki the good Indian girl who obeyed her parents, whose life revolved around her career, who never let herself get carried away. I didn’t know where the hell she’d gone, but without her, I felt lost and free in equal measure.

two bridesmaids’ lack of compassion and awareness over their own privilege was nothing short of astounding. Not everyone could afford to holiday at beachside resorts and eat out at restaurants. Until recently, they were luxuries my own family wasn’t able to afford.

Jasmine had made them cry harder than she’d ever know, their bedroom door shut, their voices only audible to me when I pressed my ear hard against the wall.

And it simply wasn’t fair. I did everything right, and she did everything wrong. Jasmine spent all her money to live that city life and travel the world over, while I dutifully stayed home to save money for the future, to be there for our parents.

Maybe she didn’t feel like she owed Mom and Dad, but I did. I still lived under their roof. Everything I had was because of their sacrifices, and if they wanted me to be their good Indian daughter, I needed to be.

I was one of the lucky ones. I’d only been followed, and in broad daylight at that, and I had the privilege and the means to order myself a ride back to the hotel, to pay for accommodation, where I could fall asleep feeling safe. What about all the women and girls who didn’t have that option? And not just here in India, but even in the US and the rest of this whole damn world? My head spun, thinking about all of them. Wondering if the world would ever fucking change.

There’s more riding on this particular Christmas than ever before, and I’m coming apart at the seams. I need you to find my stolen property before Christmas Eve, or there’ll be no joy to the world, no ho-ho-ho, no holly jolly, no Feliz in the Navidad, no Frohe in the Weihnachten, no Merry in the Christmas.

Cinnamon, folks. That’s the key to triggering my happiest memories, and if there is one thing I’ve found in my thirty years on earth, it’s that cinnamon is also the key to unlocking almost anyone’s holly jolly side,

With a sigh, I looked out the window to the flurry-bitten darkness outside. Even though I couldn’t see a thing, I already knew what I’d see once the sun came up tomorrow. A clump of forested mountains kissing the sky with a cluster of chimney-topped houses and gas streetlamps nestled below.

I’d be shocked if it’s even signed,” Nolan said.

Little do they know, I caught them on camera, reported them to their parents, and quickly turned their holly jolly Christmas into a stocking full of coal.

Cooney is the school nurse.

maybe when it came down to it, being a kind person was more important than having an empty swear jar.

Be a good girl and tell Santa what you need. This Christmas, Santa aims to please. —INK, "All BeClaus of You," Merry INKmas (Bootcamp Records)

Can Georgie come out and play with Mister Puffi n-crap?

It’s okay,” Helen said. She looked down at her hands, then furtively glanced at the left corner of the room and added, “Everybody makes mistakes.

I’m sorry it’s not much, but it’s very, very special. I made it myself. Just for you. It’s delicious.” She smiled, but her eyes were fl at—like a shark’s. “Go on.” Helen looked at Sydney. “Eat it.

Life is suffering, child.” 

The reaper turned towards Helen. “Use your time well,” it said, pointing a long finger at her. “I’ll be back for you.

Listen good and listen well young man. Th at airplane will be the death of you.

The whole concept of some stranger making his way down our chimney - not that we had one - suggested burglary more readily than generosity. Any Santa who tried it would have gotten a bullet in his holly, jolly keister.

I knitted it myself,” Andrea said, “in my knitting class.” “How wonderful, Andrea!” said Miss Daisy. “A homemade present is so much nicer than something you buy in a store. A.J., what do you say to

I don’t know what kind of magic she did, but Holly went from being someone who interrupted my peace and quiet with endless questions and a joy that suffocated me, to someone I look forward to seeing. I crave her company, her questions, her texts, calls, practice dates. Whatever it is, I can’t wait to see her. Jesus. I’m so fucked.

She's everything I never knew I needed. Everything I thought I would hate but can't get enough of. She's light and laughter, smiles and joy.

I've been on date after date, but it never turned into much. Either they didn't like me, or I didn't like them. But with Mark, I wasn't even trying. He just fell into my life, and I fell for him.

You want to jump his holly jolly boner, then do it. You want to tongue him down under the mistletoe, do that too. You want him to be your lay in a manger? My vote is yes. Yes, to all of it!

I’d grown up terrified of being too much for someone—anyone, the entire world—he’d seemed to see too much of anyone as a good thing. Like handfuls of candy at Halloween or piles of presents at a birthday party. As if everyone should be more of themselves.

Your resting Grinch Face is showing, Liv." I chuckle. "And your Holly Jolly Weirdo Face is showing, Marino.

Oh, and you think you’ll be able to shed the grumpiness and become a holly jolly asshole?

loaded,

It’s not going to be a tragedy, because you’re going to enter the competition with me as my holly jolly sidekick.

And that wasn’t fair to him. He had every right to drink and dance and strip in public and do whatever he wanted. But the stakes were higher than just my own comfort now, and what was fair to me mattered too. I just didn’t know what that was right now. Or what it meant after tonight.

Hello Nate, fancy seeing you after five years. You weren’t supposed to be here, care to explain? Or, better yet, skip the explanation and go jump off that cliff out back. You like extreme sports, it’ll be fun.