Hope Nuggets Quotes

If you EVER speak ill of the McGriddle again I will personally force-feed you one while I fuck you in the butt using the wrapper as a condom and then donkey punch you when the infused syrup nuggets explode in your mouth.

They Lied" They lied, my friend. They injected their despair beneath your skin like a parasitic insect laying eggs in the body of another species. Nothing they said is true, everything about you is honorable. Every pore that opens and closes—a multitude along the expanse of your body, the follicles from which hair sprouts emerging again and again like spiders’ floss spun from a limitless source. You wait, huddled. Or carry yourself from place to place like a burden. As if you would stash yourself, if you could, in a bus station locker, or somewhere smaller. You don’t really hope, but you can’t give it up completely. Some stubborn nugget is lodged like a bullet in bone. Though each breath stings with the cold suck of it, you can know the truth. Every cell of your body vibrates with its own intelligence. Every atom is pure.

SlingBlade: “If you EVER speak ill of the McGriddle again I will personally force-feed you one while I fuck you in the butt using the wrapper as a condom and then donkey punch you when the infused syrup nuggets explode in your mouth.

Playing pool with Korean officials one evening in the Koryo Hotel, which has become the nightspot for foreign businessmen and an increasing number of diplomats (to say nothing of the burgeoning number of spies and journalists traveling under second identities), I was handed that day's edition of the Pyongyang Times. At first glance it seemed too laughable for words: endless pictures of the 'Dear Leader'—Little Boy's exalted title—as he was garlanded by adoring schoolchildren and heroic tractor drivers. Yet even in these turgid pages there were nuggets: a telegram congratulating the winner of the Serbian elections; a candid reference to the 'hardship period' through which the country had been passing; an assurance that a certain nuclear power plant would be closed as part of a deal with Washington. Tiny cracks, to be sure. But a complete and rigid edifice cannot afford fissures, however small. There appear to be no hookers, as yet, in Pyongyang. Yet if casinos come, can working girls be far behind? One perhaps ought not to wish for hookers, but there are circumstances when corruption is the only hope.

…Amongst these legends of dragon hoards, Where secret, precious things are stored, There golden nugget and diamond shard, There treasure-keeper hoped to guard. As bolted doorway securely braced, hoping its treasures to ever hold, hoping beyond when time grows old, So stood the keeper in its place. A statue of unrelenting stance Still stands victim to happenstance, For treasure-keeper did not bargain on a bit of chance and a bit of dwargen…” - Dwenzuak the dwargen

This two letter word 'we' has a lot of magic in it: it brings enjoyment, boosts confidence, and inspires excellence.

A friend is one who sings to you the chorus of victory even when life dealt you utmost misery.

A rainbow must have its seven colours in order for it to meet beauty. Plurality is beauty and harmony is what adds more lifespan to that beauty

If our children’s lives are the sea floor, we need to leave the gold all over it, everywhere, in little bits. We can’t do it one big nugget. We can’t even do it in a bunch of medium chunks. We have to leave gold through their lives in a fine dust that’s spread all over everything. At the end of our children’s lives, we hope we hope it is worth a fortune. But at any given moment it is the little things that contain the gold. The gold is quick forgiveness. It is quick repentance. It is cheerful smiles and tender hugs. It is teasing and laughing. It is loving. It is Daddy throwing yet another wrestle party all over the house. It is dinner. Regular. Predictable. It is having physical needs looked after. It is being disciplined. It is being challenged. It is being educated. Being made to do something you didn’t want to. It is not being the boss. It is not getting away with lying. It is knowing who to talk to. It is knowing you will feel better when you do. It is security. It is joy. It is every day. It is life. It is knowing your faith, and knowing that it is your parents’ too. It is knowing your people and being known by them.

Try it! You might like it !! I wrote this letter to tell you that I am very, very sorry. When you are mad at me, your face looks like Daddy’s when he smelled that skunk that was hiding in the garage. And this made me very sad. Your face, not the smelly skunk. Are you still mad? Pleeze circle one: YES NO If you are still mad, pleeze accept my sorryness for taking your clock, calling you a sandwich stealer, playing games on your phone and drawing my very cute face on it, and trying to call Price Princess Sugar Plum. I did not reech her. But I did reech a guy named Moe by mistake, and he was not very polite at all. He said if I reech him again he will call the cops. That would be very bad becuz I do not think they serve chicken nuggets in jail. Then I would starve to death, which would not be a very fun time . Anyway, I made this sandwich just for you because I really care about you. I hope you love it! You are my very best friend! After Miss Penelope and Princess Sugar Plum.

Clay ordered two ears of corn, which the proprietor slathered with mayonnaise, chili powder, and Cotija cheese.

For a second, she thought her imagination had conjured him, a centaur, untamed and magnificent.

the distinct impression that Della wasn’t aware that no one ate ambrosia salad anymore. Mostly because it was disgusting.

What the passengers aboard Berengaria did not know was that Ivar spent hours every day just preparing to talk. When Ivar knew he would be meeting a new group of people, he planned the first impression he hoped to make in advance: whom to meet first, which nuggets of information to drop, and where to move next. He always formed an exit plan. As Berengaria slid out to sea, Ivar could tell that this first impression had been a good one. Now, it was time to slip away, to let their views of him set, like a carefully baked soufflé. He excused himself, bowed again, and rushed to the ship’s communications room. That concluded his opening act.

In a time when drug traffickers act like corporations and corporations like drug traffickers, the forces looking to manipulate our brains for profit are frightening to behold. So many more synthetic blasts compete for our brain receptors—from chicken nuggets and soda to cell phones and social media apps, methamphetamine and fentanyl. Yesteryear’s myths about illegal drugs are coming true, largely due to their prohibition and lack of regulation. One hit of “heroin” has killed many people; so, too, has a line of coke. Meth does turn people mentally ill. Pot sends people to emergency rooms with psychotic episodes. There seems now no way to stop all the bizarre drugs devised by those whose own brain chemistry has been twisted by the profits of the underworld’s free market.

among their diverse talents, is a trauma specialist. Freddie gave me some useful pointers about unlocking nuggets of information buried within the amygdala, the almond-shaped part of the brain where emotions are remembered, analyzed and attached to associations. One of the most invaluable resources that helped us construct this memoir was the contribution to the Yizkor book of Machel Grossman, Tova’s father. For giving us permission to quote liberally from Machel’s writing, I am indebted to JewishGen, the global home of Jewish genealogy, which owns the translation. I am also grateful for the generosity of Kirsten Gradel, widow of Morris Gradel, a distinguished Yiddish

I started asking a question that, after years and years of practice, has become almost instinct to me in times of disappointment and frustration: What tiny miracle is there buried beneath this disappointment? ...Miracle Hunters are relentless. And they understand the difference between expectations and being expectant. They look for tiny miracles everywhere but they stay open to being surprised by what exactly that miracle will look and feel like. They have cultivated what I call "Positive Paranoia" and believe that hidden within the disappointment, the failure, the unexpected change of plans, there is a nugget of a miracle just waiting to be discovered. ...The minute you start hunting for miracles, the entire way you see the world changes.

All ancient books which have once been called sacred by man, will have their lasting place in the history of mankind, and those who possess the courage, the perseverance, and the self-denial of the true miner, and of the true scholar, will find even in the darkest and dustiest shafts what they are seeking for,—real nuggets of thought, and precious jewels of faith and hope.

The Reception Hall," Roxy replied flatly, not even glancing back at me. "My king has an announcement to make to his subjects." "What's wrong with any of the halls and ballrooms down this end of the palace?" I muttered, mostly because I was feeling like I'd been sucker punched and I just wanted her to fucking talk to me. "Since my king took possession of the palace, some of the rooms and wings have locked themselves and as of yet he hasn't had the chance to figure out the spells that unlock them again," she replied without a single inflection in her voice. "Wait - are you telling me the palace has locked itself to him?" I asked, my mood lifting at the thought of that. "In part," she replied. "For now." A smirk lifted my lips at that little nugget of truth and I filed it away as I wondered whether there might be some way for us to make use of that against him. The palace had clearly been spelled to keep it protected from usurpers and as I was certain that Darcy hadn't had any issues like that while living here, I had to hope that there was something at work here specifically targeted against my father.

It’s not too late. There’s always light at the end of a tunnel. There’s always love on the other side of fear. There’s always a way through the darkness. There’s always a path that leads to hope, joy, happiness, connection, and faith. Always. You’re here. You’re seeking. You’re breathing. That’s truly enough. It’s definitely not too late.

Life is like a flowing river where every ripple impacts in the waves.

Romantic love is like a parachute. When the parachute is not properly controlled, the winds may carry it away to the sea of oblivion and life is lost in pain, anguish and resentment.

A good friend is one who descends down the ladder of life to help you during your wounded moments.

A true friend overlooks your stained teeth and admires your bright smile. A true friend is all we need, be one even if you don't have one.

Gosh… I hope I don’t regret this.” Joey said, handing over the 100 Golden Nuggets.

God is too big to be accommodated in your eyeball, you don't have to see Him in order to believe in Him

Dwayne, can you shoot a gun?” Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Hanky-poo, Dwayne doesn’t need a gun. I have crap in my repertoire that will make you lose sleep for the rest of your life.” We all digested that nugget silently for a moment and then moved on. If Dwayne wanted us to know exactly what he was capable of, he would have volunteered it. Part of me hoped I would never have to find out, but the other half was dying to know. “Speaking