Iolas Quotes

All of us were drunk on fun. A celebration of Kool-Aid puddle and little-kid noise, cake, cakey fingers, singing and yucky yucks

Then something in me heard the stars, the pawpaws, trilliums, the whippoorwills, crawdads swimming in the creeks and cousin Alma all calling. Like the air had shimmered them.

There’s no skin in heaven.

We do not choose the vessel we’re given, Iola Anne, but we choose what we pour out and what we keep inside,” she say.

Now the radio people—that is the ones I liked—finished most every one of their words, clear and succinct. It was crisp talk. It said you were going someplace important …

Through one lighthouse, you guide many ships. Iola’s words whispered in my mind. Was she thinking of the

It was odd–talking to the trees, so I made a joke out of it. While sitting by a pawpaw tree, I whispered, “Is this where you grew up? . . . (Yes, and I never left home) . . . I hope to leave home . . . (Wish I could).” I laughed so hard at a tree wanting to leave home, I keeled over. Then I cried. I knew why but I couldn’t think about it or I’d cry all day.

We played harmless pranks on each other in high school. Stole liquor one time, got drunk and puked it up. Talked about sex—how it stays hard . . . what you do . . . don’t do . . . dirty names for the girl part.

I didn’t say Atwater gave me old dresses with rips, and seams coming apart, and leftovers to eat—like it was a tip for doing a real good job for little pay.

I enjoyed sitting behind him, watching. God he was handsome. How many times had I admired him? His backside, his shoulders, slim hips, long legs, his oval eyes, fingers, ring finger. I should give him a ring to wear. I’d slip it on his finger. Usually I don’t like a ski-jump nose: I liked his. Can I say love? I was almost beside myself when Miss Sally opened the door at 2 p.m. and said she was leaving for the day.

Yes, I knew how to keep a secret since I was a girl and saw my uncle murder Zeke. I had learned to act like nothing had ever happened, how to walk across the crime scene and smile against my fears.

It was amazing how I was able to ignore all his cursing, but he knew airplanes. He showed me how to line up straight on the obscene-curse-word runway and how to use the curse-word throttle and rudder to control the blasphemous-curse-word-plane, how to taxi down the smutty-curse-word runway and, when I got up to top speed, how to add up-elevator and how to maintain a simple-curse-word gradual ascent.

I never knew a pilot. I never knew there were girl pilots. What does a girl pilot do?” “Flies planes and eats possum.

Oh my. A naked woman in love. Oh my.

Inside the envelope was a second envelope with two hundred and forty dollars wrapped inside a carbon copy of a bill marked paid and signed by the previous owner’s wife. I counted it thrice to be accurate. Again for the pleasure. Then just to feel joy. Oh my, sweet goddamn. Sweetest goddamn. I sat for a few minutes doing nothing but feeling the money in my hands.

{Iola Speaking} "The only time I seem to get you to actually say something is over coffee, so let’s latte.

It was a strange sight to see these black men rallying around the Stars and Stripes, when white men were trampling them under foot and riddling them with bullets.

She married Mr. Gundover's Dick.

When I finished my beautiful day, I walked toward my car. I turned around and Harry was watching me through the window. We waved and I walked on to my car. He was probably still watching me—the slight sway of my hips. My plain ordinary navy blue skirt rippling like a flirt. My long legs. I purposely dropped my keys, so I’d have to bend over to pick them up. He’d enjoy that all evening when he was alone thinking of me. And the way I opened the door wide. And the way I sat in the car, leaving one foot hanging out for a bit, while I dug something out of my old plastic purse, just to be in his view longer.

My first monster, Iola, was bald and had exceptionally rotten teeth. I came across him on the highway where, with some fellow monsters, deserters, he’d stopped a peasant’s cart and pulled out a little girl, maybe thirteen years old. His companions held her father while the bald man tore off her dress, yelling it was time for her to meet a real man. I rode up and said the time had come for him, too—I thought I was very witty. The bald monster released the girl and threw himself at me with an axe. He was slow but tough. I hit him twice—not clean cuts, but spectacular, and only then did he fall. His gang ran away when they saw what a witcher’s sword could do to a man ….

The following morning the Hardy family attended church, then after dinner Frank and Joe told their parents they were going to ride out to see Chet Morton. “We’ve been invited to stay to supper,” Frank added. “But we promise not to get home late.” The Hardys picked up Callie Shaw, who also had been invited. Gaily she perched on the seat behind Frank. “Hold on, Callie,” Joe teased. “Frank’s a wild cyclist!” The young people were greeted at the door of the Morton farmhouse by Chet’s younger sister Iola, dark-haired and pretty. Joe Hardy thought she was quite the nicest girl in Bayport High and dated her regularly. As dusk came on, the five young people gathered in the Mortons’ kitchen to prepare supper. Chet, who loved to eat, was in charge, and doled out various jobs to the others. When he finished, Joe remarked, “And what are you going to do, big boy?” The stout youth grinned. “I’m the official taster.

The group picked up the picnic hamper from the Queen and strolled down a narrow path through the woods leading to Willow River. “Here’s a good spot.” Callie pointed to a shaded level area along the bank. “We haven’t been in this section before.” Soon everyone was enjoying the delicious lunch the girls had prepared: chicken sandwiches, potato salad, chocolate cake, and lemonade. While they were eating, the girls were the targets of good-natured kidding. “Boy!” Joe exclaimed as he finished his piece of cake. “This is almost as good as my mother and Aunt Gertrude make.” “That’s a compliment!” Chet said emphatically. Callie’s eyes twinkled. “I know it is. Joe’s mother and aunt are the best cooks ever!” Iola sniffed. “I don’t know about this compliment stuff. There’s something on your mind, Joe Hardy!” Joe grinned. “How are you on apple pie and cream puffs and—?” “Oh, stop it!” Iola commanded. “Otherwise, you won’t get a second piece of cake!” “I give up.” Joe handed over his paper plate.

Acting as if there were no problems on their minds, Frank and Joe strolled along whistling. Once they joined a group of people who were watching a sidewalk merchant. The man was demonstrating little jumping animals. Frank and Joe laughed as they bought a monkey and a kangaroo. “Iola and Callie will get a kick out of these,” Joe predicted.

After the girls had stepped onto firm sand, the four boys tied their mooring ropes to trees at the edge of the beach. All went ashore and gazed at the lonely spot. “This is a spooky place,” commented Iola, looking around her uneasily. “It does give one the creeps,” Callie agreed. The boys laughed but felt they should proceed carefully. With Frank and Joe in the lead, they set off on a faint path that wound along the shore at the base of the steep, rocky hill which formed the heart of the island. Above the searchers loomed jagged cliffs, cut here and there by deep ravines, thick with pines and coarse grass.

Callie and Iola are giving the party together,” Frank explained. “That reminds me, Joe. We’re supposed to pick up the ice cream!” A short time later, as Frank and Joe stepped from the house, they noted the gray, leaden sky overhead. “Looks as if that fogbank has moved in from the bay,” Joe commented. “It’ll be thick downtown.

Hey! Iola and Callie!” Joe exclaimed. The girls waved gaily and the trio hurried to meet them. Chet was chuckling as he ran. “Well, fellows, it’s like this,” he said. “You’re about to be kidnapped by two dangerous dolls—for a beach party!” Frank and Joe stopped short, their jaws dropping open in surprise. Chet, Iola, and Callie burst into peals of laughter. “Man, did I ever have these guys going!” Chet informed his two conspirators. “They were expecting some big underworld trap!” “Who’s complaining?” Frank retorted with a grin. “Callie can kidnap me any day.” “They even brought our surfboards!” Joe said. “And your trunks and two picnic hampers!” Chet added, peering into the back seat. “Let’s go!

Callie rode with Frank in the convertible, while Joe piled in with Iola and Chet. They drove to a spot just north of Barmet Bay, called Gremlin Beach, which had become popular for surf-riding because of its high swells. “What a day for surf-birds!” Joe cried as the foursome jumped out onto the clean white stretch of sand. An onshore breeze was blowing, and the waves from some distant storm were piling into high-crested breakers. Two boats came into view, kicking up plumes of spray.

The Morton farmhouse was aglow with light, and gay dance music from Iola’s hi-fi came throbbing out on the crisp night air. As the Hardys’ convertible pulled up, Chet popped onto the veranda to greet the three latecomers. “Hey! What kept you guys so long? Iola and Callie wouldn’t even let me serve the food till you got here! You want me to starve to death?

They got into their convertible and headed for the Morton farm. As Joe had predicted, the midday meal was about to be served. Chet’s sister Iola was glad to see them, especially Joe. She told Frank to go into the living room. “Surprise!” she said with a broad smile. Frank found Callie Shaw there, watching television. The brown-eyed, vivacious girl was his favorite date. “Oh, hi, Frank!” Callie said, beaming. “I had a hunch you might be coming.” “You did?” “A little bird was on the news just a minute ago. He said so!” Frank laughed. “No kidding. Is that why you decided to stay for lunch?” Callie blushed. She got even with him when Mrs. Morton came in. “Frank and Joe have eaten already and won’t join us for lunch,” she said with a wink. “I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Morton said, taking her cue from Callie. “We’re having barbecued spare-ribs and biscuits.” Then, seeing Frank’s hungry expression, she laughed good-naturedly and said she would set two more places at the table at once, and asked Frank to call Chet. “He’s out spraying the apple trees.

Hey,” Chet said, rolling his eyes, “that reminds me. What say we meet in the new drugstore downtown for some chow? I’m starved.” “Okay,” the Hardys agreed, and started toward their convertible. “I’ll take the girls and meet you in a little while,” Chet called, heading for his jalopy. About fifteen minutes later they walked toward the sandwich counter in the drugstore. “Chet will treat you all to a full-course dinner,” Joe announced with a wink when they sat down. “Are you kidding?” Chet protested. “I spent most of my money on rides.” “You’re safe, Chet.” Helen laughed. “We’re not hungry, anyway. Had too many hamburgers at the fair.” “I’m thirsty, though,” Iola said, a twinkle in her eye. In the end all the girls decided to have sodas, and the boys ordered sandwiches.

I lean close and whisper, “Even the coloreds, do you think?” In my mind, I hear Maman hiss, Keep them bright eyes down, Miss High-Tone. You might talk like them convent sisters, but you still a colored girl. “Ssshhh, Iola Anne!” Isabelle’s lashes flash wide. We both know that I’ve been passing on this trip.

I was surprised to learn that Harper had written one of the earliest romance novels, Iola Leroy, or Shadows Uplifted,

Iola isn’t a medium or a mentally ill soothsayer. That child enjoys the goddess’s favor. Don’t pull silly faces, if you please. As I said, your view on religion is known to me, it’s never particularly bothered me and, no doubt, it won’t bother me in the future. I’m not a fanatic. You’ve a right to believe that we’re governed by Nature and the Force hidden within her. You can think that the gods, including my Melitele, are merely a personification of this power invented for simpletons so they can understand it better, accept its existence. According to you, that power is blind. But for me, Geralt, faith allows you to expect what my goddess personifies from nature: order, law, goodness. And hope.” “I know.” “If you know that, then why your reservations about the trance? What are you afraid of? That I’ll make you bow your head to a statue and sing canticles? Geralt, we’ll simply sit together for a while—you, me and Iola—and see if the girl’s talents will let her see into the vortex of power surrounding you. Maybe we’ll discover something worth knowing. And maybe we won’t discover anything. Maybe the power and fate surrounding you won’t choose to reveal themselves to us, will remain hidden and incomprehensible. I don’t know. But why shouldn’t we try?” “Because there’s no point. I’m not surrounded by any vortex or fate. And if I were, why the hell would I delve into it?” “Geralt, you’re sick.” “Injured, you mean.” “I know what I mean. There’s something not quite right with you. I can sense that. After all, I have known you ever since you were a youngster. When I met you, you came up to my waist. And now I feel that you’re spinning around in some damned whirlpool, tangled up in a slowly tightening noose. I want to know what’s happening. But I can’t do it myself. I have to count on Iola’s gifts.” “You want to delve too deeply. Why the metaphysics? I’ll confide in you, if you like. I’ll fill your evenings with tales of ever more astounding events from the past few years. Get a keg of beer so my throat doesn’t dry up and we can start today. But I fear I’ll bore you because you won’t find any nooses or vortexes there. Just a witcher’s ordinary tales.” “I’ll willingly listen to them. But a trance, I repeat, would do no harm.” “Don’t you think”—he smiled—“that my lack of faith makes such a trance pointless?” “No, I don’t. And do you know why?” “No.” Nenneke leaned over and looked him in the eyes with a strange smile on her pale lips. “Because it would be the first proof I’ve ever heard of that a lack of faith has any kind of power at all.

She lays her tired head on my shoulder and looks through the shell with me, into the great mystery. I think again that heaven must be like this place, and I say that to Isabelle. I wonder, When she is in heaven and I am not, how far away will she be? “It’s just another journey,” she whispers. . . . I thought of my mother, of how desperately I wanted her to be here a little longer, a lot longer, forever. Sometimes it seemed that I should be able to change things, to alter the course of events, just by wanting it badly enough. But I couldn’t. Iola’s observations said as much. We, in our humanness, cannot help but foolishly desire eternity in this life.

No way,” Iola put in. “I’m going to win!” “Nope, it’s going to be me,” Joe argued. Just then Mr. Jenkins came hurrying back. The school principal, Ms. Butler, was right behind him. Both of them looked very serious. “Listen up, people,” Principal Butler said to all the kids. “Please clear this area while Mr. Jenkins and I have a look around. You may continue

A short time later Frank swung up the graveled driveway leading to the Mortons’ farmhouse. Chet’s pretty, dark-haired sister Iola was seated on the front porch with her blond, brown-eyed friend Callie Shaw. Iola bounced up from the porch swing as the boys stepped from the car. “Hi!” she exclaimed. “Wait’ll you see the surprise Callie and I have to show you!” The girls’ eyes sparkled with excitement. Joe grinned at Iola, whom he considered very attractive. “Sounds pretty important.

Hardys set off for the Morton farm at five o’clock. When they arrived, the group learned that Chet had piled hay into his father’s truck, so they could all go on an old-fashioned hayride to the amusement park. “Len is going to drive us,” Iola announced. A big cheer went up from the boys. Len Wharton, a good-natured former cowboy, had recently come to work at the Morton place. Len grinned. “Shucks, I figured that if I was seventeen I sure wouldn’t want to be stuck with the drivin’” Zigzagging through the back-country roads, Len stretched the trip to Elkin

It was not long before Joe drew up to the Morton home. Iola and Chet came out to meet him. “Ready for some grand-slam homers?” Joe asked. “I’ll settle for a couple of triple plays,” Iola replied, dimpling. “Let’s go,” Joe said. “We’ll save you a seat, Chet. Frank’s taking Callie.” Soon they were on the outskirts of the ball field. Joe parked the car, bought two tickets, and found seats. “I thought Frank and Callie would be here by this time,” Joe said, looking around. “We’ll hold three seats as long as we can.” The Oakmont Blues trotted onto the field for their warmup. After they had batted a few times and chased a few fungoes, the Bayport Bears replaced them on the diamond.

The Hardys drove off, heading first for the Morton farm. Chet and Iola were waiting for them, with several baskets of food which included lobsters and a sack of clams. Their next stop was at the Shaw house to pick up Callie, then they drove directly to the waterfront. “Hi!” cried Tony, giving his friends an expansive grin. The Napoli was chugging quietly at her berth. After the food and digging tools had been transferred to the craft and the Hardys had brought their diving gear from the Sleuth, everyone stepped aboard and Tony shoved off. When they reached the end of the bay and turned up the coast, the young people watched for Pirates’ Hill. Minutes later they saw it in the distance. The hill was a desolate hump of sand-covered stone jutting into the sea. There was not a house in sight, except one small cottage about half a mile beyond the crown of the hill.

Tony anchored the Napoli in a scallop-shaped cove, and the young people waded ashore, carrying the baskets of food with them. “This is an ideal spot for a beach party,” Callie said enthusiastically. She and Iola took charge and gave orders. Frank and Tony were asked to collect driftwood, while Chet and Joe gathered plenty of seaweed. In a few minutes they returned. “Those stones over there will make a good place for the fire,” said Callie. She had found a natural pit among the rocks. In it the boys piled the driftwood, then lighted it. Soon there was a roaring blaze. Frank heaped more rocks into the fire. When the stones were red-hot and the flames had died out, they placed a layer of seaweed over them. Then the girls laid the lobsters, clams, and corn on the cob in rows and piled on several more layers of seaweed. “I can hardly wait,” Chet groaned hungrily as he sniffed the tantalizing aroma of the clams.

Von Thann. What did that despicable excuse for a bear do now?” He glanced over to Iolas. “I told you we should kill that fucker. What kind of godsfather are you that you don’t protect her better?

As Frank opened the door, four laughing young people burst into the Hardy home. In the lead was Iola Morton, Chet’s sister, with Callie Shaw and Helen

Osborne following. Chet brought up the rear with two large packages. “Surprise!” Callie called gleefully. The pretty, blond girl, a special friend of Frank for several years, took a big white cakebox from Chet and set it gingerly on the hall table. “This is a bon voyage party,” announced black-haired Iola, Joe’s favorite date, who was just as slender and good-looking as her brother was rotund. “Here. Take this bag, Joe. But be careful. It’s soda pop.” Frank and Joe carried the refreshments into the kitchen while Helen and Chet went to find the boys’ latest dance records.

What do you mean—can’t! What are you fellows up to? Callie, Frank says he can’t come!” Through the back window of the jalopy, Frank caught sight of the sparkling brown eyes and pretty face of his favorite date, Callie Shaw. “Don’t give us that!” Phil Cohen, another friend, stuck his head above the old car’s roof on the other side. “What’ll we do?” Frank asked his brother. “Joe, Iola Morton’s expecting you!” Tony shouted coaxingly. “We’ll go,” Joe decided. “But we can’t stay long.

Slavery was a deadly cancer eating into the life of the nation; but, somehow, it had cast such a glamour over us that we have acted somewhat as if our national safety were better preserved by sparing the cancer than by cutting it out.

Iola, Wisconsin is one of the safest towns in the entire country,” he assured her. “A recent survey in the National Intruder listed it among—

Sister Marguerite wasn’t her sister, but a nun—a teacher or a caretaker. The letters were Iola’s prayers, her private thoughts. That’s why they’d never been mailed. These letters weren’t meant for earth, but for heaven. Not for her biological father, but for God.

All labor is joy,” she tells me. “It is not washing dirty floors, but the feet of Jesus, Iola. All we do for others, we do for the One Most High.

Before the war, we spent a lot of Sundays in Intramuros (IN-TRAH- MOO-RHOS) to visit my lolo (grandfather) and Iola (grandmother). Intramuros is a walled city in Manila built

Princess, you cannot just go off on your own and—” Iolas started. “I am not public fucking property!