Kelso Quotes

Who the hell cares about what anybody else thinks? Just look into your heart and do whatever the hell makes you happy.

Oh, well. Everyone else has suave, cosmopolitan sheep: why not us? The Millers at Hepple have a ewe that’s been to Kelso three times, and they’ve never been farther than Ford in their lives.” Kate peered absently into the farm pond, and clucked again. “Thoughtless creatures. They’ve forgotten the fish.

Then she was seated, in a chair made for sitting, and sit in it she did, like a person seated in a chair made for sitting.

Who cares what anyone else thinks. Just look into you rheart and do whatever the hell makes you happy.

You do it because you like the creativity, and yet it's logical, like a science. You do it because it's your way of life. You do it because you love it and you can't not do it, because it's who you are." My words clung to the steam around me, leaving whispering trails that echoed far beneath my skin, echoed deep in my bones. "At least, that's why I did it.

McNeil harboured fantasies of his own physical deterioration, about making love to the great wound of the universe, coalescing with.

Kelso's hangover had gone, to be replaced by that familiar phase of post-alcoholic euphoria - always in the past, his most productive time of day - a feeling that alone was enough to make getting drunk worthwhile.

You are a bird of ill-omen, thought Kelso. You circle the world and wherever you land there is famine and death and destruction: in an earlier and less credulous age, the local citizens would have gathered at the first sight of you and driven you off with stones -

The city is a cage bursting with roaring, tormented animals. The city is alive with purulent cries.

We live by the scars we choose.

One hit, one moan of fractured air, one solid impact and the man went down.

Steve— The decadence… it doesn’t sit well with me, you know? You people are all like something out of a Bret Easton Ellis novel or something… Tom— I’m sure I’d find that devilishly apt if I actually read books Steve, but I don’t so fuck you.

Creativity is a state of mind, a way of being, and it comes from a sacred place within.

My god is a merciless god who hates all his creations equally.

The People aren’t undead you understand, no, they are merely the devoted followers of a wealthy psychopath called Miles Dunwoody – a 39 year old real estate heir who pumped all his grandfather’s hard-earned cash into forming The Schism.

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The town had been cobbled together by child pornographers and lowlifes, tax cheats and deranged psychopaths. North of Wire, upwind of Spittle, drive on past the ergs of Shell County, out beyond Moosejaw and you're there ... Ersatz was fortified with apathy, clotted by corruption. You go to sleep a boy; wake up an old man.

Some black swirl behind a wall said to roil and lust after human flesh and bone, sucking limbs into primal, pre-creation chaos...

Jensen has agreed to join us,” said the metallic symbol. “I honestly had my doubts, but what do I know?” “You should have believed me,” said the human. “Fine,” came the reply. “That’s a ten-spot I owe you.” “This is good news.” The cube’s flat, mechanical voice robbed the statement of any potency. “With Jensen in play, we can increase the tempo of our operations. We can redeploy Saxon and Kelso, and some of the others.

Nothing in this world that's worth having comes easy.

Kelso là dòng gà có xuất xứ từ cường quốc Hoa Kỳ, giống gà này có vóc dáng cân đối vừa phải, mồng vua 3 lá, có 2 lông đuôi dài và sở hữu lối đá Canh-Tránh-Né tốt với những cú ra đòn rất khôn khéo và nhanh nhạy khiến đối thủ không thể trở tay kịp.

He did not try to be honest, and he would have failed, if he had tried.”9

Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jarvis chuckled. “I knew I could count on you to cheer me up.” He heard the flick of a cigarette lighter and pictured Harel lighting up a Noblesse in his glass-walled office for everyone to see in the explicitly smoke-free building. During the pause while Harel took his first drag, Jarvis added, “Anyway, that’s not the real reason I called.” “No?” the Israeli spymaster said, his voice ripe with sarcasm. “What other happy news do you have for me today, Kelso? Let me guess, someone stole your pickup truck, you lost your guitar, and your dog died? Oh, wait, that’s a country music song.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Kelso nailed your sister.

Wilfred hadn’t made a great

You're just like your father, and you'll end up like him too," Rosemarie said. Emil grinned. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me in years. Have a nice life, mom," Emil said as he turned to leave. "Both hours of it.

I hold the candle in front of me as I creep down the hallway. The flickering light causes shadows to jump all around me like a hoard of evil spirits.

Kelso maintained that the acquisition of the book was an expression of her free speech. Reverend Campbell argued that his right to pray for someone’s soul was an expression of his free speech. As the lawsuit advanced, Reverend Campbell’s right to free speech seemed to gain the moral upper hand,

In 1889, a newspaper reporter from Ohio named Tessa Kelso was appointed to the job.

Kelso left Le Cadet on the shelf and then took what the Los Angeles Times called “a sensational and decidedly novel action”—namely, she sued Reverend Campbell for slander

So a hit-man just walked up and rang the doorbell?" "Essentially, yes," the conductor said. "What did you do?" "The only thing I could," the conductor said. "Run?" "No, invite him in for tea.

The prison was full, but none of the inmates staring out at him made a sound. Raymond tried to read the emotion in their eyes, but they all had a defeated, near-dead look. It was as if someone had stolen their souls and left the empty shells behind.

AMY: Right! We all end up with husbands, houses, and children. Oh, and laundry. So much laundry.

Curiosity overrode pain and I held the toy phone up to my ear. It sounded like static, but there was something else behind it. I pressed the phone closer to my ear. "Your Daddy (static) bad (static) must (static) punished.

HROTHGAR: Well, I am off to bed! You can sleep in this Mead Hall. I assure you it is safe and definitely, nothing bad will happen.

HROTHGAR: How did you hear of our sorrows? BEOWULF: (leaning close to HROTHGAR, whispers) Dude, you have been crying super loud for like 12 years, and I’m right offstage over there.

I’m sorry, my brain just can’t untangle that into something that’s plausible

I’d risk dying just to dream a happy song

He drags me outside where the weather is bone-achingly cold. Knelt on the gale-lashed sidewalk I spit out a gruel of blood and look up at the beleaguered Time Detective. “What’s this about?” His jaw line clenches, I just know that beneath the chronovisor is a stare completely divorced from reality. “You’re going to Moscow Novikov.

I’ve concluded that happiness lives in the ephemera. You cannot see it, nor can it be considered tangible. It’s not quite an optical illusion—no, not quite—but if you try to catch it, with the ultimate intention of somehow sustaining it for a prolonged period, then happiness will quickly dissolve to grief and disappointment—inevitably, fatally.

In the censored-city, our only access to the outside is through the cloud. Sometimes I feel safer here, with all the screeds of data smog and oversaturated pop culture references condensed to their basic minimum. I mean, the sheer amount of input to our system has long since exceeded our processing capacity. We all felt the same way. Spam and social media had taken over everything. I remember it, clear as day.

Roman watch tower.

Goodwill certainly seems to be in abundance on a superficial level, but does it have genuine truth or is it some kind of trivial social camouflage? If it did then surely connection would be simpler and would occur on a more regular basis. I’m also aware that the materiality of our reality conditions the connection of everything with everything else. I know we are cosmically bound, like the milling atoms of a crystal—interdependent particles oscillating together in the quest for structural integrity.

Let’s argue that reality is plural: the solipsistic loneliness of individual perception becomes our first hurdle. We try to get over that by sharing some kind of rudimentary interior with others—where common goals and grammars can unite and define us as joint proprietors of a greater cognitive space.

A black watery sludge of crippling consciousness sloshes around my head in loose bilge, ebbing and flowing with each panic-surge of electrical energy. The effects soon become psychosomatic: it’s an internal sensation that wets my palms, prickles my scalp with fear and fills the already-clogged neural funnels in my brain space with anti-natal thoughts. I wish I could stem the torrent of noxious bilge water, even for a moment. My head feels constipated.

Nothing in this world that's worth having comes easy.

would have

The two men drag Janice’s half-dissected body out to the front porch and drop her on the wild lawn. She disappears beneath a sea of unploughed yellow strands and broom straw. The sky has a milky hue, Vince realises that he can no longer appreciate the beauty in anything except violence…