Kenny Stills Quotes

Byron says he won't go there. He give Kenny and Joey a story about "Wool Pooh," the supposed evil twin of Winnie-the-Pooh. They believe him, but Kenny still wants to go.

[Kenny] leaned back against the counter and studied the other man. “So Dex, how’s come you’re still alive to tell the tale?” Dexter wiped up a small coffee spill, the sat on the stool next to Torie. “All I’m prepared to say is that your sister and I slept together, and, since I compromised her, I intend to marry her.” Torie dropped her forehead and banged it three times against the countertop. “You are such a geek.” “Doesn’t sound like she’s too enthusiastic about it,” Kenny said.

 Who charges a deranged gunman like that? They’re perfect gentlemen, those Tracey boys. Do they ever do anything wrong? ‘Dudley Do-Rights,’ both of those fuckers. Still, I hope Kenny’s still alive.

trail. And he never had the opportunity to explain things. “Hey, you still with me?” Kenny said, observing Jett, assessing him. “Why did she leave?” “I dunno. Ask me something

I'm an open book, but I am still a hardcover.

the piercing, for many years before he traded Kenny’s wild lifestyle for his father’s business. He still had the tattoos and the almost faded scars to prove it. Jett closed the door, briefly registering

Imagine a school where students work so intensely that the world outside the essay or problem or experiment before them seems muffled and far away. Their work leaves them sweaty, exhausted and satisfied. They take their work home not because somebody told them that it’s homework, but because it’s theirs, they can’t leave it behind, they’re not done with it yet. The problem still needs solving, or the question must be figured out.

On Domestic Violence: So allow me to pass a few judgements on those whom are always passing judgement: you’re probably sitting at home right now in an abusive relationship that you’re downplaying and calling “simple fights” not that bad or something that doesn’t bother you. I just hope that when you figure it out one day and decide to tell your story, that the people you’ve called dumb and stupid for “staying as long as they did” and “not speaking up sooner” are still willing to listen to your dumb and stupid ass

Its funny whenever people who have'nt seen me in years meet up with me again and they are surprised that I'm not as shy and quiet as I was in the past, I credit that to my years of drinking at bars and partys and conversing with people I would never useally talk to, it was then I relized that even without drinking I could still talk to people just as easy. But It is still a little funner with a few beers in me.

There's something so beautiful about people who have tasted bitterness but are still determined to savor the sweetness life has to offer. You can sense it in their presence. They have a sense of calm warmth and they refuse to let life take from them. I love these kinds of people - people who have stayed gentle in a world that tried to harden them. They've known darkness but still offer their light to others. Their kindness is real and genuine, never a tactic or a strategy.

For a team facing a 12-run deficit, the game is all but over. Almost always. Three times in major league history, though, a club has come from down by a dozen to win. The Chicago White Sox were the first in 1911; fourteen years later, the Philadelphia Athletics duplicated the feat. Then seventy-six years would pass before it happened again. Enter the 2001 Cleveland Indians, battling for their sixth playoff spot in seven years. Hosting the red-hot Seattle Mariners, who would win a major league record 116 games that season, the Tribe found themselves trailing 12–0 after just three innings. In the middle of the seventh, Seattle led 14–2—at which point the Indians began their historic comeback. Scoring three in the seventh, four in the eighth, and five in the ninth, Cleveland forced extra innings. In the bottom of the eleventh, utility man Jolbert Cabrera slapped a broken-bat single to score Kenny Lofton for one of the more remarkable wins in the annals of baseball. On August 6, 2001, not even a 12-run deficit could stop the Cleveland Indians. Those of us who follow Jesus Christ can expect even greater victories. “I am convinced,” the apostle Paul wrote, “that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38–39). If you’re deep in the hole today, take heart. As God’s child, you’re always still in the game. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. HEBREWS

Mostly Gaylord deals with insurance scamming. He takes a car off a lot and the insurance company pays.” “That’s still stealing.” “I guess, but it’s an insurance company, and everyone hates those people.” “I don’t hate them.” “Well, you’re weird,” Lula said. “Do you like the car?” “I love the car.” “There you go. And by the way, you might want to put a dab of concealer on your nose.” Kranski’s Bar was on the corner of Mayberry Street and Ash. This was a neighborhood very similar to the Burg, but the houses were a little larger, the cars were newer, the kitchen appliances were probably stainless. I parked in the small lot beside the tavern, and Lula and I sashayed into the dim interior. Bertie was working behind the bar that stretched across the back of the room. A bunch of high-top tables were scattered around the front of the room. Two women sat at one of the tables, eating nachos and drinking martinis. At one end of the bar four men were drinking beer and watching the overhead television. I spotted Kenny Morris at the other end. He was alone, nursing what looked like whiskey. Bertie caught my eye, tilted his head toward Kenny, and I nodded back. “I guess that’s the guy you’re looking for,” Lula said. “You want to tag-team him?” “No. I just want to talk to him. I’ll go it alone.” Lula hoisted herself onto a barstool by the four men, and I approached Kenny. “Anyone sitting here?” I asked him. “No,” he said. “No one ever sits there.” “Why not?” “The television is at the other end.” “But you’re here.” “Yeah, I’m not into the team television thing.” He looked a lot like his yearbook photograph. His hair was a little longer. He was slim. Medium height. Pleasant looking. Wearing jeans and a blue dress shirt with the top button open and the sleeves rolled. He was staring at my nose with an intensity usually displayed by dermatologists during a skin cancer exam. I couldn’t blame him. I’d smeared some makeup on it, but even in the dark bar it was emitting a red glow. “It’s a condition,” I said. “It comes and goes. It’s not contagious or anything. Do you come in here often?” “Couple times a week.

Collectively, THEY BUILD HOUSES WITH SHITTY MATERIALS, FAULTY STRUCTURES, TEMPORARY ARRANGEMENTS AND DEFAULT CLOSINGS, WHERE THEY THEN USE FALSE MARKETING AND ADVERTISEMENT TO SELL IT; ALL WHILE ENTERTAINING DECEPTIVE TRADE PRACTICES. STILL, I AM PERPLEXED. I AM PERPLEXED, BECAUSE THIS IS ABOUT AS BAD AS A BALLON LOAN, WITH A PRE PAYMENT PENALTY CLAUSE. WHO DOES THAT?

As musicians, we have the potential of doing great things. Everyone can remember at least one great concert they’ve been to. The performance was so inspired that it stayed with the audience well after they went home. Perhaps the fragrance of it was still there the next day. The feeling it created caused those present to behave differently for a while, possibly with more grace, with more mindfulness of the soul. Spiraling to deeper levels of consciousness, the performer takes us beneath the layers of illusion and peels

Red wine and Hennessy She fell out of her bottle when she fell into love, cup running over, overflowing emotions in glass- red stained palet, on a pallet on the grass, to a quilt on the floor -affixed between lips and red lipstick on a shirt that he wore. A familiar place, she know she's been here before Reminiscent of the evening On his shirt that she tore ............ Drop by drop, puddle in glass getting lower- impressions in her gut, rim of her glass, hour glass figure moves counter clockwise - while absorbing the contents of merlot. Hard liquor and fine wine ............. Red Wine and Hennessy A wicked twist on some champagne tips French nails, manicures over grapes Whoever said wine and liquor don't mix? Last night I had six Bottle caps, corks, bedazzled juice Merlot was her name - slim waist - good taste slinger neck, red lace. Long stem, pedestal - hands embraced her face ............. room temperature, her body temperature ... personality of two, she's mellow and chill... aged to perfection- pop the seal- watch the erection ... splatters on the floor- covers the rug, Residue of red lipstick- Merlot stained lips match the kiss on his neck ............ Chasing fantasy through the Red Sea While chasing that with a white BC How much will she pour- how much will she drink How much more before her ship sinks ........... A full body lush, blackberry crush Medium sized Bordeaux Intense velvety plum I asked her where she's from She said she's international She's longer thinking rational .......... Sips in sync with blinking eyes She sips too much to realize Every time you pour into me, my bottle gets more empty- Glass falling to the floor She staggers to the door Glass shatters her feet She stumbles to her seat She's still asking for more But she falls to the floor Red lipstick in the mud She covers up the blood ............ She lays in her wine She forgot about the time Clock on the wall Footsteps in the hall Pounding in her head She rushes to the bed ......... She lays motionless ... but her head is racing Her heart is pacing Her lungs are gasping - air, she needs air Rolls to her side, brings her self to sit up She gags and gags until She throws it all up- ........... Wakes up the next morning Dazed and confused She's laying in a bed That she's not used to She moves slowly, where did everyone go? She checks the time- it's a quarter pass 4 sounds on the other side of the door Are Muffled by the sound of a knock at the door ........... Looks around for her little red dress Notices a blotch - a red stain on her breast Lipstick smeared an accessory to her mess She reached for her clothes and saw a note on the desk. .......... Dearly beloved, I want to see you again I'd love to have to back I think we make a great blend I tried to wake you Because I had to go And Oh by the way, my name is merlot "Little Black Bird

Go ahead, write yourself into my story. I still control the pen.

It may be hard to see now, but you didn’t lose them, they lost you. It may be hard to see now, but you were never meant to fit into their small world. It may be hard to see now, but your best days are still ahead of you. It may be hard to see now, but that door closing was the universe’s way of saving you from mediocrity. It may be hard to see now, but this redirection is an upgrade. It may be hard to see now, but the love you gave will find its way back to you. It may be hard to see now, but the universe is about to open doors for you that you never knew existed. It may be hard to see now, but it's your turn to see your persistence finally pay off.

Kenny,” I whisper. “Will you still be here when I wake up?”  “Of course.” Her voice is sleepy. “I’m not going anywhere.

rYou think love will always hurt, then you meet someone who makes it feel like healing. You think loyalty is extinct, then you meet someone who makes it clear you’re their first and only choice. You think every relationship comes with a side of anxiety, then you meet someone who feels like a deep breath. You think your honesty will push people away, then you meet someone who’s drawn to it. You think consistency is a myth, then you meet someone who still shows up as they promised from day one. You think love’s always one-sided, then you meet someone who matches your effort without hesitation. You think your independence is a turn-off, then you meet someone who loves you without wanting to control you. You think your ambition intimidates people, then you meet someone who treats your dreams like your destiny.

Where are you?” she whispered. “All about you. In you. A part of you.” Light cool silkiness dragged down her stomach. “Stay absolutely still.” Warm moist air dragged past her ear. Her body trembled at the desire washing through her skin. Nipples peaked hard, her skin tingled everywhere. “Kenny.” The light caresses—a feather—trailed down her back. Her chest swelled, and her bum cheeks clenched. “The ache is returning.” “Not for long, sweet.” Hair brushed her thighs, and her hips jerked forward. Warm lips traveled up both her legs. Good Lord. Her eyes widened. Someone else caressed her. Kissed her. “Kenny? Who is with you?” “We are all here to serve you. To worship you.” His breath caressed the heated skin of her thigh. “I…I—” A tongue brushed the curls at the apex of her legs, then pushed into her slick flesh, probing and seeking the entrance to her womb. The other lips traveled up her stomach to her breasts. Groaning at the intense sensations, she squeezed her eyes shut. She shouldn’t enjoy this, but it felt so good. “Mmmm. The most exquisite taste,” Kenny said as his tongue left her mound. “You are so wet for me.” “Yes.” Fingers probed her slit. Lips suckled her nipples. “Oh, Kenny!” “So hot.” “Yes.” Warm fingers slid over her body, probing, stretching, sliding fingers in. Her hips pressed forward, opening her thighs farther for the caresses. A finger pressed into her bum. Oh! Her muscles spasmed, and bit by bit, the digit sunk fully in. Her breath caught as pressure built, and the finger buggering her picked up the same rhythm of the fingers probing her sex. Oh so…she

On the Races of Our Continuum: “First, you should understand that we are all The One’s children and that means we are all family. As one of my parents liked to say, “One, two, or three caudal orifices, it really doesn’t matter, for it still gets all the work done.” I like to say that we do not all look alike, but we all think alike.” The Great Siblinghood, Tymorann Alphrontex (as translated by D. J. Kenny)

Why are you here?” I ask finally. I do need to know. “I didn’t know about Kenny and my maid of honor. Thanks for telling me. Apparently, I was the only one who didn’t know.” Her voice is quiet and a little hoarse, like she spent a lot of time crying. “Where’s Kenny?” I ask. She shrugs. “Probably at the hospital.” Hospital? “What?” “I sort of hit him over the head with a vase.” She holds out her hands to show me how big. “A big one.” She rotates her arm at her shoulder. “It was kind of heavy. My arm still hurts.” Paul laughs. I shoot him a glare, and he shuts up.

When he talked with us about goals and hopes, he asked us, though never in so many words, to balance the hunger that is in all runners with some grasp of what our predecessors had achieved. The thing was not to blindly disregard limits but to understand the odds, even as one refused to accept them. He asked us, then, to leave open a tiny window of possibility. "If you go out to race," he said, "and know you'll lose, there's no probability involved. You'll lose. But if you go out knowing you will never give up, you'll still lose most of the time, but you'll be in the best position to kick from on that rare day when everything breaks right.

Someone asked me today, what happened. It made me reflect but in reflecting, I also realized that the world is still the same. Still the stigmas associated with certain things our society does not know or care to listen, read or research. They are comfortable with not taking the time to listen, nor give you time to answer before chiming in.

One day the tables turn. You’re living your dream life, and those who said you couldn't are stuck in their own excuses. One day the tables turn. You wake up in a home you love, bought with the money they said you'd never make. One day the tables turn. You go from feeling like a backup plan to being someone's first and only choice. One day the tables turn. You’re leaving footprints around the world, and those who doubted you are still trapped in their comfort zones. One day the tables turn. You’re celebrated for your uniqueness, and those who mocked you are now trying to copy your style. One day the tables turn. You’re surrounded by genuine love, and those who played with your heart are left alone with their regret. One day the tables turn. You find true happiness, and those who once undermined your joy are stuck in their own discontent.

Despite the times you loved deeply and got hurt in return, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength. Despite the times someone took you for granted, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength. Despite the times your loyalty and effort was not reciprocated, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength. Despite the times someone took advantage of your kindness, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength. Despite the times someone made you feel like you were too much, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength. Despite the times someone used you as a temporary fix, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength. Despite the times you stood alone in your darkest moments, here you are, still full of love. That’s strength.

Sorry for being my realest and silliest self instead of trying to be everyone’s cup of tea. It will happen again. Sorry for being a little extra instead of trying to be just enough. It will happen again. Sorry for turning questionable decisions into great stories. It will happen again. Sorry for being silly and unfiltered instead of playing it cool. It will happen again. Sorry for having a lot of love to give and letting it overflow. It will happen again. Sorry for believing there are still good people left in the world. It will happen again. Sorry for prioritizing my mental health over people pleasing. It will happen again. Sorry for following my heart instead of the rules. It will happen again.

It all goes to show that preparation sometimes has little bearing on how well things go.

I will tell you the story exactly how it happened, fact for fact and detail to detail; leaving nothing out and no perception added. I will leave that to the readers. If the story makes you sound like a terrible person, you probably were and still are.

I have the right to love my disabled body. To celebrate its miraculous ability to prove doctors wrong, time and again. To marvel at how it holds secrets that neurology is still discovering.

Some days I rest, and I still have no spoons. Some days I might have twelve spoons. Whereas other days I have five. Some days I am so low on spoons that I don't give a fork.

Folks who want to erase my disability in the name of embracing how God understands are still erasing my disability.

It is true that in the absence of information, people tend to assume the worse. But I believe that even in the presence of information, people still refuse to read.

That's the kicker about being diagnosed with something no one has ever heard of before. Deep down, in the places no one really talks about, some people still don't believe it's real. Not fully, anyway. I am an enigma, a freak, an unknown. On top of the physical aspects of my disability, there's the emotional labor of explaining my body to people who think they get it, but don't. People want to understand something to believe it's real. People try to judge where I fall on the severity scale before they know how to treat me: like DEFCON ratings, but for bodies. - p. 50

BOLD (adjective): fearless in embracing your honesty; refusing to allow society’s labels to define your worth; empowered by imperfection, simplicity, and forgiveness. To be bold is to question who you've been told to be, pressure to conform, and the timelines expected of you.  To be bold is to recognize you have work to do, but you’re still worthy of love, fulfillment, and rewarding experiences. To be bold is to find peace in being “lost in the right direction.” To be bold is to dismiss the labels society wants you to define yourself by - too sensitive, too honest, too quiet, too energetic, too intimidating, too ambitious, too independent, too loud, too difficult… To be bold is to decide you’re exactly who you're supposed to be.

Prof. Richard Dawkins once said “We are all atheists about most of the gods that societies have ever believed in. Some of us just go one god further99”. It is a casual remark to think about theistic beliefs. We also believe in no more than one Prof. Richard Dawkins and it still proves that Prof. Richard Dawkins exist. Anthony Kenny gives response to such naïve assertion as follows: “Many different definitions may be offered of the word 'God'. Given this fact, atheism makes a much stronger claim than theism does. The atheist says that no matter what definition you choose, 'God exists' is always false. The theist only claims that there is some definition which will make 'God exists' true.

Still I’d like to be the first sailor to cross the Atlantic on a boat made entirely of fudge. I mean, imagine that? I’d be a fudge-loving bloody hero...

Trying to get away, I’m Running a 4 flat ...still death is chasing me and breathing down my back.. sprinting for my life around this track just trying to get away.... jumping over hurdle after hurtle you get to another day

The morning after the shooting, Kenny watched the first press conference at MSD. Superintendent Runcie said: Students have been reaching out to me, reaching out to staff, probably board members and others saying that now, now is the time for this country to have a real conversation on sensible gun control laws in this country. So, our students are asking for that conversation. And I hope that we can get it done in this generation, but if we don’t, they will.1 Kenny yelled at the TV, “Can’t you just fucking wait until the bodies are buried?” Kenny didn’t have strong opinions on gun control, and no one in his family owned a gun. But the morning after a mass murder seemed way too soon to make any kind of political argument. He only grew angrier when Runcie called on the Florida Legislature to allocate more funding to mental health. Later in the press conference, Sheriff Israel admitted, “There are some bodies that are still in the school. It’s a process.” That’s when something inside of Kenny flipped. The bodies of children who had been murdered under Runcie’s leadership were still lying on the schoolhouse floor directly behind him, and he had already started politicking.

Imagine the beauty and glory in dying while literally doing something you absolutely LOVE (something positive, impactful and wonderful, which BTW would be the best legacy ever) and ppl still turning that around to say, you died while doing it because you wrong.

It is still legal in twenty states to remove children from parental custody simply because a parent is disabled.