Lane Johnson Quotes

Are you a believer in ghosts, my friend? There are other ghosts than the Cock-Lane one, and far deeper men than Doctor Johnson who believe in them.

Ladies and gentlemen, when you paint your lips, eyes, nails, hair, side-beards, or whatever, to look beautiful or handsome, don't forget your up stairs, if you don't go up there to put things in order, then, consider the former attributes null and void.

Thus, while in the life the great whale’s body may have been a real terror to his foes, in his death his ghost becomes a powerless panic to a world. Are you a believer in ghosts, my friend? There are other ghosts than the Cock-Lane one, and far deeper men than Doctor Johnson who believe in them.

This is a two-way road,” the driver said. “You’re American? You have quite wide roads in America, don’t you?” This was not a two-lane road. This was a tiny, tiny, tiny path surrounded by a high wall of greenery that blocked the view. It was a deathtrap, a meandering thread of madness. It suggested that there was something about English people that she may never understand.

Erica Brown is also Lizzie lane, author of War Orphans, Wartime Friends, The Sweet Trilogy, Home by Christmas and A Christmas Wish.

biography much easier. On a personal note, I should like to thank Stanley R. Moore, Dr. Michael Rostafinski, and John Tebbel for advice and information; my wife and "first reader," Reade Johnson; and my editor at John Wiley, Hana Lane, for

I could feel Rick’s eyes on me the whole time as I drove. I already knew what he was thinking about, but I hoped that he didn’t try to start any mess in this car, especially while my kids were with me. The weather was terrible outside, making it extremely hard for me to see. “Where you get that cash from that I saw in your purse?” Rick asked me. I cursed myself for leaving the money that Antonia had given me the other day in my purse. When we had gotten to the register so that I could pay for the groceries, I reached into my purse to retrieve my EBT card, and Rick caught a glimpse of the fifty-dollar bill that I had lying in there. “Antonia gave it to me, okay?” I told him, hoping that would be the end of this conversation. “So, you hiding money from me now, Gina? Is that what we’re doing?” he asked me. “Rick, I’m not hiding anything from you because this isn’t yours to begin with! The girls are going on a field trip next week, and it’s to pay for it!” I yelled at him. Right now, the rain had begun to pick up even harder and loud sounds of lightning and thunder were rumbling outside. “I don’t give a fuck about no damn field trip! Give me that money!” Rick yelled, trying to reach over my lap. I slapped his hands away, which caused me to swerve in the next lane and a car to blow the horn at me. “Rick, can you stop, please! You’re scaring my babies!” I yelled at him. It happened so quick. I was so distracted that I ended up running the red light and it was too late to brake because at this point, the eighteen wheeler came crashing into the right side of my little beat up Honda Civic which didn’t stand a chance. All I remember was looking in the rearview mirror and I noticed that neither Allison nor Ciara was in a seatbelt. It took seconds and their little bodies went flying out the front window and the truck had pretty much crushed into Rick and I, leaving everything to turn to black.

salvation was not the ultimate goal of Christ’s coming. It was the immediate target…the marker in the lane. Without accomplishing redemption, there was no hope for the ultimate goal—which was to fill each born-again person with the Holy Spirit. God’s desire is for the believer to overflow with Himself, that we might “be filled with all the fullness of God.” (Eph. 3:19). The

O, de light-bugs glimmer down de lane,   Merlindy! Merlindy! O, de whip'-will callin' notes ur pain—   Merlindy, O, Merlindy!

Rousseau’s warmest affection went to animals. Boswell records a delightful scene of him playing with his cat and his dog Sultan. He gave Sultan (and his predecessor, Turc) a love he could not find for humans, and the howling of this dog, whom he brought with him to London, almost prevented him from attending the special benefit performance Garrick had set up for him at Drury Lane.

You see, you two, for someone like me who’s never had anything, Tomorrow is the slot on the table where we place all bets. That’s why you’ll hardly ever see me strolling down memory lane with my head in my ass like some dope! Even though I’m here telling you this stuff right now, I’m just making an exception.

There is a canyon in the heart of Wyoming carved by a river called Wind and a narrow, opposing, two-lane highway that follows its every curve like a lover.

Dr. Michael Rostafinski, and John Tebbel for advice and information; my wife and "first reader," Reade Johnson; and my editor at John Wiley, Hana Lane, for

Though it's true that (dictionary-maker Samuel) Johnson sometimes seem to feel that the language was in decline, he didn't rail against it with (Jonathan) Swift's anger. Instead, he hoped the example of his dictionary would temper that change by providing a distinguished literary example

The appeal was obvious, the cleanly geometry, the assurances of physical ballistics, the organic richness of the wooden lanes and the mute servitude of the machines that raised the pins and swept away the fallen, above all the powerlessness and suspense, the ball held, the ball directed, the ball traveling away like a son, beyond hope of influence. A slow, large, powerful game. Sands

Skip had never bowled, never before this moment even observed. The appeal was obvious, the cleanly geometry, the assurances of physical ballistics, the organic richness of the wooden lanes and the mute servitude of the machines that raised the pins and swept away the fallen, above all the powerlessness and suspense, the ball held, the ball directed, the ball traveling away like a son, beyond hope of influence. A slow, large, powerful game. Sands

We ought to be out there somewhere, living our dreams, exceeding our expectations, reaching for the stars, climbing the ladder, running on empty, that sort of thing. Instead, we've ended up at our time of life, no jobs, precious little else, spending the time of day standing in a fishmonger’s shop watching a tabby cat jump for bits of squashed fish.” Lucie paused mournfully. “Doesn't seem right, somehow.

AIDS simply did not fit into this picture we had of our town. The TV stations and the Johnson City Press did a fine job parroting what the wire services carried about AIDS. But they never succeeded in treating the deaths of Rock Hudson or Liberace as being any more significant to our town than famine in the Sahel or plane crash in Thailand. You could shop in the mall, cut your hair in Parks & Belk, pick up milk at the Piggly Wiggly, bowl at Holiday Lanes, find bawdy entertainment at the Hourglass Lounge and never know that one of my patients was seated right next to you, or serving you, or brushing past you in the parking lot, a deadly virus in his or her body that was no threat to you, but might nevertheless cause you to stand up and scream if you knew how close it was. My problem was the opposite: I saw AIDS everywhere in the fabric of the town; I wanted to pick up a megaphone as I stood in the checkout line and say ‘ATTENTION KMART SHOPPERS: JOHNSON CITY AS A PART OF AMERICA AND, YES, WE DO HAVE AIDS HERE.

Don’t try and scare me, Standing Bear. I got nothing behind me and nothing in front of me—nothing everywhere I look. Just a big fat zero.” Lane stared at him a moment and then turned, walking back toward the front and disappearing around the corner.