Mcclintock Quotes

when you opened my letter were you surprised my heart fell out?

...Ethan, but I'm certainly not the type of woman to just go home with two men whether I know them or not. It would be highly inappropriate, not to mention stupid." "And you're not stupid." "Not as far as I can tell"...

Pull yourself together," I told myself sternly. "You have to stay positive. You'll never make it if you give up.

He draws asparagus and cabbages, but he's obsessed with artichokes. He draws them more than any other vegetable. Why artichokes?" George drained his glass. "The artichoke is a sexy beast. Thorns to cut you, leaves to peel, lighter and lighter as you strip away the outer layers, until you reach the soft heart's core.

I was just so interested in what I was doing I could hardly wait to get up in the morning and get at it. One of my friends, a geneticist, said I was a child, because only children can't wait to get up in the morning to get at what they want to do." - Dr. Barbara McClintock

If you know you are on the right track, if you have this inner knowledge, then nobody can turn you off. No matter what they say.

context.

Who are you? She asked silently, as she laid away the collector's quotations, his drawings, his scraps of famous poetry: "Come live with me and be my love..." interleaved with menus: 'oysters, fish stew, tortoise in its shell, bread from the oven, honey from the honeycomb.' The books were unsplattered but much fingered, their pages soft with turning and re-turning, like collections of old fairy tales. Often Jess thought of Rapunzel and golden apples and enchanted gardens. She thought of Ovid, and Dante, and Cervantes, and the Pre-Raphaelites, for sometimes McClintock pictured his beloved eating, and sometimes sleeping in fields of poppies, and once throned like Persephone, with strawberry vines entwined in her long hair.

The Colt rested in her lap. “You better wake up in the morning, Mr. Latimer because I don’t want to have to explain a dead man in my cabin to the sheriff.” —Emma in "Emma of Crooked Creek

Finding her first smile since she read the telegram, Isabelle let out a soft sigh. "I sometimes wonder if you're even real, Mr. Gallagher." He smiled in reply. "Oh, I'm real Isabelle. I promise you that." -Gabriel and Isabelle in GALLAGHER'S HOPE

These people you let escape? They smashed the front windows of the Jessica McClintock store and were caught defacing the mannequins. How do I explain this to the other mall residents? This makes it look like we don’t have control.” “You don’t have control.” Marco wondered why this was such a revelation. “If we don’t provide the illusion of control, we’ll have anarchy. Your job is to help me project this illusion. And if you can no longer manage your job, I am going to have to relieve you of your card key and all privileges of non-compliance that up until now you have enjoyed.

Pushing upstream, the colonials are figured as traveling backward into anachronistic space: “Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world…. We were wanderers on prehistoric earth…. We were travelling in the night of first ages, of those ages that are gone.” Within the trope of anachronistic space, the boilerman’s mimetic failure is less a discursive dilemma than a familiar element of the colonial progress narrative. Inhabiting the cusp of prehistory and imperial modernity, the “improved specimen” is seen as the living measure of how far Africans must still travel to attain modernity. In other words, the slippage between difference and identity is rendered non-contradictory by being projected onto the axis of time as a natural function of imperial progress.

At this point, another trope makes its appearance. It can be called the invention of anachronistic space, and it reached full authority as an administrative and regulatory technology in the late Victorian era. Within this trope, the agency of women, the colonized and the industrial working class are disavowed and projected onto anachronistic space: prehistoric, atavistic and irrational, inherently out of place in the historical time of modernity. According to the colonial version of this trope, imperial progress across the space of empire is figured as a journey backward in time to an anachronistic moment of prehistory. By extension, the return journey to Europe is seen as rehearsing the evolutionary logic of historical progress, forward and upward to the apogee of the Enlightenment in the European metropolis. Geographical difference across space is figured as a historical difference across time. The ideologue J.-M. Degerando captured this notion concisely: “The philosophical traveller, sailing to the ends of the earth, is in fact travelling in time; he is exploring the past.” 46 The stubborn and threatening heterogeneity of the colonies was contained and disciplined not as socially or geographically different from Europe and thus equally valid, but as temporally different and thus as irrevocably superannuated by history. Hegel, for example, perhaps the most influential philosophical proponent of this notion, figured Africa as inhabiting not simply a different geographical space but a different temporal zone, surviving anachronistically within the time of history. Africa, announces Hegel, “is no Historical part of the world … it has no movement or development to exhibit.” Africa came to be seen as the colonial paradigm of anachronistic space, a land perpetually out of time in modernity, marooned and historically abandoned. Africa was a fetish-land, inhabited by cannibals, dervishes and witch doctors, abandoned in prehistory at the precise moment before the Weltgeist (as the cunning agent of Reason) manifested itself in history.

From the outset, people's experiences of desire and rage, memory and power, community and revolt are inflected and mediated by the institutions through which they find their meaning - and which they, in turn, transform.

Finally, McClintock went on to really tear Calderón—and the moronic Democrats who supported him—a new one: It is an outrage that a foreign head of state would appear in this chamber and actively seek to do so [undermine our immigration laws]. And it is a disgrace that he would be cheered on from the left wing of the White House and by many Democrats in this Congress. And that was the line that really made us want to grab Representative McClintock and plant like twelve zillion kisses on his face. See, that’s the difference between liberals and conservatives. Liberals stand up and applaud a foreign leader who rips on their country on their own soil. Conservatives don’t take that crap lying down.

I knew because I knew her tell. Phil licked his lips and got a blank look in his eyes. My mother fiddled with her hair.

Put me down.” Of course, the man couldn’t hear her. She barely heard the scratchy whisper. “I said—” “I heard you, Mrs. McBride, but I’m not putting you down.” —Carson and Hattie in “Hattie of Crooked Creek

Put me down.” Of course, the man couldn’t hear her. She barely heard the scratchy whisper. “I said—” “I heard you, Mrs. McBride, but I’m not putting you down.

necessary.” “I was defending my patient and my home. It’s

You have to be a man before you can be a gentleman.

I always listen to you, Joy. It's become one of the greatest pleasures of my life." -Caleb McClintock

There were three wedding cakes, curious and historical but tasty, each labeled with a calligraphed card: "Plumb Cake" with currants, nutmeg, mace, cinnamon, salt, citron, orange peel candied, flour, eggs, yeast, wine, cream, raisins. Adapted from Mrs. Simmons, American Cookery, 1796. "Curran-cake" with sugar, eggs, butter, flour, currans, brandy. Adapted from Mrs. McClintock, Receipts for Cookery and Pastry-Work, 1736. "Chocolate Honeycake" with oil, unsweetened cocoa and baking chocolate, honey, eggs, vanilla, flour, salt, baking powder. Adapted from Mollie Katzen, The Enchanted Broccoli Forest, 1982.

A few minutes later the fishing boat pulled away from the wharf and chugged smoothly down the bay. Chet, as leader of the expedition, bustled about importantly. He assigned places to everyone and explained the technique of tuna fishing, about which he had just read. It was a calm, warm day and the sea was smooth, with only a slight swell. A few miles beyond the mouth of the bay, the captain announced they had reached tuna water. He distributed the rods and herring he had brought along as bait and scattered fresh chum over the side to attract the fish. Mr. McClintock took up his position in a fishing chair, and Chet showed him the proper way to hold the heavy rod. He threw the bait overboard and watched it sink until the end of the leader disappeared from sight. Next, he coiled about fifteen feet of the thirty-nine-thread line on the stern and held it. “Tuna grow pretty big, don’t they?” asked Mr. McClintock, becoming a little nervous. “It won’t pull me overboard, will it?” “Could be.” Captain Harkness grinned. “But don’t worry, we’ll rescue you!

At the Southport pier there was laughter and excitement mixed with a certain amount of tenseness. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, Aunt Gertrude, the Mortons, and the Hoopers had gathered to watch the departure of the Father Neptune. Mr. McClintock, who had invited Biff, was already aboard and kept running around, getting in the crew’s way until finally the first mate suggested firmly that he go to his stateroom. Presently a whistle blew. The boys hurried up the gangplank. Minutes later tugs pushed the freighter away from the dock. Out in the deep water the tugs cast off, and the ship’s engines began to throb steadily. Soon she swung off through the gap at the mouth of Southport Bay and headed out to sea.

Reigart claimed that alcohol was necessary to ease the pain of his various ailments. His health was failing him. He really was in pain, but, of course, alcohol aggravated rather than cured his diseases. He suffered from rheumatism, diabetes, and gout. If one of these diseases was not bothering him, another one was.

Reigart B. Lowry was a career naval officer who spent 40 years in the US Navy. He played an active role in many of the major operations of the Navy from 1840 to 1880. He graduated from the first class at Annapolis, fought in the Mexican War, went to Japan with Commodore Perry, and was in a ship off of Fort Sumter when the first shots of the Civil War were fired. He played an active role in many of the important naval operations of the Civil War. After the Civil War, military operations lessened, government corruption increased, and politicians tried to gain more influence in the Navy. Reigart Lowry fought against these influences, and in his last year, he led the fight against a fellow naval officer who was trying to take advantage of this atmosphere.

If it ain.t broke, don't fix it!

The key question for scientists to unravel now is why these transposons get the urge to jump. McClintock believed that the jumps are a genomic response to internal or environmental stress that cells can’t handle under their existing setup. Essentially, a challenge to survival triggers the organism to throw the mutation dice, hoping it will land on a change that will help. That’s what she thought was going on with the corn plants she was studying—too much heat or too little water triggered the corn to gamble its survival on finding a mutation that could help it survive. When that happens, the proofreading mechanism is suppressed and mutations are allowed to blossom. Then natural selection kicks in to select the adaptive mutations over the maladaptive mutations in future generations and presto, evolution!

E. coli is a digestive workhorse in humans and can come in many different “flavors” or variants, one of which can’t naturally digest lactose, a sugar derived from milk. Nothing is a bigger threat—or evolutionary pressure—to bacteria than starvation. So Cairns deprived milk-shunning E. coli of any food except lactose. Much more rapidly than chance should have allowed, bacteria developed mutations that allowed them to lose their lactose intolerance. Just as McClintock maintained about her corn plants, Cairns also reported that bacteria appeared to target specific areas of their genome—areas where mutations were most likely to be advantageous. Cairns concluded that the bacteria were “choosing” which mutations to go after and then passing on their acquired ability to digest lactose to successive generations of bacteria. In a statement that amounted to evolutionary heresy, he wrote that E. coli “can choose which mutation they should produce” and may “have a mechanism for the inheritance of acquired characteristics.” He straight-out raised the possibility of inherited acquired traits; he basically used those words. It was like shouting, “Go Sox” at Yankee Stadium during the ninth inning of the seventh game of the playoff s—with Boston leading by a run. Since then, researchers have plunged into their petri dishes in attempts to prove, disprove, or just explain Cairns’s work. A year after Cairns’s report came out, Barry Hall, a scientist at the University of Rochester, suggested that the bacteria’s ability to happen upon a lactose-processing adaptation rapidly was caused by a massive increase in the mutation rate. Hall called this “hypermutation”—sort of like mutation on steroids—and, according to him, it helped the bacteria to produce the mutations they needed to survive about 100 million times faster than the mutations otherwise would have been produced.

Are you going to believe what you see or what I tell you?

as B. J. Oliphant’s Shirley McClintock.

As John was proving how this effect plays out in humans, other scientists were investigating it in other animals. For example, Professor Martha McClintock separated out lab rats. Some were raised in a cage, alone. Others were raised in groups. The isolated rats developed eighty-four times the number of breast cancer tumors as the rats who had a community.

Always before, it had been Mr. McClintock. Maybe guys without shirts revert to first names.

Good Lord, Andrew Hale McClintock, straighten up. Have you got to go around lusting after every female you see? Keep this up and they’ll come after you with nets. Keep this up and you’ll start following them on the street, mumbling and leering and wiping your chin on your sleeve. Go fishing, Andrew. Indulge in some fine open-air manly sport and take your little imaginings off this fine new secretary’s fine new frame.

I was that guy … that fella shot with luck, that superbly happy jerk named Andrew Hale McClintock.