Mcmahon Quotes

Sometimes what a person needs most is to be forgiven.

If snow melts down to water, does it still remember being snow?

Ain't no point worrying about what's been or what's gonna be. You just gotta do your best right now. And trust everyone else is doing the same.

Madness is always a wonderful excuse, don’t you think? For doing terrible things to other people.

When I am brave enough to say goodbye I'll use the wings you gave me and away I'll fly

...they were exactly what the other needed; the missing piece that made everything else magically click into place.

we all do what we think is best. Sometimes we make terrible mistakes, sometimes we do the right thing. Sometimes we never know. We just have to hope

Q: Bury deep, Pile on stones, Yet I will Dig up the bones. What am I? A: Memories — A FOLK RIDDLE

Storytelling wasn't about making things up. It was more like inviting the stories to come through her, let themselves be told.

If you fight for your limitations you get to keep them ... I promise you, you lift your head up, take a breath, there's a lot of great possibilities out there.

She was his great adventure; his love for her had taken him places he'd never dreamed of going.

And, as in all fairy tales, there was bloodshed, there was loss.

How can you dream if you don’t have a soul?

Lisa smiled. 'You know how sometimes, you catch the faintest hint of movement in the corner of your eye, then you blink and it's gone? That's them.

the dead can blame

The tragedies we endure shape our lives: we carry them like shadows,

Grief is a monster.

The world was full of dangers now that she was pregnant: mercury in tuna, hot tubs, beer, secondhand smoke, over-the-counter medicine. Not to mention crazy baby-abducting fairy kings.

And deep down, she felt like maybe she didn't deserve it-that she belonged with the petty thieves and guys who drank Pabst Blue Ribbon for breakfast

Think of me. Remember me. Love me.

What people don’t understand, they destroy.

I think people see what they want to see... But think about it: if you'd lost someone you love, wouldn't you give almost anything to have the chance to see them again?

When a relationship fails. At times, we don't necessarily miss the person we were involved with; we miss the person we "hoped they could have been",if only they had changed. Or sometimes, we're just in love with the idea of being in love. Some people are insecure about being alone again. Some are afraid to let go of the familiar.Just remember, you can not change anyone but yourself so never make yourself a hostage to a sick relationship

Dylan's friend Linus Millberg appears out of the crowd with a cup of beer and shouts, 'Dorothy is John Lennon, the Scarecrow is Paul McCartney, the Tin Woodman is George Harrison, the Lion's Ringo.' 'Star Trek,' commands Dylan over the lousy twangy country CB's is playing between sets. 'Easy,' Linus shouts back. "Kirk's John, Spock's Paul, Bones is George, Scotty is Ringo. Or Chekov, after the first season. Doesn't matter, it's like a Scotty-Chekov-combination Ringo. Spare parts are always surplus Georges or Ringos.' 'But isn't Spock-lacks-a-heart and McCoy-lacks-a-brain like Woodman and Scarecrow? So Dorothy's Kirk?' 'You don't get it. That's just a superficial coincidence. The Beatle thing is an archetype, it's like the basic human formation. Everything naturally forms into a Beatles, people can't help it.' 'Say the types again.' 'Responsible-parent genius-parent genius-child clown-child.' 'Okay, do Star Wars.' 'Luke Paul, Han Solo John, Chewbacca George, the robots Ringo.' 'Tonight Show.' 'Uh, Johnny Carson Paul, the guest John, Ed McMahon Ringo, whatisname George.' 'Doc Severinson.' 'Yeah, right. See, everything revolves around John, even Paul. That's why John's the guest.' 'And Severinson's quiet but talented, like a Wookie.' 'You begin to understand.

For some people, Rose, it’s easier to pretend the things that frighten us most don’t exist at all.

I don’t believe places can be haunted. Only people, and not in a supernatural way. People are only haunted by their pasts.

I've lived here ... my whole life. It's where I lost all my baby teeth. Where tiny hamster, gerbil, and bird skeletons lie in rotted-out cardboard coffins beneath the oak tree in our backyard. Also where, if some future archaeologist goes digging, they'll find the remains of a plush toy: a gray terrier named Toto I buried after the accident.

Young Reverend Ayers looks at a lake and sees only his own reflection in it; that is what God is to him. He does not see the creatures that live down deep, the dragonflies that hover, the frog on the lily pad.” Auntie’s face was full of pity and scorn as she shook her head and spat tobacco juice again. “His heart and mind are closed to the true beauty of the lake, the place where all its magic lies.

You're facing your demons. You'll come out stronger.

All great heroes have a flaw. It's one of the things that makes them heroes.

It always was my greatest fear to die without changing a god damn thing.

And, as Rhonda told the story, she thought: this is how the past gets passed down. This is how memories are made. Half-invented, embellished, given a touch of whimsy.

What if things happened to you—special, magic things—because you’d been preparing for them?

she swore she was breathing 1971 air—it smelled like dust and cigarettes and long-faded perfume. Like ghosts, if ghosts had a smell.

Some people are made stronger by loss. Others are broken by it.

The people who are stuck between here and there, waiting. It reminds me of winter, how everything is all pale and cold and full of nothing, and all you can do is wait for spring.

As my future crumbled before my eyes, I grasped for the rope. My entire life's struggle was ending here, in plain view of my enemies. How was it possible? Had had I let things come to this?

Sometimes I wonder if you remember things the way they really were.

I guess you never know what other people are thinking, do you?

Sometimes we're at the mercy of other people. We don't even understand the power they have over us until it's too late.

There are angels walking among us.

We can't change things by wishing. Only by doing. It's our actions, Tara, not our thoughts.

You can sink a thing deep, weight it down with stones, but eventually, it will surface.

Fear does that to a person: shrinks them down, makes them small and weak.

For everyone out there who has the good sense to be a little afraid when swimming in deep, dark water. You tell yourself there’s nothing down there, but there is. There always is.

Monsters are real. They’re all around us, whether we can see them or not.

She closed her eyes. Said the four most comforting words she knew: "Once upon a time." An incantation.

It's not the gun you should be scared of—it's the crazy man with the gun

Like all stories, it has pieces which are true, and pieces which are fiction. Nothing is ever really what it seems. Remember

BUT ALTHOUGH he was paying for her whole life, McMahon still wasn’t sure whether he truly possessed her. To make certain that he did, he tried to make Rose miserable. This was the only real proof that a woman belonged to you. Anybody could make a girl happy. It was only when a girl was in love with a man that he could ruin her self-esteem. He knew he would have to get around to that. He only had her for now.

Think of me,' she said because it seemed like something a girl in a fairy tale might say. Think of me. Remember me. Love me. Turn me into a story you tell again and again. The sister who was good as gold and became a queen.

Like Rousseau, Hegel appreciated quite early on that in modern commercial societies, individuals' desires and needs were generated by the desires and needs of others. Implanted by advertising, dictated by fashion, and determined by style, individual desire was always socially determined, shaped by the particular contexts in which we live. [..] Hence the need for greater comfort does not exactly arise within you directly; it is suggested to you by those who hope to make a profit from its creation.

Sometimes a butterfly is not just a butterfly. This is what Oma taught me. You know the worst thing I learned from her? You can be a monster and not even know you are one. They look like us. They think they are us. But really, they’ve got a monster hiding inside.

No one sees the world like you do, Emma. Creating art is about sharing your own personal vision with the world. Taking something no one else can see and bringing it to life.

Tracer was a good guy, but Ruthie didn’t understand how one individual could smoke the amount of pot he did and still function.

Call me a skeptic, but I’ve always thought that it takes more than organic vegetables and talking circles to make an ideal society. Raven

How will we know if it’s changing us?” I asked. “Maybe we won’t. The biggest changes happen so slowly you hardly notice them.

. . . it's part of the adventure!

What if virtue, work, all our striving and sweat was simply not enough to make the animal man a happy creature?

Shape your reality. Make it true because you say it is.

Watching and reading horror made me feel brave in a way I don’t in real life.

McMahon predicted that “total power in the hands of total evil will equal destruction.” The

McMahon is a pan

Thank you for watching over her, you piece of shit. Thanks for that, if nothing else.” She backed away, repulsed by the thing that had once been a man, or had at least called itself a man.

In the water, dark and deep where she waits, fast asleep All alone, pale and cold, don’t wake her up, or she’ll catch hold Her soothing voice, so soft and low is the last thing you’ll ever know Four simple words whispered in your ear, a gentle wind only you can hear: Come swimming with me

You never know who you'll meet. The world is about connections, Regina. Not just who you know, but who they know. It's all one big web, everything interconnected, everyone tugging on each other's strings.

what the melancholy among us sometimes know, though may not be able to articulate, is that coming to the end of our resources may be our only hope for coming to the beginning of something more substantial than self.

There is good even in church people. You find it hard to believe, right? Jesus never shut the door on religious people. He just made sure that they understand He was that door, and not their deeds and tasks. Some of us, even I, need to be reminded of this. This being understood, the people of the church are like broken pieces of glass fixed into beautiful mosaic to reflect Jesus. The picture is beautiful, but the pieces do indeed still have sharp edges that can cut.

Reggie was so sick of it all. The things people knew (or thought they knew) about other people. Maybe everyone had a secret life, not just Vera. She suddenly hated all of it. She wanted people to be as see-through as fish tanks, no more murkiness, no misdirection. No lies and bullshit. No secret rooms or lies about being the star of some goddamn play that didn't even exist.

Reggie smiled. 'You haven't changed at all.' Tara took another pile of clothing from her bag and gave Reggie a sly grin from over the top of it. 'Do any of us really?

Love people where they're at.

Reggie's earliest memory of her mother began with her mother balancing an egg on its end and ended with Reggie losing her left ear.

For one man to gain another must lose

We can't change things by wishing. Only by doing.

Tara grinned. “Funny how things work out,

We are each our own devil, and we make the world our hell. OSCAR WILDE

SITTING WITH MY UNNEUTERED BULL MASTIFF RUFUS WATCHING 2 FAST 2 FURIOUS WITH STEREO ERECTIONS.

I think all that is one of the most important things in human life–shared experience, learning, and let’s face it, a whole lot of fun.

White space. Blank canvas. Intimidating, but thrilling beyond belief. Anything can happen. When was the last time her art mattered?

And how that lady Suz was all wrong: art is not all about chaos, about taking things apart. True art, Emma will tell them, is about finding a way to make what’s broken whole.

I wasn’t ready to go traipsing into a crime scene or come face-to-face with a killer. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.

It would be nice if you could have some control over it, deciding which memories would stay, which would be banished to the netherworld. Poof. Just like that.

When will we learn that it's not about being color-blind? It's about respect and humanity, pure and simple.' The Good Detective

Sometimes they return to exact revenge.

Mama and I are curled up, pressed against each other like twin commas.

Phoebe realized how very wrong she’d been about this house, this family. It was far darker, more dangerous than the places she’d grown up in. In the dingy little apartments her mother rented, everything was out in the open. Their lives were dirty and squalid, but they didn’t pretend to be anything else. Here, things seemed so normal, so perfect, but it was all a deception.

Here she was at eight, with the chemistry set she’d begged for at Christmas. Her father was beside her in this one, showing her a picture of the periodic table, explaining how everything on earth, everything in the universe, even—people, starfish, cement, bicycles, and far-off planets—was made up of a combination of these elements. “Isn’t it amazing to think of, Ruthie?” he’d asked. Ruthie had found the idea that we were only a series of neatly constructed puzzle pieces or building blocks vaguely unsettling—even at eight, she wanted there to be more to it than that.

Katherine believed that when the work was going well things just fell into place, as if by magic. It was the artist’s job to open herself up, let herself be guided to whatever the next step might be.

watch Mama and Papa while they sleep. It makes me feel strange and lovely and more like a shadow than a real girl—awake when no one else is, me and the moon smiling down on Mama and Papa while they dream.

No one could work harder to be happy," Tocqueville observes of Americans, marveling at the ceaseless, restless energy they expand in search of a better life. Rushing from one thing tho the next, an American will travel hundreds of miles in a day. He will build a house in which to pass his old age and then sell it before the roof is on. He will continually change paths "for fear of missing the shortest cut leading to happiness.

But Tess always wondered—maybe people were better off with the watered-down version of life, life with blinders, filters, cars that ran and buildings that went up on time, simple, stupid, mindless jobs. Maybe they were happy.

Gary had grown up in a small town in Idaho and said it was kid heaven—there was room to breathe, to explore, you knew your neighbors, and your parents didn’t mind if you were out late because bad things never happened there. You were safe.

Accompanied by the soundtrack of the latest number one record, playing from a tinny little radio on a shelf in a cheap riverside café, the deal was sealed, the pact was made. Such were the circumstances under which two ordinary people became murderers.

And as Rhonda told the story, she thought: this is how the past gets passed down. This is how memories are made. Half-invented, embellished, given a touch of whimsy. Daniel would be a saint now that he was dead. A beautiful man who made his child wings.

The attic smelled like dust and mice. Piper was sure she could hear faint scuttling sounds off in the shadows, feel beady eyes upon her. She hoped it was only mice and not something larger, something more dangerous. Was it more than rustling? Was that faint breathing she heard coming from the darkest corner, the place where no light touched?

The thing that drew them to her was the thing that had made all of them come to Sexton in the first place: they were all outsiders, people on the fringe. And no one, it seemed, understood this better than Suz. She turned her difference into a source of power, power that radiated from her, humming, a live thing that sent sparks out to anyone who listened.

My dear cousin means the world to me. He is my only ally and I lost him. Deep in my heart I know he didn’t want to blame me but his heart is set on that training and I had been beginning to think that took priority over family. I hope he would see reason but I can't not blame him if he doesn't. Breaking free from this castle is a dream not only held by me. But I can't imagine having to reason with someone who stole your future.

We also have to consider the many different kinds of rape we have learned about over the past few years as conservative politicians blunder through trying to explain their stances on sexual violence and abortion. For instance, Indiana treasurer Richard Mourdock, running for the US Senate in 2012, said, in a debate, "I struggled with it myself for a long time, and I realized that life is a gift from God, and I think even when life begins int hat horrible situation of rape, that is something God intended to happen." I've been obsessing over these words, and trying to understand how someone who purports to believe in God can also believe that anything born of rape is God-intended. Just as there are many different kinds of rape, there are many different kinds of God. I am also reminded that women, more often than not, are the recipient of God's intentions and must also bear the burdens of these intentions. Mourdock is certainly not alone in offering up opinions about rape. Former Missouri representative Todd Akin believes in "legitimate rape" and the oxymoronic "forcible rape," not to be confused with all that illegitimate rape going on. Ron Paul believes in the existence of "honest rape," but turns a blind eye to the dishonest rapes out there. Former Wisconsin State representative Roger Rivard believes some girls, "they rape so easy." Lest you think these new definitions of rape are only the purview of men, failed Senate candidate Linda McMahon of Connecticut has introduced us to the idea of "emergency rape." Given this bizarre array of new rape definitions, it is hard to reconcile the belief that women are rising when there is still so much in our cultural climate working to hold women down. We can, I suppose, take comfort in knowing that none of these people is in a position of power anymore.

She’d carried him home, pulled the buckshot pellets out of him, stitched him up, and nursed him back to health. He’d been by her side ever since. “He was lucky you found him,” I said after hearing the story. “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Auntie told me. “He and I were meant for one another.” I never saw such devotion in a dog—or any animal, for that matter. His wounds had healed, but the buckshot left him blind in his right eye, which was milky white. His ghost eye, Auntie called it. “He came so close to death, he’s got one eye back there still,” she explained. I loved Buckshot, but I hated that milky-white moon that seemed to see everything and nothing all at once.

However, this court is constrained by law, and under the law, I can only conclude that the Government has not violated FOIA by refusing to turn over the documents sought in the FOIA requests, and so cannot be compelled by this court of law to explain in detail the reasons why its actions do not violate the Constitution and the laws of the United States. The Alice-in-Wonderland nature of this pronouncement is not lost on me; but after careful and extensive consideration, I find myself stuck in a paradoxical situation in which I cannot solve a problem because of contradictory constraints and rules—a veritable Catch-22. I can find no way around the thicket of laws and precedents that effectively allow the Executive Branch of our Government to proclaim as perfectly lawful certain actions that seem on their face incompatible with our Constitution and laws, while keeping the reasons for their conclusion a secret.