Mitch All Together Quotes

What I mean is, I didn't fall in love with you all as a whole. I fell in love with each of you because of who you are. I don't care about you because you come with Mara. I care about you because you're a good kid. You're smart. You're loyal. And you love and look out for your sister and Mara. I know grown men who do not have a character as fine as yours. Those are the reasons I love you. There are different reasons I love Billie. And there are different reasons I love Mara. Today, what we had together was good. But the feelings I feel for you aren't feelings I have to have in order to have Mara. They're feelings you earned. Now, you with me?

Children wonder at the world. Parents wonder at their children’s wonder. In so doing, we are all together young.

All parents damage their children. IT cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair. The damage done by Eddie's father was, at the beginning, the damage of neglect... All parents damage their children. This was their life together. Neglect. Violence. Silence. And now, someplace beoynd death, Eddie slumped against a stainless steel wall and dropped into a snowbank, stung again by the denial of a man whose love, almost inexplicably, he still coveted, a man ignoring him, even in heaven. His father. The damage done. ~pgs 104, 110

All parents damage their children. This was their life together. Neglect. Violence. Silence.

The man who gets Mara gets you and Billie. I’m that man. What you gotta get is, while fallin’ in love with Mara, I fell in love with you and your sister. Straight up, Bud, no lie. The feelings I feel for Mara are hers, the feelings I feel for Billie are hers and the feelings I feel for you are yours. You all have my love, not collectively, individually. Do you understand me?” “Mitch nodded. “Right. What I mean is, I didn’t fall in love with you all as a whole. I fell in love with each of you because of who you are. I don’t care about you because you come with Mara. I care about you because you’re a good kid. You’re smart. You’re loyal. And you love and look out for your sister and Mara. I know grown men who do not have a character as fine as yours. Those are the reasons I love you. There are different reasons I love Billie. And there are different reasons I love Mara. Today, what we had together was good. But the feelings I feel for you aren’t feelings I have to have in order to have Mara. They’re feelings you earned. Now, you with me?

When she says, 'How can you ask if I love you? Look at all I've done with you. What else would you call it?' That kind of love-the kind you realize you already have by the life you've created together-that's the kind that lasts.

Before I entered the service, all I did was take orders. Next thing I knew, I was giving them. Peacetime was one thing. Got a lot of wise guy recruits. But then the war started and the new men flooded in- young men, like you- and they were all saluting me, wanting me to tell them what to do. I could see the fear in their eyes. They acted as if I knew something about war that was classified. They thought I could keep them alive. You did too, didn't you?' Eddie had to admit he did. The Captain reached back and rubbed his neck. 'I couldn't, of course. I took my orders, too. But if I couldn't keep you alive, I thought I could at least keep you together. In the middle of a big war, you go looking for a small idea to believe in. When you find one, you hold it the way a soldier holds his crucifix when he's praying in a foxhole. For me, that little idea was what I told you guys every day. No one gets left behind.

All parents damage their children. This was their life together. Neglect. Violence. Silence. And now, someplace beyond death, Eddie slumped against a stainless steel wall and dropped into a snowbank, stung again by the denial of a man whose love, almost inexplicably, he still coveted, a man ignoring him, even in heaven. His father. The damage done.

She says everyone you lose here, you find again there. Our family is all together. Her. My parents.

Because it all ties together. When I grew up, I realized how lucky I’d been. I got serious. I studied. I went to college, then medical school. I specialized in replantation.

In the evening, we’d all go together to a restaurant with some great pasta, maybe some duck—I love duck—and then we’d dance the rest of the night. I’d dance with all the wonderful dance partners out there, until I was exhausted. And then I’d go home and have a deep, wonderful sleep.

What if you had one day perfectly healthy, I asked? What would you do? “Twenty-four hours?” Twenty-four hours. “Let’s see…I’d get up in the morning, do my exercises, have a lovely breakfast of sweet rolls and tea, go for a swim, then have my friends come over for a nice lunch. I’d have them come one or two at a time so we could talk about their families, their issues, talk about how much we mean to each other.“Then I’d like to go for a walk, in a garden with some trees, watch their colors, watch the birds, take in the nature that I haven’t seen in so long now. “In the evening, we’d all go together to a restaurant with some great pasta, maybe some duck—I love duck—and then we’d dance the rest of the night. I’d dance with all the wonderful dance partners out there, until I was exhausted. And then I’d go home and have a deep, wonderful sleep.” That’s it? “That’s it.” It was so simple. So average. I was actually a little disappointed. I figured he’d fly to Italy or have lunch with the President or romp on the seashore or try every exotic thing he could think of. After all these months, lying there, unable to move a leg or a foot—how could he find perfection in such an average day? Then I realized this was the whole point.

Daniel believes that popularity is very much a part of the adult playground, affecting the innovation and productivity of corporations all over the world. He perceives something very adolescent in the workplace that reminds him of my class almost every day, he tells me. It’s a dynamic that plays out in every meeting and influences how every decision is made. “Here’s what happens,” Daniel explains. “After a meeting, everyone gets together in twos and threes around the watercooler, and then you hear what people really thought. And it’s all the stuff that didn’t get talked about at the meeting at all. I’m always amazed at the big difference, and I wonder, why the delta?” Daniel’s theory is that efficient decision-making in business has become hampered by popularity, or rather the fear of losing it. “People don’t want to lose status or have people dislike them,” he says. “There’s a lot of norming in a company, people going with the herd, following others. People are afraid to say what they think. I find it really interesting how much we overestimate how secure those around us are, and how much this still plays out for people in their thirties, forties, and fifties. They still need that validation from their peers. They really want people to like them, and when they think others don’t, it stings them for days, or months.

The RNC was easy for Trump to corrupt to his will, because it had already been corrupted with voter suppression, Frank Luntz messaging, the Hastert Rule, the selling of Sarah Palin, telling different lies to different voters just to gain their support, Mitch McConnell's theft of the supreme court (assisted by those justices prevaricating at their senate hearings), to name just a few. And how about the New York Times, and all those journalists country-wide who cared more about appearing "fair and balanced" than exposing lies and corruption? We watched them not know how to handle the vilification of facts, but that, too, started before Trump (think Joe Walsh calling out "You lie!" during Obama's State of the Union, when Obama was stating facts. They reported the lack of decorum, but not the lack of veracity.) Now we watch the legal system--and its avenues for motions and appeals before, during, and after conviction--be abused and corrupted by Trump's legal team, with an assist from judges who don't even try too hard to hide their partiality. We need those who participated whose eyes have now cleared to be as forthcoming as Michael Cohen has been in exposing how and why the deeds were done, and owning their culpability. They need to come clean, to help us find ways to strengthen the frayed and fraying institutions that are barely holding together. It may be the only way through.

He sighed. Morrie had counseled so many unhappy lovers in his years as a professor. “It’s sad, because a loved one is so important. You realize that, especially when you’re in a time like I am, when you’re not doing so well. Friends are great, but friends are not going to be here on a night when you’re coughing and can’t sleep and someone has to sit up all night with you, comfort you, try to be helpful.” Charlotte and Morrie, who met as students, had been married forty-four years. I watched them together now, when she would remind him of his medication, or come in and stroke his neck, or talk about one of their sons. They worked as a team, often needing no more than a silent glance to understand what the other was thinking. Charlotte was a private person, different from Morrie, but I knew how much he respected her, because sometimes when we spoke, he would say, “Charlotte might be uncomfortable with me revealing that,” and he would end the conversation. It was the only time Morrie held anything back.“I’ve learned this much about marriage,” he said now. “You get tested. You find out who you are, who the other person is, and how you accommodate or don’t.” Is there some kind of rule to know if a marriage is going to work? Morrie smiled. “Things are not that simple, Mitch.” I know. “Still,” he said, “there are a few rules I know to be true about love and marriage: If you don’t respect the other person, you’re gonna have a lot of trouble. If you don’t know how to compromise, you’re gonna have a lot of trouble. If you can’t talk openly about what goes on between you, you’re gonna have a lot of trouble. And if you don’t have a common set of values in life, you’re gonna have a lot of trouble. Your values must be alike. “And the biggest one of those values, Mitch?” Yes? “Your belief in the importance of your marriage.” He sniffed, then closed his eyes for a moment. “Personally,” he sighed, his eyes still closed, “I think marriage is a very important thing to do, and you’re missing a hell of a lot if you don’t try it.” He ended the subject by quoting the poem he believed in like a prayer: “Love each other or perish.

The phone was snatched from her grasp. She let out a screech, her fingers clasping at air. “Hey! Give that back.” Gracie slipped it down the V of her tank and into her ample cleavage. “Come and get it.” Billy plopped down on a vacant stool, eyes bugging out of his head. Maddie stared at Gracie’s chest and contemplated. She could stick her hand down a woman’s top. It was no big deal—just skin, for God’s sake. She jumped off the stool and straightened to her full five-foot-three inches. “What is wrong with calling him?” “It’s a girlfriend’s responsibility to stop her friend from the dreaded drunk dial.” Maddie scowled. She was not drunk dialing! “Telling him where I am isn’t a crime.” Gracie planted her hands on her hips. “Sorry, honey. I’m doing this for your own good.” “You don’t understand.” Maddie picked up her drink and took a slow sip. Her gaze was fixed on the stretch of fabric across Gracie’s ample chest. She wanted that phone, and with way too many margaritas in her system, she wasn’t above groping another woman to get it. “I’m getting that phone.” Billy’s mouth dropped open, and Maddie was surprised no drool hung down his chin like a rabid dog’s. “You’ll thank me later.” Gracie didn’t appear the least bit threatened. If anything, she thrust her breasts out farther, as though daring Maddie to come and get it. “Give it to me!” Maddie stomped her foot. “Like I said, come and get it.” Gracie batted her thick lashes, cornflower-blue eyes sparkling. She tucked her hand into her top and shoved it lower into her bra. “All right, but remember, I know how to fight.” Gracie laughed and Billy whooped like he’d hit the jackpot. Maddie charged. Gracie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a holler, crossing her arms over her chest for protection. Maddie refused to be thwarted. She squeezed her lids together so she wouldn’t have to look and flung her hands out, praying she’d get hold of something. When her palm brushed against soft, pillowy cotton, she squealed. Pay dirt. “Maddie!” Gracie grabbed her hand, twisting her body to block Maddie’s progress. “That’s my boob!” Maddie reached again and this time her hand curled around the cotton neckline. She pulled, squirming down the deep V of the top. Her fingers brushed the phone and a surge of adrenaline pounded through her. “Now, why doesn’t this surprise me?” Mitch’s voice made her knees go weak. Before she could swing around, she was hauled against his warm, strong body. She sagged in relief. He’d come for her after all. “You girls are giving everyone quite a show.” Charlie stood next to Mitch, looking lethal in all black. Maddie could picture him with an FBI armband over his bicep. Wait . . . was that the FBI? Or was it SWAT? “With all these disappointed faces, I’m sorry we broke them up.” Mitch’s tone rang with amusement, and Maddie realized it had been too long since she’d heard him sound like that. “I wanted to call you, but she wouldn’t let me.” Her pulse raced from her girl fight and the buzz of tequila. His palm spread wide over the expanse of her stomach, his thumb brushing the bottom of her breast. “Well, here I am.” “See!” Gracie pointed and shook her hips in a little booty dance. “I told you so!” Yes,

rattled and rocked the theater. Considered one of the funniest movies of all time, it also sprinkled in unexpected doses of wisdom and insight. In one memorable scene, Curly, the gritty cowboy played by the late Jack Palance, and city slicker Mitch, played by Billy Crystal, leave the group to search for stray cattle. Although they had clashed for most of the movie, riding along together they finally connect over a conversation about life. Suddenly Curly reins his horse

She glanced around the room, her attention settling on the door. “I should go back to bed.” “Stay.” His hand tightened on her leg. “Please.” She pressed her lips together, propriety and desire warring inside her. “To sleep,” he added quickly, as he ran his hand up her thigh. “I like the way you feel next to me.” A shiver ran through her. The bed had plush, down pillows, a rich, velvety comforter, and Mitch. He’d be strong and warm. Wrong and right collided and merged into one insurmountable temptation. Their eyes met and that delicious hint of sexual tension spiked between them. She gave up the virtuous fight. “All right.” He swung back the covers and she climbed in. The tribal tattoo rippled as he leaned over to flick off the Tiffany light on the bedside table. He scooted down, his solid body sliding against hers. He turned toward her, smiling in the pale moonlight cast through the window. “Maybe you’d better face away or I’ll risk getting carried away.” She rushed to turn over, the ache he evoked warming her belly. His arm slid over her waist, and he pulled her close. Out of nowhere, the urge to weep swept over her. In the darkness, emotion swelled to the surface, and she blinked back fresh tears. Behind her, his breath was slow and steady. She placed her arm on top of his and automatically their fingers tangled. His leg slid against hers. The tickle of his hair against the smoothness of her skin was delicious. He kissed her temple, and the covers rustled as he put his head on a pillow. She was in bed with another man, and it didn’t feel wrong the way it should. It felt all too right. She

I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you.” “A combination of both is usually the best,” Prophet advised. “Might want to wait until later, though.” They were about to start their descent, according to Mitch’s call over the loudspeaker. But Tom gave Prophet a quick, hard slam with his fist to Prophet’s biceps before grabbing his face and yanking him close . . . and kissing the shit out of him. He pinned Prophet against the seat, ground against him . . . both knowing they didn’t have much time before they’d need to be officially seat-belted. A hard, hot grind, and both of them yanked their pants down. He caught their cocks in his hand and stroked them together. Prophet reached down and tweaked one of Tom’s piercings and that was enough to make him shoot. Prophet was right behind him, shuddering, murmuring into Tom’s mouth, since they hadn’t stopped kissing at all. Tom only pulled back slightly to breathe—they remained, foreheads together, panting. Smiling. And he decided that yes, Prophet’s surprises could actually be good for him.

It was as though all the passengers on the Titanic were roped together, and the fattest guy had just fallen overboard.

He’d stopped talking about bonding her to him forever and had apparently decided to concentrate on being charming instead. Liv never would have believed that such an intensely alpha male could be light and playful but she had been seeing an entirely different side of Baird lately. Aside from the sushi class, he’d also taken her to an alien petting zoo where she was able to see and touch animals that were native to the three home worlds of the Kindred and they’d been twice to the Kindred version of a movie theater where the seats were wired to make the viewer feel whatever was happening on the screen. He’d also taken her to a musical performance where the musicians played giant drums bigger than themselves and tiny flutes smaller than her pinky finger. The music had been surprisingly beautiful—the melodies sweet and haunting and Liv had been moved. But it was the evenings they spent alone together in the suite that made Liv really believe she was in danger of feeling too much. Baird cooked for her—sometimes strange but delicious alien dishes and once Earth food, when she’d taught him how to make cheeseburgers. They ate in the dim, romantic light of some candle-like glow sticks he’d placed on the table and there was always very good wine or the potent fireflower juice to go with the meal. Liv was very careful not to over-imbibe because she needed every ounce of willpower she had to remember why she was holding out. For dessert Baird always made sure there was some kind of chocolate because he’d learned from his dreams how much she loved it. Liv had been thinking lately that she might really be in trouble if she didn’t get away from him soon. If all he’d had going for him was his muscular good looks she could have resisted easily enough. But he was thoughtful too and endlessly interested in her—asking her all kinds of questions about her past and friends and family as well as people he’d seen while they were “dream-sharing” as he called it. Liv found herself talking to him like an old friend, actually feeling comfortable with him instead of being constantly on her guard. She knew that Baird was actively wooing her, doing everything he could to earn her affection, but even knowing that couldn’t stop her from liking him. She had never been so ardently pursued in her life and she was finding that she actually liked it. Baird had taken her more places and paid her more attention in the past week than Mitch had for their entire relationship. It was intoxicating to always be the center of the big warrior’s attention, to know that he was focused exclusively on her needs and wants. But attention and attraction aside, there was another factor that was making Liv desperate to get away. Just as he had predicted, the physical attraction she felt for Baird seemed to be growing exponentially. She only had to be in the same room with him for a minute or two, breathing in his warm, spicy scent, and she was instantly ready to jump his bones. The need was growing every day and Liv didn’t know how much longer she could fight it.

been designed to research the spread of the Spanish flu. Comparing that disease with YARS was a fascinating exercise, as was comparing the world it devastated to the one that existed today. The very name “Spanish flu” was just another lie foisted on the world by America. The truth was that the disease had first taken hold in Kansas City military outposts. It killed more U.S. troops during World War I than combat, spreading easily in the cramped conditions that prevailed on ships, battlegrounds, and bases. The initial reaction of the medical community had been slowed by its focus on the war, but when the scope of the threat was recognized, the country had pulled together. Surgical masks were worn in public to slow the spread of the disease. Stores were prohibited from having sales to prevent the congregation of people in confined spaces. Some cities demanded that passengers’ health be certified before they boarded trains. There was no denying that the United States and its citizens had been strong in the early twentieth century—accustomed to death and hardship, led by competent politicians, and informed by an honest press. So much had changed in the last century. The American people were now inexplicably suspicious of modern medicine and susceptible to nonsensical conspiracy theories. They were selfish and self-absorbed, willing to prioritize their own trivial desires over the lives of their countrymen. Their medical system, designed less to heal people than to generate profits, would quickly collapse as it was flooded by desperate patients and abandoned by personnel fearful of being infected. And during all this, America’s politicians and media would use the burgeoning epidemic to augment their own power and wealth. That is, until the magnitude of the crisis became clear. Then they would flee. The sound of a truck engine pulled him from his contemplation and he turned. His people, disinfected and wearing clean clothing, climbed into the vehicle and set off into the darkness. Halabi bowed respectfully in their direction, acknowledging their sacrifice and the enormity of the journey ahead of them. After the long drive to Mogadishu, they would board a private jet that would take them to Mexico. From there they would be smuggled across the northern border.

[...] hereby declare my unwavering friendship to Mitch Johnson. I promise to have your back in any public situation. If I believe you to be wrong, I will tell you so in private. I promise to be there when you need to talk. To say nothing when you just need my presence but not my opinion. I promise to laugh at your bad jokes at least once a month.” She folded up her speech, stuck it back in her pocket. “And I promise to help you create an edible that will make all fifty states want to legalize cannabis.” She waited for him. He said nothing. “It’s your turn.”“I know. I’m just trying to come up with the right words for how I’m feeling at this moment.” He pulled at his collar. “Then as your friend, I’ll stand here silently and wait for you to speak.” Many seconds later, he cleared his throat. “I, Mitch Johnson, clearly being of unsound mind for being a part of a friendship ceremony, do hereby declare my freely given friendship to Luna Parker. I recognize Ms. Parker’s weirdness and never-ending antics as a part of who she is, and I embrace the idea of bringing a friend like that into my life. Together, I believe we will balance each other out. I… shall strive to always have her back in any given situation. And to occasionally put aside my rules if the result brings a smile to her lips.” He stopped and glanced at the goats. “And I promise to protect her from those who would try and harm her. Oh, and eat her muffins without complaint.

do it? Can you look into that young girl’s eyes and convince her that Robert E. Lee is there to encourage her? Do you think she will feel inspired and hopeful by that story? Do these monuments help her see a future with limitless potential? Have you ever thought that if her potential is limited, yours and mine are, too? We all know the answer to these very simple questions. When you look into this child’s eyes is the moment when the searing truth comes into focus for us. This is the moment when we know what is right and what we must do. We can’t walk away from this truth. And I knew that taking down the monuments was going to be tough, but you elected me to do the right thing, not the easy thing, and this is what that looks like. So relocating these Confederate monuments is not about taking something away from someone else. This is not about politics, this is not about blame or retaliation. This is not a naïve quest to solve all our problems at once. This is, however, about showing the whole world that we as a city and as a people are able to acknowledge, understand, reconcile, and most importantly, choose a better future for ourselves, making straight what has been crooked and making right what was wrong. Otherwise, we will continue to pay a price with discord, with division, and yes, with violence. To literally put the Confederacy on a pedestal in our most prominent places of honor is an inaccurate recitation of our full past, it is an affront to our present, and it is a bad prescription for our future. History cannot be changed. It cannot be moved like a statue. What is done is done. The Civil War is over, and the Confederacy lost and we are better for it. Surely we are far enough removed from this dark time to acknowledge that the cause of the Confederacy was wrong. And in the second decade of the twenty-first century, asking African Americans—or anyone else—to drive by property that they own occupied by reverential statues of men who fought to destroy the country and deny that person’s humanity seems perverse and absurd. Centuries-old wounds are still raw because they never healed right in the first place. Here is the essential truth: We are better together than we are apart. Indivisibility is our essence. Isn’t this the gift that the people of New Orleans have given to the world? We radiate

the frustration was knowing that the FBI’s silence had helped Putin succeed and that more exposure could have given the American people the information they needed. While Brennan and Reid had their hair on fire and Comey was dragging his feet, Republican Senate leader Mitch McConnell was actively playing defense for Trump and the Russians. We know now that even after he was fully briefed by the CIA, McConnell rejected the intelligence and warned the Obama administration that if it made any attempt to inform the public, he would attack it for playing politics. I can’t think of a more shameful example of a national leader so blatantly putting partisanship over national security. McConnell knew better, but he did it anyway. I know some former Obama administration officials have regrets about how this all unfolded. Former Homeland Security Secretary Jeh Johnson told the House Intelligence Committee in June 2017 that the administration didn’t take a more aggressive public stance because it was concerned about reinforcing Trump’s complaints that the election was “rigged” and being “perceived as taking sides in the election.” Former Deputy National Security Advisor Ben Rhodes, whom I’d come to trust and value when we worked together in President Obama’s first term, told the Washington Post that the Obama administration was focused on a traditional cyber threat, while “the Russians were playing this much bigger game” of multifaceted information warfare

Do I really have to go through this again? The shit has officially hit the fan and we are all Americans. There are no more Democrats and Republicans. No more rednecks and snowflakes. We’ve got to work together. Us knuckle draggers might be able to kill and gut a deer, but those little nerdy guys might be able to set you up with solar panels or keep you alive if you eat some bad barbecue. United we stand, assholes. Divided we’re screwed.

Three car doors slammed in quick staccato as we got out. For a long moment we looked around at the lot, where we were just one in a massive sea of cars. Patrons who parked in the lot of the Willow Creek Faire could see the entrance when they got out of their cars: a two-dimensional castle façade that some volunteers had put together about five years ago. But not here. Our entire Faire could probably fit in this parking lot, and all we could see around us was row after row of cars. Like parking at Disney World, but without the trams or mouse ears. “Holy shit.” April wasn’t part of our Faire, but even she sounded impressed. “Where’s the entrance?” “Up that way.” I couldn’t see the gates I was pointing toward, but the stream of people told me I was indicating the right way. “A little bit of a hike, then.” April looked behind us, where the grassy lot continued to fill slowly with cars. “Holy shit,” she said again. “This isn’t a Faire. This is a town.” “Yeah.” Mitch had been here before—so had I; if you grew up around here you went to the Maryland Renaissance Festival at least once during your childhood—but even his eyes were a little wide at the vastness of it all. “This place is . . . It’s pretty big.” He paused. “That’s what she said.” I was too nervous to snicker, but April elbowed him in the ribs, and that was good enough. “Okay. We’re going in.” He reached over his head for the back of his T-shirt, pulling it off and tossing it into the back of the truck. April sighed. “All right, Kilty. Naked enough?” “Look on the bright side.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her as he stuck his keys into the sporran he wore attached to the kilt. “I’m not working this Faire. Which means I get to wear this kilt the way it’s meant to be worn.” I coughed. I didn’t want to think about what Mitch was or was not wearing under there. Which was sad, because thinking about Mitch in a kilt used to be one of my favorite hobbies. The man was born to wear that green plaid

You mentioned something about needing resuscitation?”  Her pussy quivered as she mentally visualized him breathing life into her kitty and easing the tension inside her.  Her knees buckled and she forced them to straighten.  Unable to find her voice she gave a quick, tight nod. He flashed her a bad-boy grin, and in a low, barely controlled voice, he said, “I believe a little mouth to mouth is in order.”  Mitch’s hand slipped between their bodies and cupped her passion-drenched sex.  Pleasure engulfed her and she nearly orgasmed right there, on the spot, all over his hand.  She clamped her thighs together and leaned into him, her nipples crushed into his chest and tightening to the point of pain.  She made a sexy noise and shifted.  He sank to his knees, and shot her a glance, all traces of humor gone from his eyes.  “Or, rather, a little mouth to kitty.”