Nashville Girl Quotes

And it was hard to explain. That they didn't want to be a man, but that they had never felt quite right as a girl. That they only started to feel really okay when they understood they could be their own thing. That they could exist in a space that was all their own, that they could shift and adjust until it felt right. They had settled on nonbinary feeling right for them, even though they knew others like them had their own names that felt right to their own experiences. And that was comforting too. That each person could choose what brought them closer to belonging, the power in that. Knowing that one day, people might discover even better words for it. That there was only ever freedom in continuing to find new names for who we were, who we could be.

I meant that the hatred of that July day in Nashville was alive and well on that horrible day in Pittsburgh. People hate others so they strike like snakes. It’s all connected—we’re all connected, bumping around into each other, some of us good, some bad, most a mixture. Every thought acted upon has consequences. Every one.

Oh, trust me, Wyatt’s not exempt. There’s a reason he never brings girls home. He did it once when he was nineteen. Poor girl spent the weekend being interrogated by my husband and then flew back to Nashville and never spoke to Wyatt again.

He wasn’t wrong. I was a good girl, but sometimes, especially when I thought about him, all I wanted to be was bad.

You know what happens when you play a country tune backwards? You get your girl and your truck back, you’re not drunk anymore and your hound dog comes back to life.” She said, “I was born in Nashville

We are Nasvillians now. We have to be classy Southern bitches." Kacey glared as she swigged her tea. "Classy girls don't say classy bitches." "This one does," Lacey said as she took a sip of her tea with her pinky up just to show she meant what she said.

Dude, I told you she was a man-eater." "That's the thing, she isn't. She is actually an amazing woman. Tough as nails, and man she keeps me on my toes, but she has a heart of gold that she hides from everyone. I really do believe that she was made for me, and I don't care how girly that sounds." Erick scoffed. "No worries, when a dude is really in love, he turns into a freaking girl. It's scary. So stay away from girls, they are icky and will make you do stupid things. Okay, buddy?

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It’s quite funny, you were never Conrad’s first choice. You were the substitute. But your promiscuous sister couldn’t keep her legs closed, and well, she was no longer pure for the Ivory family.” Becca clicked her tongue. My body went cold. My eyes blurred and everything Becca said no longer sounded like a language I understood. “My… sister? No, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Layla had no idea who this family was. She… she was raped by Trent.” “Did you actually see her being raped? Or is that what she told you?” Becca pursed her thin lips at me. Blinking rapidly, I thought about how I hadn’t seen Layla being raped; I’d just hear them. Hear them… having sex? But she’d always come back into the closet with me. She’d always look repulsed and heartbroken. “She fell in love with Trent, and he loved her, but business is business. When he found out Ian Ivory was no longer buying Layla for the two million dollars he had promised him, he couldn’t handle it. Layla was supposed to be his largest transaction and his way out of the Nashville slums. He couldn’t believe having sex with her had wrecked him. So… he set it all up, and he put Layla up to it as well. He said if she helped him get you to go to the Ivory’s house, he’d marry her.” Becca paused. Leaning in, she brushed my hair from my face with her blood-stained palm. “It must really hurt to know your sister didn’t want you, either.” She frowned at me with insincere sadness.

You can be happy and still feel like you don’t really know what the fuck you’re doing.

Yet, Black women, in particular, suffer from the stigmatization of Black male sexuality, to which the injunction, "Believe women," too readily gives cover, just as Dalit women suffer specifically from the sexual stigmatization of Dalit men. When we are too quick to believe a white woman's accusation against a Black man, or a Brahmin woman's accusation against a Dalit man, it is Black and Dalit women who are rendered more vulnerable to sexual violence. Their ability to speak out against the violence they face from men of their race or caste is stifled, and their status as counterpart to the oversexed Black or Dalit male is entrenched. In that paradox of female sexuality, such women are rendered "unrapable" and thus "more rapeable". Ida B. Wells patiently documented the lynchings of Black men on trumped-up claims of raping white women. But she also recorded the many rapes of Black women that inspired no lynch mobs and at which little notice was taken. One such case was that of Maggie Reese, an 8-year-old girl raped by a white man in Nashville, Tennessee. The outrage upon helpless childhood needed no avenging in this case: she was Black.

Maybe all love was a surprise, followed by practice. A step out of comfort zones, followed by hard work. Lurking in all the places you didn't expect, places that become a forever part of you.

Not to mention, assuming an owner of a business is a guy is just not my mom’s MO. Long before she dreamed up the idea for Big League Burger and helped build it up to the veritable empire it is today, she was almost too progressive a feminist for a place like Nashville, where she jokingly but not-quite-jokingly would clamp her hands over our ears anytime a line in a country song said something about girls with painted-on jeans or sitting on tailgates, saying it would make us 'the complicit kind of cowgirl.

They taught me that even when you mess up, you try again, until you get it right. That love is a constant, lifelong effort to perfect your favorite recipe.

every new appointment, each new thing, seemed to fall during business hours. Elle wasn’t sure how other working foster parents managed it. How any parent managed anything, really.

the pressure that’s put especially on young athletes can take such a toll. Even when the public eye isn’t trained on you, many people are drawn to sports as a way to escape other things in their lives.

Maybe all love was a surprise, followed by practice. A step out of comfort zones, followed by hard work.

what it looks like to love another person for who they are, without reservations or limits. They showed me the joy you can find in a shared passion, always wanting to grow and learn together, as a team.

They taught me that just because love can change and shift as you both grow, it doesn’t mean it disappears.

I Do Believe You Ate My Salad Recently, I attended a luncheon at the George Lindsey (Goober of Mayberry fame) Film Festival at my alma mater, the University of North Alabama. Good manners and polite social behavior were at the top of my list, for I know how often business deals get made and people fall in love over meals--my goodness! Seated right next to me was my friend Buddy Killen, a legendary songwriter from Nashville, Tennessee. Everything seemed to be going fine until I looked over and saw that Buddy was eating my salad. I guess he forgot that your salad is always served on the right. Should I have ignored his faux pas? Skipped my salad to avoid making him uncomfortable? What was a Grits girl to do? I’ll tell you what: without a second thought, I turned to Buddy and said straight out, “Excuse me, sir, I do believe you ate my salad!” Never missing a beat, he waved the waiter over and said, “Sir, I’m afraid you forgot Edie’s salad!” With that, I got my salad and all honor was saved. Which just goes to show that being straightforward in a polite manner is never inappropriate. -Edie Hand

Betsy Garrison, the tough, feisty head of the Nashville Metro Sex Crimes Unit, was sitting up in the hospital bed, a huge white bandage covering the left side of her head. She looked beaten up and tired but gave as genuine a smile as she could muster. “Taylor, Fitz, c’mon in. Join the party.” Taylor took up residence on the opposite side of the bed from Post, who was scowling possessively at Betsy. That’s interesting, she noted. Looks like Post has more than professional concern for his partner.

It had been a quiet night. For the past few months, Baldwin had been tasked to the Middle Tennessee Field Office, ostensibly working as a regional profiler. Baldwin had been working cases for the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit out of Quantico peripherally, consulting when needed. He wasn’t exactly in retirement, but on a pseudo sabbatical, allowing him to be in Nashville with Taylor. The arrangement was working wonderfully until this phone call, the familiar voice booming in his ear.

Elle stood there a moment longer and realized her ephemeral lover was not going to profess true love and offer to sweep her off her feet and into his BMW-clad wheels. She stomped haughtily from the room and he breathed a sigh of relief. Oh well. She wasn’t the right type anyway. There would be others. In the meantime, he had time to catch a shower, load up the car, have a beer or two in the hotel bar, then make his way back to Nashville. *

The day was stifling, humidity in the high nineties, a threat of rain on the horizon. Though it was full light, the sun was not shining. A thick miasma of haze blanketed the sky, turning the blue to gray. Nashville in the summer. The

She opened the latest crime-scene photos submitted by the Nashville Police Department overnight. The fresh kill. The photo named the victim as Giselle St. Claire. What a delicate name, she thought. Poor girl. Giselle was naked, blue from the cold. She showed signs of exsanguination; the gaping wound in her neck gave that away easily. A second smile. The blood was pooled below her head, framing the scene in a macabre ruby border. Charlotte

I haven't even seen the girl dance yet, except when I catch her dancing in her room, but then she screams at me and I run and hide.

Four dead girls, each murdered more horrifically than the last. A serial killer who’d been dormant for years. Among the paper lunch boxes, the murder files were spread before them, white elephants in their midst. Nashville

Despite indications of affection, a strong Anti-Semitic bias remained. In an 1878 campaign speech Senator John T. Morgan of Alabama referred to a candidate as a 'Jew-dog,' and the following year Senator Morgan opposed the appointment of a postmaster in Montgomery because he had been endorsed 'by a parcel of Jews.' In Nashville, Tennessee, in 1878, Christian mothers threatened to withdraw their children from a private school for girls after two Jews had been accepted. The principal yielded to the pressure and rescinded the enrollments. And in a Rome, Georgia, courtroom in 1873, the plaintiff's attorney declared that one cannot accept the word of a Jew 'even under oath.' Louisiana had anti-Semitic demonstrations in the late 1880s. Then, in 1893, farmers in the Bayou state wrecked Jewish stores in a particularly harsh outburst. That same year Mississippi night riders burned Jewish farmhouses, and a Baltimore minister preached: 'Of all the dirty creatures who have befouled this earth, the Jew is the slimiest.

The sexiest thing about a man is the way he can make a woman smile even when she thinks there is nothing to smile about.

In Nashville, statues appeared in the early morning mist, a hundred ghostly children cast from ice. all our missing hearts, read a sign chained around one’s neck. The police arrived with handcuffs at the ready, but whoever had placed them was gone. Just a prank, one officer radioed back to the station, it’s just ice, but— Around them, commuters paused, shaken for once out of their routines. Some snapped photos, but most simply stood mesmerized, even just for a moment, watching in silence as the small faces slowly, slowly dissolved and blurred. One of them reached out and touched what had once been the face of a little girl, melting a thumb-shaped indent in her cheek. The police shooed them away, cordoned off the area, set up a perimeter in case the perpetrators returned. It took most of the morning for the statues to melt, and for hours the officers on duty would glance up at the skyscrapers and see the silhouettes of people in the windows above, staring down at the fading blocks of ice, and later, at the dark damp patches where children had once stood.

When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with—you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. It’s cheesy as fuck, but it’s true.