Old Cowboy Sayings And Quotes

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I, Gavin MacKenzie, sexy cowboy man of Baker City, Oregon … being of sound mind and hot body … do hereby declare that I love you, Andie Marks, lawyer extraordinaire, and want to be married to you until I’m so old, I either die or my pecker falls off.I will have sex with you whenever you want, and I will always give you the option to be on top if that’s what will make you happy. Blowjobs will always be optional but appreciated.I will change diapers when called for, both for our children and for you when you’re old and decrepit. I will never spit in public or burp too loudly or say mean things about your friends.I promise never to raise my hand against you in anger or tell you that you’re useless or threaten to hurt people who you love. Ten-four, over and out, happily ever after. Those are my vows.
Elle Casey (Shine Not Burn (Shine Not Burn, #1))
What's that old cowboy saying? Never was a horse that couldn't be rode, never was a man who couldn't be throwed.
John Dunning (The Bookwoman's Last Fling (Cliff Janeway, #5))
Late in the afternoon, thunder growling, that same old green pickup rolled in and he saw Jack get out of the truck, beat up Resistol tilted back. A hot jolt scalded Ennis and he was out on the landing pulling the door closed behind him. Jack took the stairs two and two. They seized each other by the shoulders, hugged mightily, squeezing the breath out of each other, saying, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, then, and easily as the right key turns the lock tumblers, their mouths came together, and hard, Jack’s big teeth bringing blood, his hat falling to the floor, stubble rasping, wet saliva welling, and the door opening and Alma looking out for a few seconds at Ennis’s straining shoulders and shutting the door again and still they clinched, pressing chest and groin and thigh and leg together, treading on each other’s toes until they pulled apart to breathe and Ennis, not big on endearments, said what he said to his horses and his daughters, little darlin.
Annie Proulx (Brokeback Mountain)
The old cowboy Hershel, "You know what they say about a horse bein' only afraid of two things?" Walt, "What's that?" Hershel, "Things that move and things that don't
Craig Johnson (The Dark Horse (Walt Longmire, #5))
It's hard to have a serious conversation with you when you're wearin' lighted cocks on your head." AJ defiantly thrust out her chin and the penises bobbled. "We aren't having a conversation. You're give me tough-guy attitude. If you won't acknowledge me in public, you don't have the right to chastise me for anything I do in public or in private. And now you lost the right to do anything to me in private either, bucko." "Quit bein' so goddamm childish." Her eyes narrowed to silver slits. "Quit bein' such a goddamn dickhead." "You're the one with dicks on your head, baby doll." "Yeah? I can take mine off any old time I please, but you wear your dickhead like a second skin. Or should I say as a second foreskin?
Lorelei James (Cowgirl Up and Ride (Rough Riders, #3))
I kept thinking of an old Robert Mitchum cowboy movie where he goes back to see the farmhouse where he was born and finds the house falling apart and an old man living in it by himself. "Lonely place," Robert Mitchum says. The old man says, "Nothing wrong with a lonely place as long as it's private. That's why I never married. Marriage is lonely, but it ain't private." That was always my most intense fear about getting married: When everything sucked and I was by myself, I thought, Well, at least I don't have another miserable person to worry about. I figured if you gave up your private place and it still turns out to be lonely, you're just screwed.
Rob Sheffield (Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time)
Now that he was actually introducing Eleanor to his mom, he couldn’t help but see her the way his mom was going to. His mom was a beautician who sold Avon. She never left the house without touching up her mascara. When Patti Smith was on Saturday Night Live, his mom had gotten upset – "Why she want to look like man? It’s so sad." Eleanor, today, was wearing her sharkskin suit jacket and an old plaid cowboy shirt. She had more in common with his grandpa than his mom. And it wasn’t just the clothes. It was her. Eleanor wasn’t … nice. She was good. She was honorable. She was honest. She would definitely help an old lady across the street. But nobody – not even the old lady – would ever say, ‘Have you met that Eleanor Douglas? What a nice girl.’ Park’s mom liked nice. She loved nice. She liked smiling and small talk and eye contact … All things Eleanor sucked at. Also, his mom didn’t get sarcasm. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t a language thing. She just didn’t get it. She called David Letterman "the ugly, mean one on after Johnny.
Rainbow Rowell (Eleanor & Park)
cowboy walks into a bar, the place is almost empty, and he orders a beer. The bartender brings it to him and the cowboy says, ‘Where is everbody?’ “The bartender says, ‘Gone to the hangin.’ “The cowboy says ‘Hangin? Who are they hangin?’ “‘Brown Paper Pete,’ says the bartender. “‘That is a unusual name,’ says the cowboy. “‘Tell you what,’ says the bartender. ‘Call him that because he wears a brown paper hat, brown paper shirt, brown paper trousers, brown paper boots.’ “‘Dang!’ says the cowboy. ‘That’s weird. What are they hangin him for?’ “‘Rustlin,’ says the bartender.
Annie Proulx (That Old Ace in the Hole: A Novel)
I’m not a big drinker and I’ve had enough secondhand smoke for this decade and the next, so . . .” Great. All she had to do was complain about the deafening volume of the music, and she might as well slap a sticker on her forehead saying old next to the one that already said nerd. “Band’s good, though,” she added. “Country’s not my thing, but the players are . . . proficient.” And great, now she sounded like a professor. Proficient. God. But he was nodding. “Country’s not my thing, either.” “But you have a cowboy hat,” she said, and as soon as the words left her lips, she realized how stupid she sounded, no—not that she sounded, but that she was.
Suzanne Brockmann (Infamous)
What the fuck is wrong with Westerns? Westerns are the shit.” “Oh yeah, tell me, why are westerns THE SHIT?” Ti said, air quoting around THE SHIT. “Because back in the old west, the men were real men. They took charge of the situation. They handled their business by earning respect and gunning down anyone who stood in their way. Cowboys were the first guys to have the balls to be lawless and say fuck-all to society.
T.M. Frazier (King Series Bundle (King, #1-4))
The old cowboy doffs his hat and says, “Much obliged,” as an expression of gratitude. I’m obligated to you, he is saying. The words imply humility: that I cannot get along by myself. They imply reliance: that I need the people around me, that I need God. They imply value: that I recognize the cost involved in the giving. And the words imply gladness: that my life has been filled with the joy that comes when human beings connect in gracious ways. That’s
Gordon MacDonald (A Resilient Life: You Can Move Ahead No Matter What)
You want to leave the moat, to go back to the room; you’re already turning and trying to find the door, covered with fake leather, in the steep wall of the moat, but the master succeeds in grabbing your hand and, looking straight in your eyes, says: Your assignment: describe the jaw of a crocodile, the tongue of a hummingbird, the steeple of the New Maiden Convent, a shoot of bird cherry, the bend of the Lethe, the tail of any village dog, a night of love, mirages over hot asphalt, the bright midday in Berezov, the face of a flibbertigibbet, the garden of hell, compare the termite colony to the forest anthill, the sad fate of leaves to the serenade of a Venetian gondolier, and transform a cicada into a butterfly, turn rain into hail, day into night, give us today our daily bread, make a sibilant out of a vowel, prevent the crash of the train whose engineer is asleep, repeat the thirteenth labor of Hercules, give a smoke to a passerby, explain youth and old age, sing a song about a bluebird bringing water in the morn, turn your face to the north, to the Novgorodian barbicans, and then describe how the doorman knows it is snowing outside, if he sits in the foyer all day, talks to the elevator operator, and does not look out the window because there is no window; yes, tell how exactly, and in addition, plant in your orchard a white rose of the winds, show it to the teacher Pavel and, if he likes it, give the white rose to the teacher Pavel, pin the flower to his cowboy shirt or to his dacha hat, bring joy to the man who departed to nowhere, make your old pedagogue—a joker, a clown, and a wind-chaser—happy.
Sasha Sokolov (A School for Fools)
In addition to Linda and me, there's a brother, a strange little guy named Bradley, obsessed with his own cowboy boots. He paces areound and around the house, staring at his feet and humming the G. I. Joe song from the television commmercial. He is the ringleader of a neighborhood gang of tiny boys, four-year olds, who throw dirt and beat each other with sticks all day long. In the evenings he comes to dinner with an imaginnary friend named Charcoal. 'Charcoal really needs a bath', my mother says, spooning Spaghettios onto his plate. His hands are perfectly clean right up to the wrists and the center of his face is cleared so we can see what he looks like. The rest of him is dirt.
Jo Ann Beard
George is very far, right now, from sneering at any of these fellow creatures. They may be crude and mercenary and dull and low, but he is proud, is glad, is almost indecently gleeful to be able to stand up and be counted in their ranks—the ranks of that marvelous minority, The Living. They don't know their luck, these people on the sidewalk, but George knows his—for a little while at least—because he is freshly returned from the icy presence of The Majority, which Doris is to join. I am alive, he says to himself, I am alive! And life-energy surges hotly through him, and delight, and appetite. How good to be in a body—even this beat-up carcass—that still has warm blood and semen and rich marrow and wholesome flesh! The scowling youths on the corners see him as a dodderer no doubt, or at best as a potential score. Yet he claims a distant kinship with the strength of their young arms and shoulders and loins. For a few bucks he could get any one of them to climb into the car, ride back with him to his house, strip off butch leather jacket, skin-tight Levi's, shirt and cowboy boots and take a naked, sullen young athlete, in the wrestling bout of his pleasure. But George doesn't want the bought unwilling bodies of these boys. He wants to rejoice in his own body—the tough triumphant old body of a survivor. The body that has outlived Jim and is going to outlive Doris.
Christopher Isherwood (A Single Man)
we’ll talk about another. Are we okay?” “I’m not old enough for this!” Dev said, his voice sharp. “I’m not old enough to end up here. I’m not old enough to test for AIDS, I’m not, I’m not—” “The hell you’re not!” Joe hissed, because the boy’s voice was rising and breaking. “You’re old enough to have sex, you’re old enough to think about this. Yeah, I know—you used to be able to fuck and all you had to worry about was crabs or knocking a girl up. We can’t do that anymore, and we can’t go back. If you can’t look yourself in the mirror and say ‘I’m gonna get laid tonight, and I need some fucking condoms’, you’re not old enough to do it. But once you start putting your peter some place besides your pants, you’ve got to cowboy up, do you hear me?
Amy Lane (Sidecar)
New Rule: Conservatives have to stop complaining about Hollywood values. It's Oscar time again, which means two things: (1) I've got to get waxed, and (2) talk-radio hosts and conservative columnists will trot out their annual complaints about Hollywood: We're too liberal; we're out of touch with the Heartland; our facial muscles have been deadened with chicken botulism; and we make them feel fat. To these people, I say: Shut up and eat your popcorn. And stop bitching about one of the few American products--movies---that people all over the world still want to buy. Last year, Hollywood set a new box-office record: $16 billion worldwide. Not bad for a bunch of socialists. You never see Hollywood begging Washington for a handout, like corn farmers, or the auto industry, or the entire state of Alaska. What makes it even more inappropriate for conservatives to slam Hollywood is that they more than anybody lose their shit over any D-lister who leans right to the point that they actually run them for office. Sony Bono? Fred Thompson? And let'snot forget that the modern conservative messiah is a guy who costarred with a chimp. That's right, Dick Cheney. I'm not trying to say that when celebrities are conservative they're almost always lame, but if Stephen Baldwin killed himself and Bo Derrick with a car bomb, the headline the next day would be "Two Die in Car Bombing." The truth is that the vast majority of Hollywood talent is liberal, because most stars adhere to an ideology that jibes with their core principles of taking drugs and getting laid. The liebral stars that the right is always demonizing--Sean Penn and Michael Moore, Barbra Streisand and Alec Baldwin and Tim Robbins, and all the other members of my biweekly cocaine orgy--they're just people with opinions. None of them hold elective office, and liberals aren't begging them to run. Because we live in the real world, where actors do acting, and politicians do...nothing. We progressives love our stars, but we know better than to elect them. We make the movies here, so we know a well-kept trade secret: The people on that screen are only pretending to be geniuses, astronauts, and cowboys. So please don't hat eon us. And please don't ruin the Oscars. Because honestly, we're just like you: We work hard all year long, and the Oscars are really just our prom night. The tuxedos are scratchy, the limousines are rented, and we go home with eighteen-year-old girls.
Bill Maher (The New New Rules: A Funny Look At How Everybody But Me Has Their Head Up Their Ass)
Some day you will be old enough to know. "Anything can happen, anything can be.
James Hilton
Sometimes all we need is a little pixie dust. "So we can live before we get too old.
James Hilton
lady?” My whole body tenses. Damn it, I’m caught, my disguise didn’t work! Abort! “You’re no horse buyer. You’re a regular horse whisperer.” I spin, and see an elderly man—a real one—smiling at me with a set of pearl-white veneers. From his tailored three-piece suit, shiny snakeskin boots, and even shinier gold Rolex watch, I can tell right away he’s got money. But his demeanor is friendly. Gentlemanly. Almost bashful. “And such a lovely one, too,” he adds, with the tip of his felt cowboy hat. I realize this old-timer isn’t trying to blow my cover. Far from it. He’s trying to hit on me. “You’re very kind, sir,” I say, forcing an innocent smile. “My name’s Wyland. Cole Wyland.” He gestures at the stallion. “Always been partial to Belgian warmbloods too. Gorgeous creatures, ain’t they?” I’m confused.
James Patterson (13-Minute Murder: Dead Man Running / 113 Minutes / 13 Minute Murder)
The cowboy’s face turned a bright shade of red. Whether it was from the booze or not, Clay couldn’t tell. He puffed out his chest, like a game bird ready to warn off a rival. “Now, I can tell you ain’t from around here and I don’t know how it’s done with your lot. Otherwise, you’d have known who you were speaking to. In Fairpoint, the polite thing to do is accept a man’s offer when he goes out of his way to buy you a drink. It sounds like you’re saying you’re too good for us, old timer. I reckon the way you were staring makes me think you’ve got a problem.” The other men took that as their cue to edge closer. If he wanted to, Clay could’ve tried to defuse the situation. The cowboy’s arrogance stirred a primal urge within him, a need for violence made sharper by the alcohol in his system. “I’m speaking to a nobody in some godsforsaken town in the ass end of the world. There’s nothing good about me, boy. So, do yourself a favour and walk away. Or you and the rest of them peckerwoods will be picking your teeth up off the floor.
Jamie Ryder (At the Dead of Dusk)
Lifelong commitment is not what everyone thinks it is. It's not waking up early every morning to make breakfast and eat together. It's not cuddling in bed together until both of you peacefully fall asleep. It's not a clean home and a homemade meal every day. It's someone who steals all the covers or snores like a chainsaw. It's sometimes slammed doors, and a few harsh words, disagreeing, and the silent treatment until your hearts heal. Then...forgiveness! It's coming home to the same person every day that you know loves and cares about you, in spite of and because of who you are. It's laughing about the one time you accidentally did something stupid. It's about dirty laundry and unmade beds without finger pointing. It's about helping each other with the hard work of life! It's about swallowing the nagging words instead of saying them out loud. It's about eating the easiest meal you can make and sitting down together at 10 p.m. to eat because you both had a crazy day. It's when you have an emotional breakdown, and your love lays with you and holds you and tells you everything is going to be okay, and you believe them. It's when "Netflix and Chill" literally means you watch Netflix and hang out. It's about still loving someone even though sometimes they make you absolutely insane, angry, and hurt your feelings. Who loves you fat or thin, happy or mad, young or old living with the person you love is not perfect, and sometimes it's hard, but it's amazing, comforting, and one of the best things you'll ever experience.
James Hilton
Angel From Montgomery" I am an old woman named after my mother My old man is another child that's grown old If dreams were lightning, thunder were desire This old house would have burnt down a long time ago Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery Make me a poster of an old rodeo Just give me one thing that I can hold on to To believe in this living is just a hard way to go When I was a young girl well, I had me a cowboy He weren't much to look at, just a free rambling man But that was a long time and no matter how I try The years just flow by like a broken down dam Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery Make me a poster of an old rodeo Just give me one thing that I can hold on to To believe in this living is just a hard way to go There's flies in the kitchen, I can hear 'em there buzzing And I ain't done nothing since I woke up today How the hell can a person go to work in the morning And come home in the evening and have nothing to say Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery Make me a poster of an old rodeo Just give me one thing that I can hold on to To believe in this living is just a hard way to go John Prine, John Prine (1971)
John Prine (John Prine)
What did the cowboy say when it fell? I’ve fallen and I can’t giddyup!
Smiley Beagle (You Laugh You Lose Challenge - 6-Year-Old Edition: 300 Jokes for Kids that are Funny, Silly, and Interactive Fun the Whole Family Will Love - With Illustrations ... for Kids (You Laugh You Lose Series Book 1))
Louise, who at twenty-three could easily look like a sixteen-year-old boy, wore trousers, a vest, and a tie. Joan wore a chic dress with a nipped-in waist and wide skirt, her red hair in a wavy, shoulder-length pageboy. The juke box in the bar was a good one, with Ray Charles singing “Hey Now” and new records by B. B. King, whose performances on Beale Street were a Memphis sensation. The most popular song of the night, hands down, was Kitty Wells strumming “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels.” Wells was from Nashville, and the burgeoning country music industry in their home state was a subject of fascination for both women. Louise, intrigued by the fashion for cowboy costumes and yodeling, could do a fair imitation of Hank Williams. Louise had a new swagger that Joan hadn’t seen in her before. She was more assertive and suffered fools even less. When a pretty young woman stopped by their table to compliment Joan’s hair and flirtatiously ask, “Why don’t you cut it short?” Louise sent her on her way with a proprietary growl, saying, “Leave her alone. She’s not gay.
Leslie Brody (Sometimes You Have to Lie: The Life and Times of Louise Fitzhugh, Renegade Author of Harriet the Spy)
One day can change your life. One day can ruin your life. "But the struggles we endure today will be the ‘good old days’ we laugh about tomorrow.
James Hilton
We are careless when we are young and by the time we get old, it is too late to be careful!!
James Hilton
Imagine if you looked different to every person who saw you. Not, like, some people thought you were more or less attractive, but one person thinks you're a sixty-five-year-old cowboy from Wyoming complete with boots and hat and leathery skin, and the next person sees an eleven-year-old girl wearing a baseball uniform. You have no control over this, and what you look like has nothing to do with the life you have lived or even your genome. You have no idea what each person sees when they look at you. That's what fame is like. You think this sounds like beauty because we sometimes say that beauty is all in the eye of the one beholding the beauty. And, indeed, we don't get to decide if we are beautiful. Different people will have different opinions, and the only person who gets to decide if I'm attractive is the person looking at me. But then there is some consensus about what attractive is. Beauty is an attribute defined by human nature and culture. I can see my eyes and my lips and my boobs when I look in a mirror. I know what I look like. Fame is not this way. A person's fame is in everyone's head except their own. You could be checking into your flight at the airport and 999 people will see you as just another face in the crowd. The thousandth might think you're more famous than Jesus. As you can imagine, this makes fame pretty disorienting. You never know who knows what. You never know if someone is looking at you because you went to college with them or because they've been watching your videos or listening to your music or reading about you in magazines for years. You never know if they know you and love you. Worse, you never know if they know you and hate you.
Hank Green (An Absolutely Remarkable Thing (The Carls, #1))
Sometimes people let the same old thing make them miserable for years when they could just say, So what.
James Hilton
As you grow old, most good things happen very slowly; only bad things tend to happen fast.
James Hilton
The nice thing about getting old is that you can be as grouchy as you want, everyone expects it!
James Hilton
I can be better, Mama. I won’t skip school no more. I promise.” She looks at me for the first time, her eyes searchin’ mine. It’s like she wanna remember my face. Her mouth is tight, but she takes my hand, shaking her head slowly. I know she wanna say something, but it feels like if she opens her mouth, she just gonna crumble apart like them old auto factories near our apartment. Finally, she starts up the car. I ask one last time. “Can we go home?” She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “No. Don’t ask me again.
G. Neri (Ghetto Cowboy)
Mrs. Wiggins interrupted him. “Great grief, Freddy, can’t you forget your old ten cents long enough to let me finish what I started to say? What have mice in the movies got to do with this meeting? I wanted to say that the way to make life more interesting isn’t to sit around and growl about it, it is to go out and hunt up something. Look for adventures. Suppose we all start out in a different direction. I’ll bet you that not one of us would go half a mile off the farm before something interesting would turn up.
Walter Rollin Brooks (Freddy the Cowboy (Freddy the Pig))
It was Mrs. Wiggins who found Sidney later in the day. He was in the cowbarn, hanging upside down against the wall. She told him what the animals wanted. “Sure, sure!” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on your old bank.” “And you’ll patrol it nights?” “I said I would, didn’t I?” said Sidney angrily. “What you want me to do—send you a letter about it?” “I’m sorry to keep you awake when you want to go to sleep,” said the cow, “but I have to be sure of your answer, and good land, I can’t tell whether you mean it or not when you’re looking at me upside down.” “ ’Tisn’t upside down to me,” said the bat. “Maybe not. But when you’re talking to people, their expression is just as important as what they say, and you talk to anybody upside down and their expressions don’t mean anything. Your mouth is at the top of your head and if you smile the corners turn down instead of up, and your eyes look funny too. You—” “Look,” Sidney interrupted her. “I said I’d do it. Now just never mind criticizing my features and go on let me sleep, will you.” So Mrs. Wiggins went away. “There’s one thing that bat taught me,” she said to Freddy later. “I’ve never been a good liar. Folks can always tell by my face when I’m lying. Well, next time I want to tell a lie and get away with it, I’m going to stand on my head. Nobody can tell anything by my face then.
Walter Rollin Brooks (Freddy the Cowboy (Freddy the Pig))
The Reluctant Cowboy I try never to go too far down the path of predicting what any of my children will do when they grow up, because I’ve learned firsthand that life can change on a dime and it very often turns out completely different than originally planned. And I haven’t even grown up yet myself, so who am I to even think about such things? Of all my children, though, I would say that (God willing and the creek don’t rise) my older son, Bryce, is the one who seems most destined to be a rancher. Since he was young, he has sprung out of bed when it’s time to saddle the horses, and the cowboy way of life just comes naturally to him. Now, my youngest, Todd, on the other hand? Well…I’m not sure! While he started working on the ranch at the same age (birth) as his older brother, he’s never exactly inhaled and embraced his ranching duties in the same way. Oh, he shows up and he does the job, all right. He’s Todd Drummond, after all, and he’s a great kid! It’s just that he doesn’t lie awake at night thinking about the herd he’ll have one day. But that’s the cool thing about Todd. There’s a whole world going on under the surface, and as he’s saddling and riding his horse, I can see that thirteen-year-old mind a-churning. He might be thinking about the next Marvel movie that’s on its way to theaters. He might be remembering the suit of armor he saved scrap metal to build when he was young. He might be imagining what position he’ll play in football (his favorite sport) next year. Or he might be noodling on the long conversation he had with one of the older congregants at our Presbyterian church last Sunday. He’s got a rich bank of memories and perspectives swimming around in that noggin of his. And this is only something a mama would say: I love to watch the kid think. What will Todd be when he grows up? There’s no way of knowing. He might be an illustrator for a comic book series, the host of a radio sports show, an accountant, a doctor, a salesman, a diplomat, minister, missionary, or coach. Although…I do know a certain cattle rancher around these parts who was reportedly exactly like Todd when he was a boy. His head was somewhere else when he was on his horse, and ranching wouldn’t have been described as his favorite line of work. This gentleman loved Spider-Man and football, and he never lay awake at night thinking about the herd he’d have one day. Then, when he grew up, his love for ranching set in. He realized he loved Osage County, raising cattle, and living on the land. And he made the choice to do the thing he never thought he’d wind up doing. And he’s never regretted it for a single day! (I know the gentleman. I’m married to him.) It’ll be fun to watch Todd’s future unfold.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Come and Get It! Simple, Scrumptious Recipes for Crazy Busy Lives)
you can't find love it will find you. You are young still and you can never give up on love no matter how old you get because love never grows old
James Hilton
God made a wonderful mother, "A Mother who never grows old. "He made her smile of sunshine. "And he molded her heart of pure of pure gold." "In her eyes he placed bright shinning stars. "In her cheeks fair roses you see. "God made a wonderful mother. "And he gave that wonderful mother to me.
James Hilton
God made a wonderful mother, "A Mother who never grows old. "He made her smile of sunshine. "And he molded he heart of pure of pure gold." "In her eyes he placed bright shinning stars. "In her cheeks fair roses you see. "God made a wonderful mother. "And he gave that wonderful mother to me.
James Hilton
I didn't want to forget, I simply have forgotten I have grown old and a terrible memory.” I wish for, not what is or could ever be.” "Another Coffee Please!!!!
James Hilton
I didn't want to forget, I simply have forgotten I have grown old and a terrible memory.” "However I could never forget what is or could ever be.” "Another Coffee Please!!!!
James Hilton
My old dog, in life is the best 'Est friend, "He's the first to welcome, and the first to defend.
James Hilton
My poor old dog, is the best 'Est friend, "He's the first to welcome, and the first to defend.
James Hilton
Hello loneliness my old friend. "I've come to say goodbye." "They broke me in an unexpected way, with that hug.
James Hilton
Depends on whether you talk to the Montgomery sisters," he said to Lindsey. Holly chuckled lightly. "Now, that's a whole other old TV show mash-up right there. Hmm...I'd say 'Charmed' meets 'The Golden Girls'." "With a little 'Bewitched' thrown in for fun." Carden pressed his index finger to the tip of his nose and twitched it back and forth, somehow making himself seem more irresistible.
Tracy March (Should've Said No (Thistle Bend, #1))
Pilgrims WHEN MY OLD MAN said he’d hired her, I said, “A girl?” A girl, when it wasn’t that long ago women couldn’t work on this ranch even as cooks, because the wranglers got shot over them too much. They got shot even over the ugly cooks. Even over the old ones. I said, “A girl?” “She’s from Pennsylvania,” my old man said. “She’ll be good at this.” “She’s from what?” When my brother Crosby found out, he said, “Time for me to find new work when a girl starts doing mine.” My old man looked at him. “I heard you haven’t come over Dutch Oven Pass once this season you haven’t been asleep on your horse or reading a goddamn book. Maybe it’s time for you to find new work anyhow.” He told us that she showed up somehow from Pennsylvania in the sorriest piece of shit car he’d ever seen in his life. She asked him for five minutes to ask for a job, but it didn’t take that long. She flexed her arm for him to feel, but he didn’t feel it. He liked her, he said, right away. He trusted his eye for that, he said, after all these years. “You’ll like her, too,” he said. “She’s sexy like a horse is sexy. Nice and big. Strong.” “Eighty-five of your own horses to feed, and you still think horse is sexy,” I said, and my brother Crosby said, “I think we got enough of that kind of sexy around here already.” She was Martha Knox, nineteen years old and tall as me, thick-legged but not fat, with cowboy boots that anyone could see were new that week, the cheapest in the store and the first pair she’d ever owned. She had a big chin that worked only because her forehead and nose worked, too, and she had the kind of teeth that take over a face even when the mouth is closed. She had, most of all, a dark brown braid that hung down the center of her back, thick as a girl’s arm. I danced with Martha Knox one night early in the season. It was a day off to go down the mountain, get drunk, make phone calls, do laundry, fight. Martha Knox was no dancer. She didn’t want to dance with me. She let me know this by saying a few times that she wasn’t going to dance with me, and then, when she finally agreed, she wouldn’t let go of her cigarette. She held it in one hand and let that hand fall and not be available. So I kept my beer bottle in one hand, to balance her out, and we held each other with one arm each. She was no dancer and she didn’t want to dance with me, but we found a good slow sway anyway, each of us with an arm hanging down, like a rodeo cowboy’s right arm, like the right arm of a bull rider, not reaching for anything. She wouldn’t look anywhere but over my left shoulder, like that part of her that was a good dancer with me was some part she had not ever met and didn’t feel
Elizabeth Gilbert (Pilgrims and Other Stories)
Fulton, you haven’t been listening. I gave myself to him. Steven and I made love.” Fulton closed his eyes tightly for a moment. “Don’t say that.” “It’s true,” Emma insisted softly, and she couldn’t help touching Fulton’s arm because he looked so crushed. “I’m sorry,” she added, “but it is.” “I don’t care,” Fulton insisted. His eyes were too bright and he was talking too quickly. “I can make you forget him. If you’ll just let me hold you, let me kiss you, let me do the things he did—” Emma retreated a step, but there was a wall of books at her back. She flinched when Fulton gripped her shoulders, remembering how frightened she’d been when he’d tried to take advantage of her the night before. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything,” he said brokenly. “Please,” Emma whispered. Reluctantly, he let her go, but he was still standing too close. He drew a deep breath and let it out again. “Are you almost through here? I’ll walk you home. It’ll be like old times, before he came along—you’ll see.” “I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” Emma said, turning to walk away. Fulton caught her by the arm and wrenched her around. “Maybe you want me to play rough,” he drawled. “Is that how it is, Emma? Does the cowboy take what he wants, instead of asking for it like a gentleman?” Emma felt color surge into her face. She shrugged free of Fulton’s grasp and managed only by the greatest effort not to slap him across the face. “I don’t think we have anything more to discuss,” she said tightly. “Please leave before I summon the marshal.” Fulton laughed at that. “Come on, Emma. Can’t you come up with a better threat than old man Woodridge?” She backed away. “You’re scaring me.” Instantly, Fulton’s face changed. He was all tenderness and indulgence. “I would never hurt you. I love you. Now, get your things and lock this place up. I want to walk you home.” Being
Linda Lael Miller (Emma And The Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2))
Fasten my buttons, please,” she said, turning her back to Daisy. “I’ll fasten your buttons, all right,” Daisy muttered, but she couldn’t hide her amusement at Emma’s good mood. “You just see that young cowboy don’t unfasten ’em again.” Emma stiffened. “Daisy! How could you say such a thing?” “I wasn’t always old an’ fat,” Daisy chortled. “No, siree, I was young once, just like you. Now, you mind your manners and behave like a lady, or I’ll paddle your bottom.” “Fiddlefaddle,” Emma said, but she was smiling when she whirled around to face Daisy, her skirts swishing as she moved. “How do I look?” “Like a tiger lily,” Daisy answered fondly, gathering her apron into her hands. “Lord, but you’re a beauty, chile—no wonder some young fella’s always tryin’ to lead you down the primrose path!” Emma’s smile faded as she wondered how on earth she would resist Steven Fairfax if he got her alone and kissed her. But Daisy laughed at her expression and patted her briskly on the cheek. “Don’t look so fretted up, now—the fella what succeeds, I reckon he’ll be the right one.” To
Linda Lael Miller (Emma And The Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2))
When summer began, I headed out west. My parents had told me I needed a rest. “Your imagination,” they said, “is getting too wild. It will do you some good to relax for a while.” So they put me aboard a westbound train. To visit Aunt Fern in her house on the plains. But I was captured by cowboys, A wild-looking crowd. Their manners were rough and their voices were loud. “I’m trying to get to my aunt’s house,” I said. But they carried me off to their cow camp instead. The Cattle Boss growled, as he told me to sit, “We need a new cowboy. Our old cowboy quit. We could sure use your help. So what do you say?” I thought for a minute, then I told him, “Okay.” Then I wrote to Aunt Fern, so she’d know where I’d gone. I said not to worry, I wouldn’t be long. That night I was given a new set of clothes. Soon I looked like a wrangler from my head to my toes. But there’s more to a cowboy than boots and a hat, I found out the next day And the day after that Each day I discovered some new cowboy tricks. From roping And riding To making fire with sticks. Slowly the word spread all over the land. “That wrangler ‘Kid Bleff’ is a first-rate cowhand!” The day finally came when the roundup was through. Aunt Fern called: “Come on over. Bring your cowboys with you.” She was cooking a barbecue that very same day. So we cleaned up (a little) and we headed her way. The food was delicious. There was plenty to eat. And the band that was playing just couldn’t be beat. But suddenly I noticed a terrible sight. The cattle were stirring and stamping with fright. It’s a scene I’ll remember till my very last day. “They’re gonna stampede!” I heard somebody say. Just then they came charging. They charged right at me! I looked for a hiding place-- A rock, or a tree. What I found was a tablecloth spread out on the ground. So I turned like a matador And spun it around. It was a new kind of cowboying, a fantastic display! The cattle were frightened and stampeded…away! Then the cowboys all cheered, “Bleff’s a true buckaroo!” They shook my hand and slapped my back, And Aunt Fern hugged me, too. And that’s how I spent my summer vacation. I can hardly wait for show-and-tell!
Mark Teague (How I Spent My Summer Vacation)