Oot Quotes

Romancin’ is verra important, ye ken. Basically it’s a way the boy can get close to the girl wi’oot her attackin’ him and scratchin’ his eyes oot.

Stop stealing the funeral meats right now, you wee scuggers!" She shouted. The Feegles stopped and stared at her. Then Rob Anybody said: "Socks wi'oot feets?

Ah took a pish oan the cunt, then ah felt bad aboot Albo's cel so ah sais tae him oan the wey oot, cunt's only went n pished hissel but, eh.

Analysing novels meant ripping oot their soul and it destroyed my enjoyment of them. Ah couldnae allow masel tae be trained tae thing that way. Only by refusing tae study literature was ah able tae maintain ma passion for it.

They writes some bits o’ their letters in them wee codies. That’s a terrible thing tae do to a reader. It’s hard enough readin’ the normal words, wi’oot somebody jumblin’ them all up.

Romancin’ is verrae important, ye ken. Basically it’s a way the boy can get close to the girl wi’oot her attackin’ him and scratchin’ his eyes oot.

It’s a bad one, man. Ah sit thaire jist likes, stunned; feeling aw raw n hollowed oot fae the inside. It’s like whin you’ve been knocked back by a bird ye fancy, no thit that’s happened tae me for a long time bein wi Ali likes but, like ye’ve been intae a lassie for ages, n ye sort go, eh, awright, what aboot, likesay, you n me, likes, eh … n she goes: naw. No way. Fuck off.

Thing is, as ye git aulder, this character-deficiency gig becomes mair sapping. Thir wis a time ah used tae say tae aw the teachers, bosses, dole punters, poll-tax guys, magistrates, when they telt me ah was deficient:'Hi, cool it, gadge, ah'm jist me, jist intae a different sort ay gig fae youse but, ken?' Now though, ah've goat tae concede thit mibee they cats had it sussed. Ye take a healthier slapping the aulder ye git. The blows hit hame mair. It's like yon Mike Tyson boy at the boxing, ken? Every time ye git it thegither tae make a comeback, thir's jist a wee bit mair missin. So ye fuck up again. Yip, ah'm jist no a gadge cut oot fir modern life n that's aw thir is tae it, man. Sometimes the gig goes smooth, then ah jist pure panic n it's back tae the auld weys. What kin ah dae?

Ah made yous cunts in ma ain image. Yous git oan wi it; yous fuckin well sort it oot. That cunt Nietzsche wis wide ay the mark when he sais ah wis deid. Ah'm no deid; ah jist dinnae gie a fuck. It's no fir me tae sort every cunt's problems oot. Nae other cunt gies a fuck so how should ah? Eh?

There's ten thousand wyes a hen can get into a gairden, but only the wan wye she can get oot, and it's gey ill for her to find it.

That's easy. Any man who cannae keep his balls oot o' the water needs tae get laid. Come on, let's find my sister.

Three lights should be fine." - Zachary "Aye, well if it wis me, I'd want a bloody lighthoose beacon comin' oot o' my arse." - True MacDonald

Fuck that: take shagging n peeve oot ay the equation n yir left wi the sqare root ay swee fuck all!

Two choices; one: tough it oot, back in the room, two: phone that cunt Forrester and go tae Muirhoose, get fucked aboot and ripped oaf wi some crap gear. Nae contest. In twenty minutes it wis: — Muirhoose pal? tae the driver oan the 32 bus and quiveringly stickin ma forty-five pence intae the the box. Any port in a storm, and it’s raging in here behind ma face.

You n me. Ah jist think we should split up. A pause. — Ah want tae split. For us tae stoap guan oot thegither. — But why... She actually touches her chest, touches her heart, and at that moment mine nearly breaks in unison.

--Thing is though, Spud, whin yir intae skag, that's it. That's aw yuv goat tae worry aboot. Ken Billy, ma brar, likes? He's jist signed up tae go back intae the fuckin army. He's gaun tae fucking Belfast, the stupid cunt. Ah always knew that the fucker wis tapped. Fuckin imperialist lackey. Ken whit the daft cunt turned roond n sais tae us? He goes: Ah cannae fuckin stick civvy street. Bein in the army, it's like being a junky. The only difference is thit ye dinnae git shot at sae often bein a junky. Besides, it's usually you that does the shootin. --That, eh, likesay, seems a bit eh, fucked up like man. Ken? --Naw but, listen the now. You jist think aboot it. In the army they dae everything fir they daft cunts. Feed thum, gie the cunts cheap bevvy in scabby camp clubs tae keep thum fae gaun intae toon n lowerin the fuckin tone, upsetting the locals n that. Whin they git intae civvy street, thuv goat tae dae it aw fir thumsells. --Yeah, but likesay, it's different though, cause . . . Spud tries to cut in, but Renton is in full flight. A bottle in the face is the only thing that could shut him up at this point; even then only for a few seconds. --Uh, uh . . . wait a minute, mate. Hear us oot. Listen tae whit ah've goat tae say here . . . what the fuck wis ah sayin . . . aye! Right. Whin yir oan junk, aw ye worry aboot is scorin. Oaf the gear, ye worry aboot loads ay things. Nae money, cannae git pished. Goat money, drinkin too much. Cannae git a burd, nae chance ay a ride. Git a burd, too much hassle, cannae breathe withoot her gittin oan yir case. Either that, or ye blow it, and feel aw guilty. Ye worry aboot bills, food, bailiffs, these Jambo Nazi scum beatin us, aw the things that ye couldnae gie a fuck aboot whin yuv goat a real junk habit. Yuv just goat one thing tae worry aboot. The simplicity ay it aw. Ken whit ah mean?

I maun hae buiks. I wad get the newspapers whiles, but no aften, for they’re a sair loss o’ precious time. Ye see they tell ye things afore they’re sure, an’ ye hae to spen’ yer time the day readin’ what ye’ll hae to spen’ yer time the morn readin’ oot again; an’ ye may as weel bide till the thing’s sattled a wee.

Ye’re a scholar — that’s easy to see, for a’ ye’re sae plain spoken. It dis a body’s hert guid to hear a man ‘at un’erstan’s things say them plain oot i’ the tongue his mither taucht him. Sic a ane ‘ill gang straucht till’s makker, an’ fin’ a’thing there hame-like. Lord, I wuss minnisters wad speyk like ither fowk!

Ah don’t really know, Tam, ah jist dinnae. It kinday makes things seem mair real tae us. Life’s boring and futile. We start aof wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. We develop aw they long-winded ideas which just interpret the reality ay oor lives in different weys, withoot really extending oor body ay worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short, disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up oor lives wi shite, things like careers and relationships tae delude oorsels that it isnae totally pointless. Smack’s an honest drug, because it strips away these delusions. Wi smack, whin ye feel good, ye feel immortal. Whin ye feel bad, it intensifies the shite that’s already thair. It’s the only really honest drug. It doesnae alter yer consciousness. It just gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being. Eftir that, ye see the misery ay the world as it is, and ye cannae anaesthetise yirsel against it.

Winna ye be gaein' awa', to write buiks, an' gar fowk fin' oot what's the maitter wi' them?

Mitä on vapaus? Sellinovet on lukossa, sä oot ulkopuolella ja tankki on täynnä bensaa.

Yksin oot sinä, ihminen, kaiken keskellä yksin, Ainoa uskollinen on oma varjosi vain. -Veikko Antero Koskenniemi Mutta kun tulee pimeä paikka, varjosi häipyy ties minne

Aye,” said Rob Anybody. “Gods, elementals, demons, spirits . . . sometimes it’s hard to tell ’em apart wi’oot a map.

Will you forgive me for the things I said tae you when we last met? Before I went oot and slammed the door?” She looked up at him. “I came here to ask you that very thing.” Only when I saw you, I forgot. “Forgiven, then?” She softened. “You were only trying to warn me, as a friend.” “Aye, as a friend.” “I shouldn’t have sassed you so.” He smiled, or tried to. “But you are so good at it.

I doobt the fau't's nae sae muckle i' my temper as i' my hert. It's mair love that I want, Tibbie. Gin I lo'ed my neebor as mysel', I cudna be sae ill-natert till him; though 'deed, whiles, I'm angry eneuch at mysel' — a hantle waur nor at him." "Verra true, Thamas," answered Tibbie. "Perfect love casteth oot fear, 'cause there's nae room for the twa o' them; and I daursay it wad be the same wi' the temper.

-- HOUSE! That's-you-Mark. He's-goat-hoose. OWER-HERE! Wis-nae-eve-in-gaunn-ae-shout-oot. Cu-moan-son. Git-a-fu-kin-grip-ay-yir-sel. Ah smile benignly at Jocky, all the time wishing a prompt and violent death oan the nosey cunt.

Vaikk' oot kallis, armahin, mulle, kunnia kuitenkin kalliimpi on.' Se on varsin sattuvasti sanottu, eikö olekin? Ainakin paremmin kuin mitä pystyisin itse keksimään tällä hetkellä. Sillä minä rakastan sinua, Scarlett, huolimatta siitä, mitä sanoin sinulle sinä iltana vain kuukausi sitten porraspylväikössä istuessamme." Rhettin venyttävä ääni oli hyväilevä, ja hänen kätensä, lämpimät, voimakkaat kädet, liukuivat ylös pitkin Scarlettin paljaita käsivarsia. "Rakastan sinua siksi, että olemme niin samanlaiset, luopioita molemmat ja itsekkäitä heittiöitä. Me emme kumpikaan välitä vähääkään siitä, vaikka koko maailma syöksyisi hornan kitaan, kunhan oma olomme vain on turvattu ja mukava.

Buckin’ is one ay Na Na’s favourite words likesay, along wi ‘pish’. Naebody says ‘pish’ like Na Na. She sortay drags oot the sssshhh, it’s likesay, ye kin see the steam rising oaf the yellay jet as it hits the white porcelain, ken?

It was an eerie feeling, which is why Violet and Sunny were surprised when Klaus broke the silence by laughing suddenly. "What are you snickering at?" Violet asked. "I just realized something," Klaus said. "We're going to the administrative building without an appointment. We'll have to eat our meals without silverware." "There's nothing funny about that!" Violet said. "What if they serve oatmeal for breakfast? We'll have to scoop it up with our hands." "Oot," Sunny said, which meant "Trust me, it's not that difficult," and at that the Baudelaire sisters joined their brother in laughter. It was not funny, of course, that Nero enforced such terrible punishments, but the idea of eating oatmeal with their hands gave all three siblings the giggles. "Or fried eggs!" Violet said. "What if they serve runny fried eggs?" "Or pancakes, covered in syrup!" Klaus said. "Soup!" Sunny shrieked, and they all broke out in laughter again.

When the patronising cunt left, ah missed him. He nearly took us oot ay masel. It wis like auld times, but in a sense, that only served tae remind us ay how much things hud changed. Something hud happened. Junk hud happened. Whether ah lived wi it, died wi it, or lived withoot it, ah knew that things could never be the same again.

— Aye, Charlene's fucked off. She's goat this boyfriend. He's just gittin back oot the jail. Renton taps up a vein in his wrist. — Well that ain't gonna help. — It isnae aboot helping, it's aboot being. If being Scottish is about one thing, it's aboot gittin fucked up, Renton explains, working the needle slowly into his flesh. — Tae us intoxication isnae just a huge laugh, or even a basic human right. It's a way ay life, a political philosophy. Rabbie burns said it: whisky and freedom gang thegither. Whatever happens in the future tae the economy, whatever fucking government's in power, rest assured we'll still be pissin it up and shootin shit intae ourselves, he announces, pulsing with glorious anticipation as he sucks his dark blood back into the barrel, then lets his ravenous veins drink the concoction.

I blotted the tiny wound with the corner of a towel dipped in the vinegar solution. To my surprise, the leeches had worked; the swelling was substantially reduced, and the eye was at least partially open, though the lid was still puffy. Mrs. Fitz examined it critically and decided against the use of another leech. “Ye’ll be a sight tomorrow, lad, and no mistake,” she said, shaking her head, “but at least ye’ll be able to see oot o’ that eye.

Life’s boring and futile. We start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. We develop aw they long-winded ideas which jist interpret the reality ay oor lives in different weys, withoot really extending oor body ay worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short, disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up oor lives wi shite, things like careers and relationships tae delude oorsels that it isnae aw totally pointless.

What happened?” Dallas asked immediately, his hand reaching out toward Louie. I didn’t miss how Lou took his hand instantly. “She called me a brat,” Louie blurted out, his other little hand coming up to meet with the one already clutching our neighbor’s. I blinked and told myself I was not going to look at Christy until I had the full story. “Why?” Dallas was the one who asked. “He spilled some of his hot chocolate on her purse,” it was Josh who explained. “He said sorry, but she called him a brat. I told her not to talk to my brother like that, and she told me I should have learned to respect my elders.” For the second time around this woman, I went to ten. Straight through ten, past Go, and collected two hundred dollars. “I tried to wipe it up,” Louie offered, those big blue eyes going back and forth between Dallas and me for support. “You should teach these boys to watch where they’re going,” Christy piped up, taking a step back. Be an adult. Be a role model, I tried telling myself. “It was an accident,” I choked out. “He said he was sorry… and your purse is leather and black, and it’ll be fine,” I managed to grind out like this whole thirty-second conversation was jabbing me in the kidneys with sharp knives. “I’d like an apology,” the woman, who had gotten me suspended and made me cry, added quickly. I stared at her long face. “For what?” “From Josh, for being so rude.” My hand started moving around the outside of my purse, trying to find the inner compartment when Louie suddenly yelled, “Mr. Dallas, don’t let her get her pepper spray!” The fuck? Oh my God. I glared at Louie. “I was looking for a baby wipe to offer her one, Lou. I wasn’t getting my pepper spray.” “Nuh-uh,” he argued, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Christy take a step back. “I heard you on the phone with Vanny. You said, you said if she made you mad again you were gonna pepper spray her and her mom and her mom’s mom in the—” “Holy sh—oot, Louie!” My face went red, and I opened my mouth to argue that he hadn’t heard me correctly. But… I had said those words. They had been a joke, but I’d said them. I glanced at Dallas, the serious, easygoing man who happened to look in that instant like he was holding back a fart but was hopefully just a laugh, and finally peeked at the woman who I’d like to think brought this upon herself. “Christy, I would never do that—” ... I cleared my throat and popped my lips. “Well, that was awkward.” “I’m not a brat.” Louie was still hung up and outraged. I pointed my finger at him. “You’re a tattletale, that’s what you are. Nosey Rosie. What did I tell you about snitches?” “You love them?

Life’s boring and futile. We start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. We develop aw they long-winded ideas which jist interpret the reality ay oor lives in different weys, withoot really extending oor body ay worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short, disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up oor lives wi shite, things like careers and relationships tae delude oorsels that it isnae aw totally pointless. Smack’s an honest drug, because it strips away these delusions. Wi smack, whin ye feel good, ye feel immortal. Whin ye feel bad, it intensifies the shite that’s already thair. It’s the only really honest drug. It doesnae alter yir consciousness. It just gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being. Eftir that, ye see the misery ay the world as it is, and ye cannae anaesthetise yirsel against it.

fI you ees mistakes ni my writing, do not copy ro criticize. Simply correct ti and share eht knowledge. We already have oot many sekatsim ni siht world, most of them in noigiler.

Ye canna mak a pudden oot o pig's meat, Ye canna big a hoose wi twa-three stays, Ye canna plant a tattie when the grund's weet, Ye canna ploo the hillside wi yer taes, And is it like, my love to be Thoo'll kin to mak a wife o me? The whitemae's filings arena done in wan nest, The minnow's aten by the eel alive, When cat and dog lie doon there's poor rest, The wild bee maks a fight within the hive, And is it like, my love, to be I'll can mak a wife to thee?

So the Wintersmith is a kind of god?” she said. “That kind o’ thing, yes,” said Billy Bigchin. “But not the prayin’-to kinda god. He just . . . makes winters. It’s his job, ye ken.” “He’s an elemental,” said Miss Treason from her loom. “Aye,” said Rob Anybody. “Gods, elementals, demons, spirits . . . sometimes it’s hard to tell ’em apart wi’oot a map.

What does his lordship dae? He buys up a bunch o' islands in the Hebrides; carts in the native crofter population to Stornoway; runs them through a sapple o' Sunlight Soap, cuts their nails; learns them the English language; gets them an eight-'oors day, and starts them fishin' on scientific principles. Stornoway becomes the Port Sunlight of the North; every man has a nice wee red-tiled cottage, and a picture palace at the door, and the cod fish is fair worried oot o' its life.

When Aeden told us his band was one of the opening acts for Palaye Royale, an up-and-coming fashion-art rock band out of Las Vegas, and asked if we wanted to “come oot and get ratarsed” I thought Poppy would beg off. Poppy might be cool, but I taxed my vivid imagination trying to envision Miss President of the Swifties getting ratarsed—drunk—at an indie rock concert.

Yksin oot sinä, ihminen, kaiken keskellä yksin. Ainoa uskollinen on oma varjosi vain. -Veikko Antero Koskenniemi Mutta kun tulee pimeä paikka, varjosi häipyy ties minne

But I reckon yon Wintersmith wants to romance the big wee hag and she disna ken what tae do aboot it.” “So it is like how babbies are made?” said Daft Wullie. “No, ’cuz even beasties know that but only people know aboot Romancin’,” said Rob. “When a bull coo meets a lady coo, he disna have tae say, ‘My heart goes bang-bang-bang when I see your wee face,’ ’cuz it’s kinda built intae their heads. People have it more difficult. Romancin’ is verra important, ye ken. Basically it’s a way the boy can get close to the girl wi’oot her attackin’ him and scratchin’ his eyes oot.

Because I had to work that night, I drank orange juice straight and wandered through the party, bored by but still accepting the expression that rose on every face as I went past. “Beautiful.” “Beautiful!” “Bee-oot-ee-fool.” The expression might be formed with wonder or contempt or warmth or disinterest, but it was still the same coin I mechanically took and tossed on the pile.

Gleska! Some day when I'm in the key for't I'll mak a song aboot her. Here the triumphs o civilisation meet ye at the stair fit, and three bawbee mornin rolls can be had after six o'clock at nicht for a penny. There's libraries scattered a ower the place; I ken, for I've seen them often, and the brass plate at the door tellin ye whit they are. Art's a the go in Gleska too; there's something aboot it every ither nicht in the papers, when Lord Somebody-or-ither's no divorcin his wife, and takin up the space; and I hear there's hunders o pictures oot in yon place at Kelvingrove. Theatres, concerts, balls, swarees, lectures - ony mortal thing ye like that'll keep ye oot o yer bed, ye'll get in Gleska if ye have the money to pay for't.

THE PUDDOCK A puddock sat by the lochan's brim, An he thought there was never a puddock like him. he sat on his hurdies, he waggled his legs, An cockit his heid as he glowered through the seggs. The biggsy wee cratur was feelin that prood, He gapit his mou an he croakit oot lood: 'Gin ye'd a like tae see a richt puddock,' quo he, 'Ye'll never, I'll sweer, get a better nor me. I've femlies an wives an a weel-plenished hame, Wi drink for my thrapple an meat for my wame. The lasses aye thocht me a fine strappin chiel, An I ken I'm a rale bonny singer as weel. I'm nae gaun tae blaw, but th' truth I maun tell - I believe I'm the verra McPuddock himsel.'... A heron was hungry an needin tae sup, Sae he nabbit th' puddock an gollupt him up; Syne runkled his feathers: 'A peer thing,' quo he, 'But - puddocks is nae fat they eesed tae be.

Thur's nae opposite tae grief. Thus's name opposite tae this feelin. The opposite tae grief isnae happiness. The opposite tae grief is just... less grief. Days when ye forget fur a while. Ye don't get so happy that ye lie in bed fur days, greetin yer eyes oot wi happiness. Happiness disnae stop ye in yer tracks when ye're in the middle ae Asda and make ye leave yer half-full trolley and walk oot the door. Grief is unique. It disnae fit in wi any rules.

Dealing with Phineas Nigellus Black is rather like having Snape around. He is snide, waspish, and quick to take offense. But as the portrait of Armando Dippet says, portraits of former headmasters are “honor-bound to give service to the present headmaster of Hogwarts.” (HP/OotP, 473) After the first time Hermione blindfolds him, he declares he will never return, but that decision is not his to make. Through this connection, Snape learns that Harry, Ron, and Hermione are alive. In return, they learn that Dumbledore used the sword of Gryffindor to kill a Horcrux, that Dumbledore’s Army is still active, that Snape sends them to Hagrid for detentions, and that Ginny has been banned from Hogsmeade visits. Anytime Phineas Nigellus asks for hints about their location, Hermione puts the painting away, but Snape manages to get them some information and assurance that Ginny is safe.

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible.” (HP/OotP, 660) He avoids eye contact with Harry, in case Voldemort is watching Snape through the scar connection, and behaves spitefully so Voldemort will feel the mutual antipathy between Snape and Harry. This is the easiest thing in the world for Snape to pull off and affords him some nasty enjoyment, but Snape is behaving this way to protect them all. He may enjoy aggravating Harry, but it cannot be argued that these moments of “gloating pleasure” (HP/OotP, 661) interfere with the strategy in any way.

Missään ei oo koskaan perillä", sanon. "Taivaan kodissa sitten", Tuomas sanoo. "Mulla on yks viimenen toive vielä." "Miten niin viimenen?" "Minä oon ihan loppu", sanon. "Aina sinä oot.

Sä oot majakka, sä oot johtaja.

Win Ower hill an brae He comes tae play, The rantin roarin Win; He cowps the trees An lachs tae hear the din, He sweels the spate The deil's ain gate Oot ower the feckless banks. An Tilly's stooks Furl roon like deuks Wi panic i the ranks! Wi jaggit shears The duds he tears Aff lines she filled sae croose, An reek an flaws Doon lums he ca's A' steerin throwe the hoose. Ower yard an closs. A sair-like loss He spreads o hay an strae; The hens he blaws Like feather ba's Tae gie his humour play. An neist he's aff Tae tig an daff Wi' quinies fae the skweel; Like sails o ships He fulls their slips - Syne dooks them i the peel! Ower hill an brae He comes tae play, The rantin roarin Win; An grannies tell His pooers sae fell, An dra their airmchairs in.