Parker Pen Quotes

Hold your pen and spare your voice.

Little Words When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf, Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds; And I can only stare, and shape my grief In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown The bitter woe that racks my cords apart. The weary pen that sets my sorrow down Feeds at my heart. There is no mercy in the shifting year, No beauty wraps me tenderly about. I turn to little words- so you, my dear, Can spell them out.

You gave me books and showed me how to live, and a thousand and one lives. You gave me a pen and showed me how to write this one. -I owe my voice to you.

In 1881, being on a visit to Boston, my wife and I found ourselves in the Parker House with the Ingersoll's, and went over to Charleston to hear him lecture. His subject was 'Some Mistakes of Moses,' and it was a memorable experience. Our lost leaders, -- Emerson, Thoreau, Theodore Parker, -- who had really spoken to disciples rather than to the nation, seemed to have contributed something to form this organ by which their voice could reach the people. Every variety of power was in this orator, -- logic and poetry, humor and imagination, simplicity and dramatic art, moral and boundless sympathy. The wonderful power which Washington's Attorney-general, Edmund Randolph, ascribed to Thomas Paine of insinuating his ideas equally into learned and unlearned had passed from Paine's pen to Ingersoll's tongue. The effect on the people was indescribable. The large theatre was crowded from pit to dome. The people were carried from plaudits of his argument to loud laughter at his humorous sentences, and his flexible voice carried the sympathies of the assembly with it, at times moving them to tears by his pathos. {Conway's thoughts on the great Robert Ingersoll}

Stuyvesants and Vanderbilts and Roosevelts and staid, respectable Washington Square. Trinity Church. Mrs. Astor’s famous ballroom, the Four Hundred, snobby Ward McAllister, that traitor Edith Wharton, Delmonico’s. Zany Zelda and Scott in the Plaza fountain, the Algonquin Round Table, Dottie Parker and her razor tongue and pen, the Follies. Cholly Knickerbocker, 21, Lucky Strike dances at the Stork, El Morocco. The incomparable Hildegarde playing the Persian Room at the Plaza, Cary Grant kneeling at her feet in awe. Fifth Avenue: Henri Bendel, Bergdorf’s, Tiffany’s.

Conklin Nozac; the Eversharp Doric and Skyline; the Parker Duofold, Vacumatic, and “51”; Sheaffer’s Flat-Top, Balance, and “TRIUMPH”; and Waterman’s Nº 7

As Gage reached for the last bite of cinnamon roll, Roo stuffed it quickly into her mouth. Etienne just as quickly snatched the cappuccino from her other hand. Giving Etienne a shove, Roo gestured knowingly in Miranda’s direction. “I told you she’d forget.” “I didn’t forget,” Miranda defended herself for the second time. “I told you she’d be late.” “Okay,” Miranda grumbled. “I’ll give you that one.” Roo looked smugly pleased. She took back her cappuccino. “I think we should get started.” Ashley, as usual, seized command of the situation. “Did y’all come up with any good ideas? I brought stuff for us to take notes with.” Parker grudgingly accepted the pad and pen she handed him. “Wow. Just what I always wanted.” “You’ll thank me when you get an A on the project.” “I can think of other things I’d rather thank you for.” A memo pad came down on his head. Wincing, he rubbed his scalp and shot Ashley an injured look.

If Parker Pen put Janesville on the map, GM kept it there.

Anyone with a lick of sense wouldn’t go within ten blocks of Russo. Unfortunately, we’re talking about me. Me and sense were occasional pen pals at best.

Using this knowledge about the way we are wired to adapt to our environment looks like this: if you want to eat healthily, get rid of the junk food and replace it with wholesome food. If you want to improve your sleep, remove everything from your bedroom except your comfortable, well-clothed bed. If you’d like to be more sociable, remove your computer and books, and replace them with a big dinner table, games, and comfortable, welcoming décor. If you’d like to be more introspective, remove your big dinner table and games, and install an armchair and a nice lamp surrounded by books, notebooks, pens, and highlighters.

long time, and he gets the balance just right.” “And it sounds like he taught you well,” commented Jamison. Dawson brightened. “He has taught me well. Sometimes too well, such that I’m sitting in a restaurant with two strangers talking about cow pens and nitrogen levels.” Jamison said, “The closest I’ve ever gotten to livestock is at a petting zoo.” “What else did Hal Parker tell you about finding the body?” asked Decker. “That he threw up. That he’d never seen anything that awful in his life. And he fought in the Middle East.” “But he couldn’t have known it was Irene Cramer. She was identified after she was brought in.” Dawson sat back and looked at Decker in a new, perhaps sobering light. “I’m good friends with Liz Southern. She told me. But I don’t want her to get into trouble. I was just curious after Hal told me he’d found a body of a woman.” “That’s okay,” said Jamison. “It’s a small town and news was bound to get around.” “Got any suspects?” “None that we can talk about,” advised Decker quickly. “Did you know Ms. Cramer?” “No. But I knew that she taught school over at the Brothers’ Colony.” “Do you know the folks there?” “I can’t say I really know them all that well.” She glanced at Decker. “So, Stan also told me that you’re his brother-in-law.” “Soon to be ex-brother-in-law, as I’m sure he also told you.” “I wouldn’t be seeing him if he were still happily married,” she said firmly. “That’s good to know,” replied Decker. “I have to admit that I went to the OK Corral Saloon and watched you two dancing. Frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more uncomfortable.” Dawson smiled. “He is very

The moment everyone had been anticipating finally came when, at a quarter past nine in the morning on Monday, September 14, 1987, Parker walked up the trail to the pen at the South Lake location where Lucash had been station. In contrast to the media frenzy surrounding the wolves’ arrival in North Carolina, only Parker and four others - Roland Smith, from the Point Defiance Zoo; John Taylor, the Alligator River refuge director; Michael Phillips; and Chris Lucash - were there to witness the release. According to DeBlieu’s writings and Phillips’s field notes, Taylor and Parker walked up the sodden trail to the pen where the wolves sloshed through mud puddles against the far fence. Parker tossed some deer meat into the enclosure, as if it were any other regular feeding. Then he did something entirely different: he secured the gate wide open with a heavy chain. He and Taylor turned and walked back down the trail to rejoin the others at the Boston whaler that had ferried them to the remote spot. Phillips noted that “Parker uttered, ‘We did it. We let them go.’” Parker would reminisce of the moment later in his life that he couldn’t believe he had “scratched something out of the dirt, and it worked.” But after securing the pen door open, and once Parker’s tension dissipated, it was an anticlimactic moment. The wolves did not sense freedom and rush out. Rather, they stayed in their pen for several days, perhaps wary of the open gate. On the fourth morning, the female wandered out and traveled two miles. It took the male a week to move beyond the safe vicinity of the enclosure that had been his small but secure territory. The first two red wolves to be released back to the wild were free. But what would they choose to do with their freedom?

Apart from IBM, companies approached included Hilton Hotels, Parker Pens, Pan American World Airlines, Hewlett-Packard, Bell Labs, Armstrong Cork, Seabrook Farms, Bausch & Lomb, and Whirlpool. The number of firms consulted ultimately topped forty.

that’s how the world changes. It’s either so quick that we never know what hit us, or so gradual that we don’t notice. It’s only later, when books are written and scholars decide what mattered and what didn’t, that red lines are drawn – before this point, the world was this way, after this point, everything was different. You could be there and not have a clue. You could be asleep, or looking the other way, having a quiet shit or screwing in an alley, and an unseen pen draws a line. Here the Empire ended. Here the Dark Ages began.

Excuse me, but could we borrow a pen?" Joyce looked at me like I'd asked for her firstborn child, then took a Bic from behind her ear and handed it over. I looked at the pen, took a napkin and wiped it down. Who knew where her ears had been?