Portland Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Portland. Here they are! All 200 of them:

I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes. After that I liked jazz music. Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way. I used to not like God because God didn't resolve. But that was before any of this happened.
Donald Miller (Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality)
I wish I could close my eyes and be blown into dust and nothingness, feel all my thoughts disperse like dandelion fluff drifting off on the wind. But his hands keep pulling me back: into the alley, and Portland, and a world that has suddenly stopped making sense.
Lauren Oliver (Delirium (Delirium, #1))
Are we going to Portland?" I asked. "Or Multnomah Falls?" He smiled at me. "Go to sleep." I waited three seconds. "Are we there yet?" His smile widened, and the last of the usual tension melted from his face. For a smile like that, I'd...do anything.
Patricia Briggs (River Marked (Mercy Thompson, #6))
Most things, even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings in something small. An earthquake that shatters a city with a tremor, a tremble, a breath. Music begins with a vibration. The flood that rushed into Portland twenty years ago after nearly two months of straight rain, that hurtled up beyond the labs and damaged more than a thousand houses, swept up tire and trash bags and old, smelly shoes and floated them through the streets like prizes, that left a thin film of green mold behind, a stench of rotting and decay that didn't go away for months, began with a trickle of water, no wider than a finger, lapping up onto the docks. And God created the whole universe from an atom no bigger than a thought. Grace's life fell apart because of a single word: sympathizer. My world exploded because of a different word: suicide. Correction: That was the first time my world exploded. The second time my world exploded, it was also because of a word. A word that worked its way out of my throat and danced onto and out of my lips before I could think about it, or stop it. The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
Lauren Oliver (Delirium (Delirium, #1))
I am going to a conference tomorrow," she said. "In Portland. Dr. Melissa Sanchez will speak. She says you think your way to a sexier you. Hormones are powerful drugs. Unless we tell them what we want, they backfire. They work against us." Dorothea turned, pointing the Ajax can at me for emphasis. "Now I wake in the morning and take red lipstick to my mirror. 'I am sexy,' I write. 'Men want me. Sixty-five is the new twenty-five.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
This is your life now?” “Guess so.” “Huh,” I said, summing up the situation perfectly. “Why don’t you go back to LA?” Blue eyes watched me warily and he didn’t answer at first. “My wife lives in Portland.
Kylie Scott (Lick (Stage Dive, #1))
To hell with that. A man goin' fishing with two whores from Portland don't have to take that crap.
Ken Kesey (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest)
They haven't killed us yet," I say, and I imagine that one day I will fly a plane over Portland, over Rochester, over every fenced-in city in the whole country, and I will bomb and bomb and bomb, and watch all their buildings smoldering to dust, and all those people melting and bleeding into flame, and I will see how they like it. If you take, we will take back. Steal from us, and we will rob you blind. When you squeeze, we will hit. This is the way the world is made now.
Lauren Oliver (Pandemonium (Delirium, #2))
I'd sooner have died than admit that the most valuable thing I owned was a fairly extensive collection of German industrial music dance mix EP records stored for even further embarrassment under a box of crumbling Christmas tree ornaments in a Portland, Oregon basement. So I told him I owned nothing of any value.
Douglas Coupland (Generatie X: Vertellingen voor een versnelde cultuur)
It wasn't exactly like talking, but it went something like this: Could you give us a ride north, Percy asked, like as close to Portland as possible? Eat seals, the whale responded. Are you seals? No, Percy admitted. I've got a man satchel full of macrobiotic beef jerky, though. The whale shuddered. Promise not to feed me this, and I will take you north. Deal.
Rick Riordan (The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus, #2))
Craziness is only a matter of degree, and there are lots of people besides me who have the urge to roll heads. They go to stock-car races and the horror movies and the wrestling matches they have in Portland Expo. Maybe what she said smacked of all those things, but I admired her for saying out loud, all the same--the price of honesty is always high. She had an admirable grasp of the fundamentals. Besides, she was tiny and pretty.
Richard Bachman (Rage)
Space is about 100 kilometers away. That’s far away—I wouldn’t want to climb a ladder to get there—but it isn’t that far away. If you’re in Sacramento, Seattle, Canberra, Kolkata, Hyderabad, Phnom Penh, Cairo, Beijing, central Japan, central Sri Lanka, or Portland, space is closer than the sea.
Randall Munroe (What If?: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions)
I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.
Donald Miller (Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality)
it occurs to me that there is so much I never knew about him--his past, his role in the resistance, what his life was like in the Wilds, before he came to Portland, and I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.
Lauren Oliver (Requiem (Delirium, #3))
We're in Des Moines, Iowa today, were in Omaha, Nebraska yesterday and Boise, Idaho the day before. When we landed at the airport in Boise, from Portland, Oregon this lady from our plane came up from behind as we walked down the terminal. She approached me and said "Taylor, I just love your song and want to wish you great things in you career." I looked and her and said "Well, THANK YOU!" and then said " who did you talk to?". (and then pointed to my Mom and the Label rep we were traveling with) I was convinced that one of them had talked to the lady on the plane and told her about me and my song. The lady said "neither one" and then I said "Well, how did you know who I was?" and the lady said "because I listen to radio and I watched your video". This was the first time someone had actually KNOWN who I was and MY NAME. wow. I just walked over and hugged her, and said ...."You're the first person who's ever done that, thankyou." It was an amazing moment to remember, and I always will.
Taylor Swift
Fred is officially the mayor of Portland now.
Lauren Oliver (Requiem (Delirium, #3))
At Lockwood & Co., George was famous for not being able to throw or catch with any accuracy. Back in the kitchen at Portland Row, even the casual passing out of fruit or bags of chips became an exercise fraught with danger.
Jonathan Stroud (The Creeping Shadow (Lockwood & Co., #4))
Lie you easy, dream you light, And sleep you fast for aye; And luckier may you find the night Than ever you found the day.
A.E. Housman (A Shropshire Lad)
Oh, little Eden from the forests of Portland, welcome to the real world.
Estelle Maskame (Did I Mention I Need You? (DIMILY, #2))
The other part of me wanted to get out and stay out, but this was the part I never listened to. Because if I ever had I would have stayed in the town where I was born and worked in the hardware store and married the boss's daughter and had five kids and read them the funny paper on Sunday morning and smacked their heads when they got out of line and squabbled with the wife about how much spending money they were to get and what programs they could have on the radio or TV set. I might even get rich - small-town rich, an eight-room house, two cars in the garage, chicken every Sunday and the Reader's Digest on the living room table, the wife with a cast-iron permanent and me with a brain like a sack of Portland cement. You take it, friend. I'll take the big sordid dirty crooked city.
Raymond Chandler (The Long Goodbye)
Driving back to Portland I’d puzzle over my sudden success at selling. I’d been unable to sell encyclopedias, and I’d despised it to boot. I’d been slightly better at selling mutual funds, but I’d felt dead inside. So why was selling shoes so different? Because, I realized, it wasn’t selling. I believed in running. I believed that if people got out and ran a few miles every day, the world would be a better place, and I believed these shoes were better to run in. People, sensing my belief, wanted some of that belief for themselves. Belief, I decided. Belief is irresistible. Sometimes
Phil Knight (Shoe Dog)
Considering Independence Hall was also where the founders calculated that a slave equals three-fifths of a person and cooked up an electoral college that lets Florida and Ohio pick our presidents, making an adolescent who barely spoke English a major general at the age I got hired to run the cash register at a Portland pizza joint was not the worst decision ever made there.
Sarah Vowell (Lafayette in the Somewhat United States)
I walk through the glass doors and into the lobby, which is floor-to-ceiling glass and steel. This fascinates me to no end, because buildings back in Portland are made of grass and mud.
Fanny Merkin (Fifty Shames of Earl Grey)
But hope got in, no matter how hard and fast I tried to stomp it out. Like these tiny fire ants we used to get in Portland. No matter how fast you liked them, there were always more, a steady stream of them, resistant, ever-multiplying. Maybe, the hope said. Maybe.
Lauren Oliver (Requiem (Delirium, #3))
We lived in the Portland Avenue Stacks, a sprawling hive of discolored tin shoeboxes rusting on the shores of I-40, just west of Oklahoma City’s decaying skyscraper core.
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
She’s a Portland girl. So I guess that makes us in-laws. Be gentle with me, yeah?
Kylie Scott (Lick (Stage Dive, #1))
As Steve draws me closer to the band, all I can see is a frenzied mass of seething, writhing people, like a many-headed sea snake, grinding, waving their arms, stamping their feet, jumping. No rules, just energy - so much energy, you could harness it; I bet you could power Portland for a decade. It is more than a wave. It's a tide, an ocean of bodies.
Lauren Oliver (Hana (Delirium, #1.5))
Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color--the green were still pale and tentative, the morning had a biting coolness--but by the last week of school everything is Technicolor and splash, outrageous blue skies and purple thunderstorms and ink-black night skies and red flowers as brights as spots of blood.
Lauren Oliver (Delirium (Delirium, #1))
So if my ability to meditate was what was going to save the world, or at least save Portland, then I was pretty sure we should all think about moving to Seattle.
Devon Monk (Magic on the Storm (Allie Beckstrom, #4))
Are you in Portland on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool, Ana!
E.L. James (Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades, #1))
It’s fifteen minutes until two when I arrive – just in time for the interview. I walk through the glass doors and into the lobby, which is also floor-to-ceiling glass and steel. This fascinates me, because buildings back in Portland are made of grass and mud.
Andrew Shaffer (Fifty-one Shades: A Parody (First Three Chapters))
Scott gave my knee an affectionate squeeze. "You'll never hear me admit this again, so listen up. You look good, Grey. On a scale from one to ten, you're definitely in the top half." "Gee, thanks." "You're not the kind of girl I would have chased after when I was in Portland, but I'm not the same guy I was back then either. You're a little too good for me, and let's face it, a little too smart." "You've got street smarts," I pointed out. "Stop interrupting. You're going to make me lose my place." "You've got this speech memorized?" A smirk. "I've got a lot of time on my hands. As I was saying--hell. I forgot where I was." "You were telling me I can rest assured that I'm better-looking than half the girls at my school." "That was a figure of speech. If you want to get technical, you're better-looking than ninety percent. Give or take." I laid a hand over my heart. "I'm speechless." Scott got down on his knee and clasped my hand dramatically. "Yes, Nora. Yes, I'll go to the homecoming dance with you.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Silence (Hush, Hush, #3))
Panic attacks are crazy beasts. They don’t care what you think you’re ready for. They don’t care what you want. They just take control, and then you suffer.
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
Screwing up one minute doesn’t mean you can’t be amazing the next. You just have to learn from your mistakes. Go in and try something different next time.
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
The newly dubbed General Lafayette was only nineteen years old. Considering Independence Hall was also where the founders calculated that a slave equals three-fifths of a person and cooked up an electoral college that lets Florida and Ohio pick our presidents, making an adolescent who barely spoke English a major general at the age I got hired to run the cash register at a Portland pizza joint was not the worst decision ever made there.
Sarah Vowell (Lafayette in the Somewhat United States)
Wow, if Portlanders could do that to a biker, they could turn anyone into a hipster.
Joanna Wylde (Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4))
I stare at her blankly. We don't have elevators in Portland. "This is my first elevator ride. How do they work exactly?
Fanny Merkin (Fifty Shames of Earl Grey)
If you submit an article to a major refereed clinical journal and it is accepted upon first submission without a single revision, let me know and I will take you to dinner the next time you are in Portland, Oregon.
Robert B. Taylor (Medical Writing: A Guide for Clinicians, Educators, and Researchers)
There are a great number of what appear to be teenage runaways, but in Portland it seems that even the elderly dress as if they are teenage runaways, in hoodies and kerchiefs and ragged jeans, stinking of patchouli and dirty feet, and one tattooed old man even rolls by on a skateboard.
Dan Chaon (Stay Awake)
There is no greater wrecking ball to the planet than the industries that turn animals into food. No single choice that we make has a bigger or more positive impact.
David Agranoff (The Vegan Guide to Portland)
It is not those things that have been done to us that make us who we are; it is what we choose to do with them. Live, laugh, love, and choose to be fearless.
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
The most I can ever do is write things down. To remember them. The details. To honor them in some way.
Chuck Palahniuk (Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland, Oregon)
Crows are harbingers of death and omens, good and bad, according to Big Jim according to Google. Midnight-winged tricksters associated with mystery, the occult, the unknown. The netherworld, wherever it is- Portland? We make people think of the deceased and super angsty poetry. Admittedly we don't help the cause when we happily dine on fish guts in a landfill, buy hey ho.
Kira Jane Buxton (Hollow Kingdom)
Most things, even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings in something small. An earthquake that shatters a city might begin with a tremor, a tremble, a breath. Music begins with a vibration. The flood that rushed into Portland twenty years ago after nearly two months of straight rain, that hurtled up beyond the labs and damaged more than a thousand houses, swept up tires and trash bags and old, smelly shoes and floated them through the streets like prizes, that left a thin film of green mold behind, a stench of rotting and decay that didn’t go away for months, began with a trickle of water, no wider than a finger, lapping up onto the docks. And God created the whole universe from an atom no bigger than a thought.
Lauren Oliver (Delirium (Delirium, #1))
Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice the ring that’s landed on your finger, a massive insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt in your voice under a blanket and said there’s two kinds of women—those you write poems about and those you don’t. It’s true. I never brought you a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed. My idea of courtship was tapping Jane’s Addiction lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M., whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked within the confines of my character, cast as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan of your dark side. We don’t have a past so much as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power never put to good use. What we had together makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught one another like colds, and desire was merely a symptom that could be treated with soup and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now, I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy, as if I invented it, but I’m still not immune to your waterfall scent, still haven’t developed antibodies for your smile. I don’t know how long regret existed before humans stuck a word on it. I don’t know how many paper towels it would take to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light of a candle being blown out travels faster than the luminescence of one that’s just been lit, but I do know that all our huffing and puffing into each other’s ears—as if the brain was a trick birthday candle—didn’t make the silence any easier to navigate. I’m sorry all the kisses I scrawled on your neck were written in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you so hard one of your legs would pop out of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you’d press your face against the porthole of my submarine. I’m sorry this poem has taken thirteen years to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding off the shoulder blade’s precipice and joyriding over flesh, we’d put our hands away like chocolate to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy of each other’s eyelashes, translated a paragraph from the volumes of what couldn’t be said.
Jeffrey McDaniel
My heart fluttered and my skin tingled anytime I was near him. How I viewed him had changed. He wasn’t just Brenden’s best friend anymore, not in my head. Not in my heart.
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
Sometimes I felt that there was something physical connecting us, a long rope that stretched between Boston and Portland: when she tugged on her end, I felt it on mine. Wherever she went, wherever I went, there it would be, that shining twined string that stretched and pulled but never broke, our every movement reminding us of what we would never have again.
Hanya Yanagihara (A Little Life)
Gotta say you Portland people take weird to a new level.
Devon Monk (Magic at the Gate (Allie Beckstrom, #5))
How was I supposed to survive here? These Portlanders were an entirely different breed of white people.
Gabby Rivera (Juliet Takes a Breath)
My god, Portland was fucking weird sometimes.
Karina Halle (On Demon Wings (Experiment in Terror, #5))
It’s taco night at Portland Street.
Gordon Korman (Restart)
Portland wasn't my home; Jamie was. There is nothing in this world that feels as good as being completely at home. Not even chocolate.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
It’s like each face was a sign like one of those “I’m Blind” signs the dago accordion players in Portland hung around their necks, only these signs say “I’m tired” or “I’m scared” or “I’m dying of a bum liver” or “I’m all bound up with machinery and people pushing me alla time.” I can read all the signs, it don’t make any difference how little the print gets.
Ken Kesey (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest)
For London, Blampied claimed, was of all cities in the world the most autumnal —its mellow brickwork harmonizing with fallen leaves and October sunsets, just as the etched grays of November composed themselves with the light and shade of Portland stone. There was a charm, a deathless charm, about a city whose inhabitants went about muttering, "The nights are drawing in," as if it were a spell to invoke the vast, sprawling creature-comfort of winter.
James Hilton (Random Harvest)
So now, here Jamie was, looking at me with that same hurt look in his eyes that I’d seen every time I’d come back to Portland in the last four years. The look I’d put in his eyes. The look that ripped me apart.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
In terms of sheer annoyance, nobody I have ever known has compared to Sare Worthington, saver of the environment, native of Portland, Maine, forever wishing that she were from Portland, Oregon. Bitch should have just moved there.
Caroline Kepnes (You (You, #1))
Love hurts, but that isn’t a good enough reason not to love. The truth is, it hurts even more not to love
Catherine Gayle (Comeback (Portland Storm, #6))
Regrets will eat you alive if you let them. You gotta outrun them. Find something in the now.
Annabeth Albert (Baked Fresh (Portland Heat, #2))
Sometimes in life, dreams aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. When they’re not, though, there’s usually another dream—a better dream —waiting for you in the wings.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
It was one of those simple facts of life: the sky was blue, gravity kept our feet firmly on the ground, and I loved Katie Weber.” ~ Jamie
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
Nobody’s perfect. But that doesn’t mean you’re not perfect for me. And maybe I can be perfect for you, too.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
Her baby wouldn’t stop crying. She’d started fussing at the last station, when the Greyhound bus out of Bangor stopped in Portland to pick up more passengers. Now, at a little after 1 A.M., they were almost to the Boston terminal, and the two-plus hours of trying to soothe her infant daughter were, as her friends back in school would say, getting on her last nerve.
Lara Adrian (Kiss of Midnight (Midnight Breed, #1))
She wanted us to go on like nothing had ever happened between us. Like she didn’t have her hand circled around my heart. Like she wasn’t squeezing the life out of it every time she left.” ~ Jamie
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
I couldn't help myself. The more confidence she gained, the more beautiful she became. The more she smiled, the more I allowed myself to hope. The more she let me touch her, the less capable I felt of stopping.
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
I've never been more sure of anything in my life than I am of the fact that I love you and I can't stop loving you. I tried. God knows I tried, because I didn't think you'd ever be able to let me love you like I wanted to. But I failed, and now I love you even more than I did before.
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
Translation: Total hipster. Although insanely good-looking, this guy would probably end up an NYC transplant in Portland within the next year. But I wasn’t ruling out seeing his gorgeous mug on one of my favorite Instagram accounts, Hot Dudes Reading. Because who doesn’t love seeing man candy nose deep in a book? My
Max Monroe (Tapping the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #1))
I know there’s this ongoing Portland/Brooklyn spar for über hipdom (and I have to be careful here, because my agent lives in Brooklyn), but Portland is the least derivative place I’ve ever been. The folks here do what they do in defiance of norm or trend. The spirit of authenticity in Portland is as contagious as a February flu.
Suzy Vitello
:That's what you do when you love someone." ... "You give all you have to give," he said, "and they do the same. You fill each other up." ... "It doesn't work if it isn't even, though," I said. "If one does all the giving and the other does all the taking
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
Gate C22 At gate C22 in the Portland airport a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed a woman arriving from Orange County. They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking, the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island, like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing. Neither of them was young. His beard was gray. She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish kisses like the ocean in the early morning, the way it gathers and swells, sucking each rock under, swallowing it again and again. We were all watching– passengers waiting for the delayed flight to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots, the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could taste the kisses crushed in our mouths. But the best part was his face. When he drew back and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost as though he were a mother still open from giving birth, as your mother must have looked at you, no matter what happened after–if she beat you or left you or you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth. The whole wing of the airport hushed, all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body, her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses, little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
Ellen Bass (The Human Line)
To: Runit Happerman, Head Librarian, Portland Public Library. From: Multnomah County Board. The Board has been notified by the Aylantik Government that the Portland Library will be permanently closed ten days from the above date. A meeting will be held on the Field today at ten-hundred to resolve pending issues. Closing will be facilitated by the AOI.
Brandt Legg (The Last Librarian (The Justar Journal #1))
Katherine’s theory is that everyone looking to make a new life migrates west, across America to the Pacific Ocean. Once there, the cheapest city where they can live is Portland. This gives us the most cracked of the crackpots. The misfits among misfits. “We just accumulate more and more strange people,” she says. “All we are are the fugitives and refugees.
Chuck Palahniuk (Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland, Oregon)
Это как будто идёшь в тумане и не видишь, что там, впереди, но идёшь всё равно, потому что тебе любопытно. Просто идёшь, шаг за шагом.
Чак Паланик (Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland, Oregon)
But do you know what I want? I want you to want me again. I don’t know if that will ever happen, but if it doesn’t, I don’t think I will ever be okay again.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
Portland’s good at wet. The best.
Devon Monk (Magic in the Shadows (Allie Beckstrom, #3))
As dazed as I was, I still remembered to say I was from Portland instead of Beaverton, to avoid sounding like a hick—or having to endure any beaver-related attempts at humor.
Ernest Cline (Armada)
he was an old man who was talking to himself on a wharf in Portland, Maine, and he could not—Jack Kennison, with his two PhDs—he could not figure out how this had happened.
Elizabeth Strout (Olive, Again (Olive Kitteridge, #2))
One spring afternoon as a child in the strange town of Portland, I walked down to a different street corner, and saw a row of old houses, huddled together like seals on a rock.
Richard Brautigan (Trout Fishing in America)
Right after my dad was shot to death in Portland while buying my mom’s birthday gift,
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
Someone at Portland Row really missed you, you know... Me. - Holly
Jonathan Stroud (The Creeping Shadow (Lockwood & Co., #4))
Why don't you go back to LA?" "My wife lives in Portland.
Kylie Scott (Lick (Stage Dive, #1))
If you’re in Sacramento, Seattle, Canberra, Kolkata, Hyderabad, Phnom Penh, Cairo, Beijing, central Japan, central Sri Lanka, or Portland, space is closer than the sea.
Randall Munroe (What If?: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions)
That’s super. I like you, Lloyd. You were always the best of them. Best damned barkeep between Barre and Portland, Maine. Portland, Oregon, for that matter.
Stephen King (The Shining)
Only in Portland was it unforgivable not to recycle efficiently.
Kendra Elliot (Hidden (Bone Secrets, #1))
Dense urban environments may do away with nature altogether—there are many vibrantly healthy neighborhoods in Paris or Manhattan that lack even a single tree—but they also perform the crucial service of reducing mankind’s environmental footprint. Compare the sewage system of a midsized city like Portland, Oregon, with the kind of waste management resources that would be required to support the same population dispersed across the countryside. Portland’s 500,000 inhabitants require two sewage treatment plants, connected by 2,000 miles of pipes. A rural population would require more than 100,000 septic tanks, and 7,000 miles of pipe. The rural waste system would be several times more expensive than the urban version.
Steven Johnson (The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic--and How It Changed Science, Cities, and the Modern World)
She wanted us to go on like nothing had ever happened between us. Like she didn’t have her hand circled around my heart. Like she wasn’t squeezing the life out of it every time she left.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
When journalist Blaine Harden boarded a tug to make the journey in the mid-1990s, his captain offered a sober prediction: “By the time you get to Portland, you are going to be bored shitless.
Thor Hanson (The Triumph of Seeds: How Grains, Nuts, Kernels, Pulses, and Pips Conquered the Plant Kingdom and Shaped Human History)
Portland was a dream both in the literal sense and the metaphorical sense, both tangible and not - a fleeting affair you want to hold on to but can't, so you try memorizing her every detail only to fail to do so in the consumption, in the savoring, in the absorbing of yourself into her. When she's gone, she comes to you in snippets, replaying in your mind like a fragmented picture show.
Jackie Haze, Borderless
Humanists try to behave decently and honorably without any expectation of rewards or punishments in an afterlife. And, since the creator of the universe is to them unknowable so far, they serve as best they can the highest abstraction of which they have some understanding, which is their community.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
The trip from Portland to New York City was like climbing Mount Everest without oxygen. It went on and on, and by the time you reached your destination, there was no sensation left in your extremities.
Kristin Hannah (Distant Shores)
That's just how it is. You get halfway through your life and realize you've done it all wrong. You've picked the wrong jobs and followed the wrong dreams. Every decision from your cradle to the counter of an upscale children's boutique in Portland, Oregon gratingly names little fig where you now stand tethered at the age of thirty-seven for thirteen-dollars-an-hour-plus-commission has been all wrong.
Jennifer Vandever (American Tango)
I want to be by your side through everything that's coming, to hold your hand when you're scared and to pick you up when you're weak... I want you to run to me… Because I love you. And because you love me. And because I can’t go one more day without being able to tell you that as often as it comes to mind.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
The War on Drugs, from the Hastings-facing window of the Portland Hotel, is manifested in the pregnant Celia kneeling on the sidewalk, handcuffed wrists behind her back, eyes cast on the ground. There was no Detective-Sergeant Gillespie to protect her when, as a little girl, she was raped by her stepfather and subjected to the nocturnal spitting ritual, so in the War on Drugs she has become one of the enemy.
Gabor Maté (In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction)
I had loved Portland. It was a clean city, with weather so delicate that at night you had to look at the streetlights to tell whether it was raining or snowing. Everything was heavier near Boston: air, accents, women.
Elizabeth McCracken (Here's Your Hat What's Your Hurry)
To the prohibitionists, Hannah is a failure, because she continued using drugs. To the Portland, she was a success, because she knew she was loved. One day, a very senior government minister came to visit the safe injection rooms, and to meet the addicts. He asked Liz: “What percentage of people who use this place would you consider to be write-offs?” She paused and looked at him, trying to figure out how to tell him that the answer is none.
Johann Hari (Chasing the Scream: The First and Last Days of the War on Drugs)
Tell me something true about you.” “Okay …” She mentally rifled through birthplace (Portland, Oregon), college major (sociology), astrological sign (Virgo), favorite movie (The Apple Dumpling Gang—don’t judge), until she hit a fact that wasn’t completely mundane. “One of my favorite things in the world are those charity events where everyone buys a rubber ducky with a number and the first person’s duck to get down the river wins.” “Why?” “I like seeing the river teeming with all those outrageously yellow and orange ducks. It’s so friendly. And I love the hope of it. Even though it doesn’t matter if you win, because all that wonderful, candy-colored money is going to something really important like a free clinic downtown or cleft palate operations for children in India, you still have that playful hope that you will win. You run alongside the stream, not knowing which is your duck but imagining the lead one is yours.” “And this is the essence of your soul—the ducky race?” “Well, you didn’t ask for the essence of my soul. You asked for something true about me, and so I went for something slightly embarrassing and secret but true nonetheless. Next time you want the essence of my soul, I’ll oblige you with sunsets and baby’s laughter and greeting cards with watercolor flowers.” He squinted at her thoughtfully. “No, so far as I’m concerned, the yellow duckies are the essence of your soul.
Shannon Hale (Midnight in Austenland (Austenland, #2))
Lewis and my few other lovers hadn’t been worth leaping over—they wanted too much of me or not enough, but what if Todd was different? You know he is. That’s what scares you. If he was worth the fall, maybe it was time to sprout wings.
Annabeth Albert (Danced Close (Portland Heat, #6))
You made good time from Portland.” In seconds, she shunted away the brief flicker of remembered heat from her gaze and became as coolly polite as her downstairs neighbor. “I was afraid you’d be ready to string me up if I didn’t hurry.” “I
RaeAnne Thayne (The Daddy Makeover (The Women of Brambleberry House #1))
Me dije que si estaba viva iba a seguir adelante, me olvidaría, sería feliz de nuevo. Intenté decirme a mí mismo que era lo que quería para ella. Sabía que nunca volvería a verla. Pero la esperanza llegó, no importa cuán duro y rápido traté de sacarla fuera. Al igual que estas hormigas coloradas diminutas que solíamos tener en Portland. No importaba lo rápido que las mataran, siempre había más, un flujo constante de ellas, resistentes, siempre multiplicándose. Tal vez , la esperanza, dijo. Tal vez
Lauren Oliver
I love you because I don’t know how to not love you. Becuase I can’t imagine my world without you, and I don’t ever want to have to face that again. Because you are sweetness and light and life, and you see me as the man I could be not as the man I am.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
I love you because I don’t know how to not love you. Becuase I can’t imagine my world without you, and I don’t ever want to have to face that again. Because you are sweetness and light and life, and you see me as the man I could be, not as the man I am.
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
So many questions crowd my brain at once, it’s like one of the famous Portland fogs has swept up from the ocean and settled there, making it impossible to think normal, functional thoughts. We’re sitting on the floor of the living room, which is squashed up right next to the “dining room”, and I’m holding Jenny's workbook on my knees, reciting the problems to her, but my mind is on autopilot and my thoughts are a million miles away. Or rather, they’re exactly 3.4 miles away, down at the marshy edge of Back Cove.
Lauren Oliver (Delirium (Delirium, #1))
Ana.” Elliot’s voice is clipped and quiet, and my scalp prickles ominously. “What’s wrong?” “It’s Christian. He’s not back from Portland.” “What? What do you mean?” “His helicopter has gone missing.” “Charlie Tango?” I whisper as all the breath leaves my body. “No!
E.L. James (Fifty Shades Trilogy: Fifty Shades of Grey / Fifty Shades Darker / Fifty Shades Freed)
For the purposes of this book, and with apologies to Charleston, Austin, the Portlands, Fort Worth, Indianapolis, Chattanooga, Charlotte, Memphis, San Antonio, and of course Seattle (always special apologies to Seattle), Oklahoma City is the great minor city of America.
Sam Anderson (Boom Town: The Fantastical Saga of Oklahoma City, Its Chaotic Founding, Its Apocalyptic Weather, Its Purloined Basketball Team, and the Dream of Becoming a World-class Metropolis)
[What a great way to describe how a city takes its unique "shape"...beautiful turn-of-phrase by Kieran Shields(!)]: "It was a city of slopes, curves, and dips carved by glaciers and now criss-crossed by a network of angled streets and blocks, unfettered by any sense of regularity and uniformity. Portland's maze of cobbled roads was the result of two and a half centuries of fisherman and merchants driven by immediate necessity and that economy of steps that occurs naturally in a place where winters often lasted five months out of the year.
Kieran Shields (The Truth of All Things (Archie Lean #1))
Babbage was a brilliant mathematician but found human beings difficult to deal with. His intolerance of street musicians led to an organized campaign against him: his London home in Portland Place was bombarded by noise at all hours and abusive signs were hung in local shops.
John Lloyd (QI: The Second Book of General Ignorance)
When the girl at the squat got her throat slit, and Jacob got marked, Nix had been in Portland a little under a year. He had just bought a SpongeBob sleeping bag from Goodwill and had started to feel something like safe. But then, a roll or two of dust every other week helped with that.
Tara Bray Smith (Betwixt)
AMANI’S FAMILY-STYLE Italian Restaurant was nearly empty. Not surprising, considering it was three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon in the middle of February. It wasn’t the sort of place you’d expect someone to take a date for Valentine’s Day—more the type of place you’d have a family reunion. But today
Catherine Gayle (Breakaway (Portland Storm, #1))
In Laos, a baby was never apart from its mother, sleeping in her arms all night and riding on her back all day. Small children were rarely abused; it was believed that a dab who witnessed mistreatment might take the child, assuming it was not wanted. The Hmong who live in the United States have continued to be unusually attentive parents. A study conducted at the University of Minnesota found Hmong infants in the first month of life to be less irritable and more securely attached to their mothers than Caucasian infants, a difference the researcher attributed to the fact that the Hmong mothers were, without exception, more sensitive, more accepting, and more responsive, as well as “exquisitely attuned” to their children’s signals. Another study, conducted in Portland, Oregon, found that Hmong mothers held and touched their babies far more frequently than Caucasian mothers. In a third study, conducted at the Hennepin County Medical Center in Minnesota, a group of Hmong mothers of toddlers surpassed a group of Caucasian mothers of similar socioeconomic status in every one of fourteen categories selected from the Egeland Mother-Child Rating Scale, ranging from “Speed of Responsiveness to Fussing and Crying” to “Delight.
Anne Fadiman (The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down: A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures)
Look, cell phone geolocation data shows very few clustering anomalies for this hour and climate. And that’s holding up pretty much across all major metro areas. It’s gone down six percentage points since news of the Karachi workshop hit the Web, and it’s trending downward. If people are protesting, they aren’t doing it in the streets.” He circled his finger over a few clusters of dots. “Some potential protest knots in Portland and Austin, but defiance-related tag cloud groupings in social media put us within the three-sigma rule—meaning roughly sixty-eight percent of the values lie within one standard deviation of the mean.
Daniel Suarez
Beau never stays within the lines. He’s not just my roommate, he moves through Portland as if it’s his city, as though all the people at this party are his best friends, as if he invented beer pong, even. He’s that drop of water that runs and seeps into the paper, smearing the other watercolors until they’ve run wild as well.
Rebecca Paula (Between Everything and Us (Sutton College, #1))
Throughout his life, he was the opposite of all show business clichés. His marriage endured: by all accounts, he dearly loved his wife. Words most often used by those who knew him were “decent,” “genial,” “gentle,” and “generous.” He was a constant target of panhandlers and always had a roll of money in his pockets for handouts. He was not, apparently, a chummy man. His few real intimates, old friends like Doc Rockwell and Uncle Jim Harkins, had been with him in vaudeville and appeared occasionally on his show. He and Portland avoided crowds, lived simply in a New York apartment, and never owned a car. “I don’t want to own anything,” he once told a reporter, “that won’t fit in my coffin.
John Dunning (On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio)
Violence; violence, and power, in the context of yet somebody else walking up to the groaning boards of fantasy’s eternal wedding feast, still laden with the cold meats from Tolkien’s funeral, and cheekily joining everyone who’s trying to send the whole thing smashing to the ground just to hear the noise all that crockery will make. —But! Also: genderfuck, hearts broken cleanly and otherwise, the City of Portland, Spenser, those moments in pop songs when the bass and all of the drums except maybe a handclap suddenly drop out of the bridge leaving you hanging from a slender aching thread of melody waiting almost dreading the moment when the beat comes back, and the occasional bit of swordplay.
Kip Manley
dead!” She burst into a fresh storm of sobs. Jimmy left it to the local C.I.D. to watch the house. “Though I do not expect we shall catch the birds,” he said, “for either the boy or the woman will communicate with them — that is certain.” He snatched a few hours’ sleep and was again at his desk by noon, interviewing such of the privileged reporters as had the entree to his office. Whether Dora had come to town or not he did not know, for his inquiries took him away from the house in Portland Place. He neither saw nor heard from Knowles; the little man seemed to have disappeared as completely and as mysteriously as any of those who had gone before him. His landlady reported that he had not returned to the house,
Edgar Wallace (The Complete Works of Edgar Wallace)
Katy, my angel, I had to go to Portland. My father had a heart attack and they don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night. Please don’t leave. If I can’t get back by tomorrow, I’ll send a car and get you a flight up here. Please, please don’t leave. I have something really important to tell you besides the fact that I am completely in love with you. —J
Renee Carlino (Nowhere but Here)
When I took it off, I glanced in the mirror behind the dresser, and I nearly screamed when I saw the reflection. Finn was sitting behind me on the bed. His eyes, dark as night, met mine in the mirror, and I could hardly breathe. "Finn!" I gasped and whirled around to look at him. "What are you doing here?" "I missed your birthday," he said, as if that answered my question. He lowered his eyes, looking at a small box he had in his hands. "I got you something." "You got me something?" I leaned back on the dresser behind me, gripping it. "Yeah." He nodded, still staring down at the box. "I picked it up outside of Portland two weeks ago. I meant to get back in time to give it to you on your birthday." He chewed the inside of his cheek. "But now that I'm here, I'm not sure I should give it to you at all." "What are you talking about?" I asked. "It doesn't feel right." Finn rubbed his face. "I don't even know what I'm doing here." "Neither do I," I said. "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to see you. I just...I don't understand." "I know." He sighed. "It's a ring. What I got you." His gaze moved from me to the engagement ring sitting on the dresser beside me. "And you already have one." "Why did you get me a ring?" I asked tentatively, and my heart beat erratically in my chest. I didn't know what Finn was saying or doing. "I'm not proposing to you, if that's what you're asking." He shook his head. "I saw it and thought of you. But now it seems like poor taste. And here I am, the night before your wedding sneaking in to give you a ring." "Why did you sneak in?" I asked. "I don't know." He looked away and laughed darkly. "That's a lie. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I have no idea why I'm doing it." "What are you doing?" I asked quietly. "I..." Finn stared off for a moment, then turned back to me and stood up. "Finn, I-" I began, but he held up his hand, stopping me. "No, I know you're marrying Tove," he said. "You need to do this. We both know that. It's what's best for you, and it's what I want for you." He paused. "But I want you for myself too." All I'd ever wanted from Finn was for him to admit how he felt about me, and he'd waited until the day before my wedding. It was too late to change anything, to take anything back. Not that I could have, even if I wanted to. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked with tears swimming in my eyes. "Because." Finn stepped toward me, stopping right in front of me. He looked down at me, his eyes mesmerizing me the way they always did. He reached up, brushing back a tear from my cheek. "Why?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I needed you to know," he said, as if he didn't truly understand it himself. He set the box on the dresser beside me, and his hand went to my waist, pulling me to him. I let go of the dresser and let him. My breath came out shallow as I stared up at him. "Tomorrow you will belong to someone else," Finn said. "But tonight, you're with me.
Amanda Hocking (Ascend (Trylle, #3))
Most things, even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings in something small. An earthquake that shatters a city might begin with a tremor, a tremble, a breath. Music begins with a vibration. The flood that rushed into Portland twenty years ago after nearly two months of straight rain, that hurtled up beyond the labs and damaged more than a thousand houses, swept up tires and trash bags and old, smelly shoes and floated them through the streets like prizes, that left a thin film of green mold behind, a stench of rotting and decay that didn’t go away for months, began with a trickle of water, no wider than a finger, lapping up onto the docks. And God created the whole universe from an atom no bigger than a thought.
Lauren Oliver (Delirium (Delirium, #1))
Sort of Coping" Why is anyone in the world so terrible. Real catastrophe and catastrophizing. If we only knew when it was going to happen. I saw you put your hands on the floor. Intimacy without disturbances. The scope here of memorization, planets. The history of children sitting still. You are so cute in all your facebook photos. When you moved to Portland I forgot we used to call you Tumbleweed Tex. All those barking dogs, feathered hair. We have something in common I never mention. I wish I’d written it down and folded it into one of your piles saying I want to read every one of these books! Do you think you’ll have read them all before the end of time. Did you go in to see her when she was dead. Maybe you already knew.
Farrah Field
One guy was wearing a loincloth and a hat made of a wolf’s skull, which he insisted was his dress ensemble. Later, Martin worked up the nerve to ask him a few questions. It turned out his name was Richard, and he was from Portland, Oregon, in the year 2003. “Yeah, that’s where you’re from originally,” Martin said. “But where do you live?” Richard said, “Portland, in the year two thousand and three. I own a food truck.
Scott Meyer (Spell or High Water (Magic 2.0, #2))
I arrive at the Gray Holdings headquarters in downtown Seattle two hours later. The building is a ginormous 175-story office building that juts into the sky like a glass and steel erection. It’s fifteen minutes until two when I arrive – just in time for the interview. I walk through the glass doors and into the lobby, which is also floor-to-ceiling glass and steel. This fascinates me, because buildings back in Portland are made of grass and mud.
Andrew Shaffer (Fifty-one Shades: A Parody (First Three Chapters))
Orwell’s words aptly describe the Khmer Rouge: “Big Brother is watching you.” Even on the streets of Portland I look over my shoulder. And here I am on these survivors’ doorstep, asking them to reveal difficult memories. The Khmer Rouge are a continent away, and yet they are not. Psychologically, they are parasites, like tapeworms that slumber within you, living passively until something stirs them to life. I was asking these subjects to wake those parasites.
Chanrithy Him (When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge)
When I worked streets, I ran across a lot of people. Some of the most challenging I called "Beer Bottle Tigers," those drunk guys and gals in St. Johns and in the North End. The courage they got from getting drunk. Then the fight was on.
Don Dupay (Behind the Badge in River City: A Portland Police Memoir)
George will be at home, I should think,” Lockwood said easily. “Probably making one of his chicken-and-sweetcorn pies. He’s really very domesticated.” Sir Rupert smiled approvingly. “Sounds scrumptious. I must pop round to Portland Row sometime.” “Please do,” Lockwood said. “I’d love that.” “Good night, then.” “Good night.” We pattered swiftly down the steps and set off up the Strand. “One day,” Lockwood said, “I’m clearly going to have to kill him. Not now, but sometime soon.
Jonathan Stroud (The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co., #5))
Anna Schrader was another of the women who came to Portland during the Girl Rush, arriving in 1910. Census records indicate she was married at the age of eighteen, presumably in Minnesota, where she was born and raised. She became a gadfly for the local Portland police and provided them with a great deal of useful information regarding bootlegging during Prohibition. This was possible because of her affair with police lieutenant William Breuning, who had gotten her the job of "private detective.
~Theresa Griffin Kennedy~ (Murder & Scandal in Prohibition Portland: Sex, Vice Misdeeds in Mayor Baker's Reign)
You make the puzzle work. Without you, we’re just a bunch of pieces that look like we belong together, but no matter how hard we try to hold on to each other, we fall apart. You’re the glue. You’re the fifth piece that makes everything fit just right.
Catherine Gayle (Comeback (Portland Storm, #6))
The Chicken: As I was walking down Stanton Street early one Sunday morning, I saw a chicken a few yards ahead of me. I was walking faster than the chicken, so I gradually caught up. By the time we approached Eighteenth Avenue, I was close behind. The chicken turned south on Eighteenth. At the fourth house along, it turned in at the walk, hopped up the front steps, and rapped sharply on the metal storm door with its beak. After a moment, the door opened and the chicken went in. (Linda Elegant, Portland, Oregon)
Paul Auster (I Thought My Father Was God and Other True Tales from NPR's National Story Project)
How many people know 10 good things about America? Almost anyone can tell that. But thing is that cities in America is not certain or similar to each other. The many popular cities are also popular due to their food style like Portland Oregon, San Francisco, California, Las Vegas, Nevada, and Seattle Washington etc and many other cities like this including Miami too. According to wallet hub, Miami stands at 3rd position about their craze of food and other things. But Miami is not just a food city but also claimed a name as a crime city.
Scott Cooper Miami
Lincoln Highway offered the kind of dramatic stories usually reserved for prime time, and thus began a trend toward quality programming on Saturday mornings. The stories were of people scattered along the 3,000–mile length of U.S. Route 30, which stretched from Philadelphia to Portland and was popularly known as the Lincoln Highway. Most surprising, even to radio insiders, was the long line of top performers willing to appear at that time of day. Listeners could rise on days off and hear Burgess Meredith portraying a young man who flees the city for farm life, or Raymond Massey as the owner of a trailer camp somewhere in middle America.
John Dunning (On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio)
Lore is my favorite kind of story. Because it's not only historical, it's a lie everyone knows is a lie but tells anyway. I love that. Of course every story I tell is true. Completely true. Completely and utterly at least five-eighths of the way to being true, which is truer than any piece of lore and truer than most truths you'll hear.
Kevin Sampsell editor "Shanghaied" by Gigi Little (Portland Noir)
Dr. Mark Crisplin, a Portland, Oregon, ER doctor, reviewed the original EEG readings of a number of patients claimed by the scientists as being flatlined or “dead” and discovered that this was not at all the case. “What they showed was slowing, attenuation, and other changes, but only a minority of patients had a flat line, and it [dying] took longer than 10 seconds. The curious thing was that even a little blood flow in some patients was enough to keep EEGs normal.” In fact, most cardiac patients were given CPR, which by definition delivers some oxygen to the brain (that’s the whole point of doing it). Crisplin concluded: “By the definitions presented in the Lancet paper, nobody experienced clinical death. No doctor would ever declare a patient in the middle of a code 99 dead, much less brain dead. Having your heart stop for 2 to 10 minutes and being promptly resuscitated doesn’t make you ‘clinically dead.’ It only means your heart isn’t beating and you may not be conscious.”31 Again, since our normal experience is of stimuli coming into the brain from the outside, when one part of the brain abnormally generates these illusions, another part of the brain—quite possibly the left-hemisphere interpreter described by neuroscientist Michael Gazzaniga—interprets them as external events. Hence, the abnormal is interpreted as supernormal or paranormal.
Michael Shermer (The Believing Brain: From Ghosts and Gods to Politics and Conspiracies How We Construct Beliefs and Reinforce Them as Truths)
In 2011, a young man named Timothy Chapek, broke into a home in Portland, Oregon. Timothy quickly got settled in, only to hear someone entering the home. He quickly ran into a bathroom and shut the door, then dialed 911. When the operator answered, he explained that he had broken into a house and the homeowners had come home.   One of the two homeowners then walked in to her bathroom, asking the man what he was doing. He told her he was just taking a shower, and she immediately threatened to call the police, only for him to tell her that they were already on the phone with him. The police arrived shortly after and arrested the man, who insisted that he was only in the home to take a shower.
Jeffrey Fisher (More Stupid Criminals: Funny and True Crime Stories)
Travel continues to be the one thing I value spending money on. In the second year of the ban, I traveled to Portland, Oregon; Charlotte, North Carolina; Toronto, Winnipeg, Salt Spring Island, Galiano Island, Tofino, and Vancouver; and numerous times to Squamish (where I would eventually move). And when it was over, I went on a seven-week road trip around the United States by myself. While I have the freedom and money to do something “bigger,” like live and work from a foreign country for a few months, I’ve realized I care more about exploring North America first. It’s far too easy to take your surroundings for granted, and I am blessed to live in one of the most beautiful parts of this continent.
Cait Flanders (The Year of Less: How I Stopped Shopping, Gave Away My Belongings, and Discovered Life Is Worth More Than Anything You Can Buy in a Store)
One day a little old lady came and asked my name, saying she couldn’t read my nametag. I told her and reached for the little slip of paper she held, but she put it behind her back. It seemed she wanted to chat before giving it up. Fine with me. We chatted about our matching cardigans (the fact that I dress like a little old lady was not lost on me) and we chatted about how the Portland weather bothered her bones. We talked for a long while about her husband and how much she’d grown to hate him over the years. Then, since I guessed I’d earned her trust, she handed me her slip of paper. It was for a book on exotic poisons. I got her the book and spent the next few weeks scanning the obituaries for every old man that had died. So, yes, folks I may be an accomplice to murder. Don’t say there’s no excitement at the library.
Nick Pageant (Beauty and the Bookworm (Beauty and the Bookworm #1))
For me, it’s all or nothing. I can’t half-ass this. If we do this, I will pursue you like no man has ever pursued you before. And even after I’ve caught you, I plan to continue pursuing you like my life depends on it. If you’re not prepared for that, if you’re not ready to be treated as something special and treasured and precious, then I need you to roll over, go back to sleep, and pretend none of this ever happened.
Catherine Gayle (Portland Storm: The Second Period (Portland Storm, #4-6))
Meaning I want to put words to it. I want to give it a name. I'm not okay with kissing you and holding you, being by your side for all the things a boyfriend would be there for, without it being understood in no uncertain terms that that's what I am to you. I wan us to be a couple. I want to be by your side though everything that's coming, to hold your hand when you're scared and pick you up when you're weak. I want to know that you're not going to run to some other asshole when we disagree or when I try to make sure you do what we both know is the best for you. I wan you to run to me, even if I piss you off. Because I will piss you off. Because I love you. And because you love me. And because I can't go one more day without being able to tell you that as often as it comes to mind, which is about a dozen times a minute. - Jamie Babcock
Catherine Gayle (Dropping Gloves (Portland Storm, #7))
Taunja Bennett kissed her mother good-bye and said she was off to meet a boyfriend. She disappeared from sight in the direction of a bus stop, her Walkman plugged into her ears. Lately the twenty-three-year-old high school dropout had been listening over and over to “Back to Life” by Soul II Soul. She carried a small black purse. Taunja was mildly retarded from oxygen deprivation at birth. She’d been a difficult child. In a cooking class at Cleveland High School, she assaulted a classmate in a quarrel over a piece of cake. Addicted to alcohol and drugs, she was committed to a state hospital for six months. At twenty-one, she frequented northeast Portland bars like the Woodshed, the Copper Penny and Thatcher’s. She hustled drinks, shot pool and got into trouble with men. She was petite and pretty—five-five, with glistening dark brown hair, liquid brown eyes, a trim figure,
Jack Olsen (I: The Creation of a Serial Killer)
The Portland school board's policy equated integration and racial assimilation. This policy, Rist explains, is a "means of socializing nonwhite students to act, speak, and believe very much like white students." It leaves dominant group values intact, does no damage to notions of white superiority, and helps to gain the support of those whites who view it as a means of helping "nonwhite peoples to become fully human by instilling in them `white' ways of thinking and feeling." In keeping with the assimilationist tone of the program, the principal assigned one or two black children to each classroom, and scheduled only a few special teacher-training sessions, which were poorly handled. The principal's desire was to treat the black students just like the whites. This approach was undermined by his failure to recognize and address fears and misconceptions of teachers about the black children's academic ability and behavior problems, the adequacy of their home backgrounds, and their moral turpitude.
Derrick A. Bell (Silent Covenants: Brown v. Board of Education and the Unfulfilled Hopes for Racial Reform)
The life of a cigarette girl. Hawking cigarettes, breath mints and the occasional condom wasn’t actually the end-all and be-all job occupation for Linda. But without a high school diploma, and a sincere lack of interest in what some would consider a career, she knew her options were limited in today’s society. Oh, no, here at the Club Festival, ethics and morality were only gauged as highly as the limits of an individual’s cash in the wallet. Money, honey, that made things move all about her. Linda Avery was a city girl, born and bred. She was born in the big city of Portland, Oregon, and although raised in a small town a few miles away, came to the big city for excitement. She came to the city both with her parents as a child and as an adolescent on her own. She remembered that back in the day, coming into Portland with her parents was a matter of finding the main drag, Burnside Street, that connected the west side with the east side; now there’s more than one freeway route through town.
Richard E. Riegel (Tough City, Tougher Woman)
I have a hunch the world is darker than I could ever imagine and there is less reason for hope than I am able to see. It makes me grateful there is only so much I can see, and I am left mostly with questions. Grateful, also, that hope is not a reasonable thing. Though I have seen my share of darkness, I am spared perceiving much of it. And here is why I hope beyond a reasonable doubt: I think that as the darkness grows, it makes the dim lights that are left seem brighter. And the darker it gets, the brighter the light appears, until it is so luminous, eventually, even falling shadows are filled with it.
Brian K. Friesen (At the Waterline)
UKIP SHIPPING FORECAST by Nicholas Pegg After a UKIP councillor claimed widespread flooding in the UK was God’s punishment for allowing same-sex marriage, author/performer Nicholas Pegg wrote his own version of the Shipping Forecast. His recording went viral, receiving 250,000 hits in four days. ‘And now the shipping forecast issued by UKIP on Sunday the 19 January 2014 at 1200 UTC. There are warnings of gays in Viking, Forties, Cromarty, Southeast Iceland and Bongo Bongo land. The general synopsis at midday: Low intelligence expected, becoming Little England by midnight tonight. And now the area forecasts for the next 24 hours. Viking, North Utsire, South Utsire: south easterly gay seven to severe gay nine, occasionally bisexual. Showers – gay. Forties, Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, Fisher: women veering southerly 4 or 5, losing their identity and becoming sluts. Rain – moderate or gay. German blight, immigration veering north – figures variable, becoming psychotic. Showers – gay. Humber, Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland, Plymouth: benefit tourism 98%, becoming variable – later slight, or imaginary. Showers – gay. Biscay, Trafalgar: warm, lingering nationalism. Kiss me Hardy, later becoming heterosexual – good. FitzRoy, Sole, Lundy, Fastnet, Irish Sea, Shannon, Rockall, Malin, Hebrides, Bailey: right or extreme right, veering racist 4 or 5, increasing to 5 to 7. Homophobic outburst – back-peddling westerly and becoming untenable. Showers – gay. Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland: powerbase decreasing, variable – becoming unelectable. Good. And that concludes the forecast.
Nic Compton (The Shipping Forecast: A Miscellany)
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Many real-world Northwestern endonyms have European origins, such as “Portland,” “Victoria,” “Bellingham,” and “Richland.” To address this phenomenon while also contributing a sense of the fantastic, I chose to utilize a forgotten nineteenth century European artificial language as a source. Volapük is clumsy and awkward, but shares a relationship with English vocabulary (upon which it is based) that I was able to exploit. In my fictional universe, that relationship is swapped, and English (or rather, “Vendelabodish”) words derive from Volapük (“Valütapük”). This turns Volapük into an ancient Latin-like speech, offering texture to a fictional history of the colonizers of my fictional planets. Does one have to understand ancient Rome and medieval Europe and America’s Thirteen Colonies to understand the modern Pacific Northwest? Nah. But exploring the character and motivations of a migrating, imperial culture certainly sets the stage for explaining a modernist backlash against the atrocities that inevitably come with colonization.             The vocabulary of Volapük has also given flavor that is appropriate, I feel, to the quasi-North American setting. While high fantasy worlds seem to be built with pillars of European fairy tales, the universe of Geoduck Street is intentionally built with logs of North American tall tales. Tolkien could wax poetic about the aesthetic beauty of his Elvish words all he wanted, since aesthetic beauty fits the mold of fairies and shimmering palaces, but Geoduck Street needed a “whopper-spinning” approach to artificial language that would make a flapjack-eating Paul Bunyan proud. A prominent case in point: in this fictional universe, the word “yagalöp” forms the etymological root of “jackalope.” “Yag,” in the original nineteenth century iteration of Volapük, means “hunting,” while “löp” means “summit.” Combining them together makes them “the summit of hunting.” How could a jackalope not be a point of pride among hunting trophies?
Sylvester Olson (A Detective from Geoduck Street (The Matter of Cascadia Book 1))
But, should the period ever arrive, when luxury and intemperance shall corrupt our towns, while ignorance and vice pervade the country; when the press shall become the common sewer of falsehood and slander; when talents and integrity shall be no recommendation, and open dereliction of all principle no obstacle to preferment; when we shall entrust our liberties to men with whom we should not dare to trust our property; when the chief seats of honor and responsibility in our government shall be filled by characters of whom the most malicious ingenuity can invent nothing worse than the truth; when we shall see the members of our national councils, in defiance of the laws of God and their country, throwing away their lives in defence of reputations, which, if they ever existed, had long been lost; when the slanderers of Washington and the blasphemers of our God shall be thought useful laborers in our political vineyard; when, in fine, we shall see our legislators sacrificing their senses, their reason, their oaths, and their consciences at the altar of party;—then we may say, that virtue has departed, and that the end of our liberty draweth nigh." p37
Edward Payson (Memoir, Select Thoughts and Sermons of the Late Rev. Edward Payson, D. D. Pastor of the Second Church in Portland, Vol. 3 of 3 (Classic Reprint))
Chris smiled at me, showing two ridiculously cute dimples and a few feet away a waitress dropped an empty cup she had cleared from a table. Blushing, she muttered an apology and hurried inside. I scowled at him, refusing to be swayed by his charm. “I see,” he murmured, nodding slightly as if he had just solved a puzzle. “See what?” Ignoring my question, he pulled out a cell phone, hit a number and held the phone out to me. I hesitated for a few seconds then took the phone and put it to my ear. “What’s up, Chris?” said a familiar deep voice on the other end. “Good question,” I responded tersely. “I told Chris you’d recognize him if he got too close.” Was that amusement in his tone? “Great. You won the bet. Buy him a beer or whatever.” I glanced at Chris, saw that he looked amused now, too and I grew even more agitated. “I thought we had an understanding when you left here last week.” “And what understanding would that be?” I gritted my teeth. “The one where you go your way and I go mine and we all live happily ever after.” “I don’t recall that particular arrangement,” he replied in his infuriatingly easy manner. “I believe I told you I’d be seeing you again.” I opened my mouth but words would not come out. People say ‘I’ll be seeing you’ all the time when they say good bye. It doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean they will send their friends to stalk you. “Sara?” “What do you want from me, Nikolas? I told you I just want to be left alone.” There was a brief silence then a quiet sigh on the other end. “We got word of increased activity in Portland and we have reason to believe the vampire might be searching for you.” It felt like an icy breath touched the back of my neck. Eli’s face flashed through my mind and my knees wobbled. Roland stepped close to me. “What’s wrong, Sara? What is he saying to you?” I smiled weakly at Roland and put up a hand to let him know I’d fill him in when I got off the phone. “I don’t know anyone in Portland so there is no way he can trace me here, right?” “There is more than one way to track someone.” Nikolas’s voice hardened. “Don’t worry, we will keep you safe. Chris will stay close by until we handle this situation.” Great, I was the ‘situation’ again. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not a child.” “No you’re not,” he replied gruffly and warmth unfurled in my stomach. “But you are not a warrior either. It is our duty to protect you even if you don’t want it.” I felt like stomping my feet like a two year old. Didn’t I get any choice in this? My eyes fell on Chris as I spoke. “How close is he planning to stay? He’s kind of conspicuous and I can’t have my uncle or anyone else asking questions.” Chris peered in confusion down at his form-fitting blue jeans and black sweater as Nikolas said, “Conspicuous?” I looked heavenward. “If you guys wanted to blend in you shouldn’t have sent Dimples here. The way some of the women are staring at him, I might end up having to protect him instead.” There was a cough on the other end and Nikolas sounded like he was grinning when he said, “Ah, I’m sure Chris can take care of himself. He will be in town in case we suspect any trouble is coming that way.
Karen Lynch
Treating Abuse Today (Tat), 3(4), pp. 26-33 Freyd: I see what you're saying but people in psychology don't have a uniform agreement on this issue of the depth of -- I guess the term that was used at the conference was -- "robust repression." TAT: Well, Pamela, there's a whole lot of evidence that people dissociate traumatic things. What's interesting to me is how the concept of "dissociation" is side-stepped in favor of "repression." I don't think it's as much about repression as it is about traumatic amnesia and dissociation. That has been documented in a variety of trauma survivors. Army psychiatrists in the Second World War, for instance, documented that following battles, many soldiers had amnesia for the battles. Often, the memories wouldn't break through until much later when they were in psychotherapy. Freyd: But I think I mentioned Dr. Loren Pankratz. He is a psychologist who was studying veterans for post-traumatic stress in a Veterans Administration Hospital in Portland. They found some people who were admitted to Veteran's hospitals for postrraumatic stress in Vietnam who didn't serve in Vietnam. They found at least one patient who was being treated who wasn't even a veteran. Without external validation, we just can't know -- TAT: -- Well, we have external validation in some of our cases. Freyd: In this field you're going to find people who have all levels of belief, understanding, experience with the area of repression. As I said before it's not an area in which there's any kind of uniform agreement in the field. The full notion of repression has a meaning within a psychoanalytic framework and it's got a meaning to people in everyday use and everyday language. What there is evidence for is that any kind of memory is reconstructed and reinterpreted. It has not been shown to be anything else. Memories are reconstructed and reinterpreted from fragments. Some memories are true and some memories are confabulated and some are downright false. TAT: It is certainly possible for in offender to dissociate a memory. It's possible that some of the people who call you could have done or witnessed some of the things they've been accused of -- maybe in an alcoholic black-out or in a dissociative state -- and truly not remember. I think that's very possible. Freyd: I would say that virtually anything is possible. But when the stories include murdering babies and breeding babies and some of the rather bizarre things that come up, it's mighty puzzling. TAT: I've treated adults with dissociative disorders who were both victimized and victimizers. I've seen previously repressed memories of my clients' earlier sexual offenses coming back to them in therapy. You guys seem to be saying, be skeptical if the person claims to have forgotten previously, especially if it is about something horrible. Should we be equally skeptical if someone says "I'm remembering that I perpetrated and I didn't remember before. It's been repressed for years and now it's surfacing because of therapy." I ask you, should we have the same degree of skepticism for this type of delayed-memory that you have for the other kind? Freyd: Does that happen? TAT: Oh, yes. A lot.
David L. Calof
Pur essendosi ormai rassegnata a tenere il cappello fermo con la mano destra, con la quale reggeva pure l’ombrellino e una piccola borsa di velluto blu, Miss Portland procedeva spedita, lo sguardo fisso a terra, ormai a pochi metri dal calesse di Maylon. E lo avrebbe superato senza prestare alcuna attenzione, né all’uomo che lo guidava né al cavallo che lo tirava, se l’ottavo conte di Maylon non ne fosse smontato con un salto e non le si fosse parato davanti sbarrandole la strada. «Miss Portland, è un piacere insperato incontrarvi.» Sophie sussultò e sollevando lo sguardo si trovò di fronte quell’uomo. Che nelle ultime due settimane tante volte era riuscita abilmente a evitare. Lo fissò senza nascondere la propria sorpresa e, con un semplice «Lord Maylon» e una frettolosa riverenza, si apprestò a proseguire il proprio cammino. Tentativo sprecato, perché lui, di nuovo, le si parò davanti. Che cosa voleva da lei? «Ho appena fatto visita alla vostra madrina, illudendomi di incontrarvi, Miss Portland. Ma è evidente che non ho avuto questa fortuna. Così, quando vi ho vista, ho sperato che mi avreste fatto l’onore di lasciarvi ricondurre a casa.» La mano ancora sul cappello, il pericoloso ombrellino puntato verso di lui come una lancia in resta, Sophie socchiuse gli occhi come per osservarlo meglio e, senza giri di parole, gli chiese: «Per quale ragione, Lord Maylon, vorreste ricondurmi a casa, quando sono quasi arrivata?» *** Tutte le risposte che vennero alle labbra di sua signoria non avrebbero potuto essere riferite a Sophie senza il ricorso a imbarazzanti spiegazioni. Se le avesse detto che voleva riaccompagnarla a casa per poter rimanere finalmente solo con lei, anche se per pochi minuti, avrebbe dovuto spiegarle anche il perché di quel desiderio. Avrebbe dovuto confessarle che da quando si erano incontrati non faceva che pensare a lei. Con un’intensità fastidiosa e insistente, tanto da non essere più riuscito a guardare né tantomeno a toccare un’altra donna. No, questa spiegazione era fuori luogo, l’avrebbe scandalizzata: era una debuttante, dopo tutto. Avrebbe potuto dirle che voleva respirare il suo profumo, che sapeva di mughetti e viole, gioire del suo sorriso coinvolgente e pericolosamente sensuale, sentirsi circondato dalla vitalità e dal calore che il suo corpo sprigionava, ascoltare la sua voce e perdersi nei suoi occhi. Scartò anche questa ipotesi, ritenendo che tale risposta avrebbe potuto apparire a Miss Portland non solo esagerata ma del tutto sciocca. Quindi, con tono rude e sguardo severo, si limitò a fornirle più che una sola motivazione, un intero elenco di ragioni inappuntabili. «Primo, perché è tardi, Miss Portland, e Lady Rumphill era molto preoccupata che non foste ancora rientrata a casa. Secondo, perché la borsa che portate è talmente pesante che, se non ve ne liberate subito, domani avrete difficoltà a muovere le braccia... a proposito, quando contate di leggere tutti quei libri, Miss Portland?... e, terzo, perché altrimenti finirete col perdere quel delizioso cappello di paglia che a quanto pare non vuole rimanervi sulla testa. Forse perché la vostra testa è talmente dura da scoraggiare anche un cappello. Allora, salite o devo convincervi in altro modo?» «È questo che pensate della mia testa, my lord?» gli rispose lei, le labbra arrotondate in un Oh! oltraggiato. «Questo, e molto altro.» «Non oso davvero chiedervi cosa intendiate per molto altro, ma presumo sia meglio evitare di darvi quest’ulteriore soddisfazione.» E mentre diceva queste parole, docile docile Miss Portland gli permise di aiutarla a salire sul calesse, mentre lui, pur sorpreso dalla resa di lei, ancora sogghignava per quella risposta tagliente. ***
Viviana Giorgi (Zitta e ferma Miss Portland!)
Maine. 1.1 INSIDE THE FOUR FLIGHTS Boarding the Flights Boston:American 11 and United 175. Atta and Omari boarded a 6:00 A.M. flight from Portland to Boston’s Logan International Airport.1 When he checked in for his flight to Boston,Atta was selected by a computerized prescreening system known as CAPPS (Computer Assisted Passenger Prescreening System), created to identify passengers who should be subject to special security measures. Under security rules in place at the time, the only consequence of Atta’s selection by CAPPS was that his checked bags were held off the plane until it was confirmed that he had boarded the aircraft. This did not hinder Atta’s plans.2 Atta and Omari arrived in Boston at 6:45. Seven minutes later,Atta apparently took a call from Marwan al Shehhi, a longtime colleague who was at another terminal at Logan Airport.They spoke for three minutes.3 It would be their final conversation. 1
Two whores on their way down from Portland to take us deep-sea fishing in a boat! It made it tough to stay in bed until the dorm lights came on at six-thirty,
Ken Kesey (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest)
As with most voluntary school integration programs, dispersal of the black children was the norm. In Portland, no more than forty-five black children were bused to any single elementary school, and white schools of four-hundred to five-hundred pupils received as few as four and in most instances only ten to fifteen black students. Brush Elementary, the all-white school Rist selected for daily observation, received about thirty black children. The principal, along with most of his all-white teaching staff, had never taught a black child. He hired a black school aide because he felt that most of the white students had never spoken to a black person. His lack of racial sensitivity was illustrated in a staff discussion about the collection of milk money, when he said, "I guess we had better not call it chocolate milk any longer. It would probably now be more appropriate to refer to it as black milk.
Derrick A. Bell (Silent Covenants: Brown v. Board of Education and the Unfulfilled Hopes for Racial Reform)
pedal cars, so it went quickly. I was at my Order′s new chapter house on our mission farm at Drumheller, and I carried it on snowshoes and skis over the mountain passes and down to Barony Vernon in the Okanogan country. Then by horse and rail to the Columbia and Portland. I came all the way myself rather than handing
S.M. Stirling (The Sword of the Lady (Emberverse, #6))
AS WE DRIVE BACK into Portland,
E.L. James (Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades, #3))
These prophetic verses certainly would apply to the United States. Twenty-two of our states have ports or harbors through which flow the world’s goods for America’s consumption. There are over 400 coastal and inland ports throughout the United States. The U.S. Census Bureau has identified two hundred and forty national trading partners of the United States using those ports. Some of the largest U.S. ports are located on inland waterways, including Houston, Texas; Mobile, Alabama; New Orleans, Louisiana; and Portland, Oregon. The port city farthest from the ocean, Fairmont, West Virginia, is 2,085 miles from the sea via an inland waterway. America is truly a nation dwelling on many waters.
John Price (The End of America: The Role of Islam in the End Times and Biblical Warnings to Flee America)
She mentally rifled through birthplace (Portland, Oregon), college major (sociology), astrological sign (Virgo), favorite movie (The Apple Dumpling Gang—don’t judge
You haven’t met someone. Not a real, good someone anyway. Unless . . . Did you really hook up with Kelsey in Portland?” “Not your business, kid,” he said. “But no.” “You seem to like her a lot.” “She’s . . . nice.” And I’m stuck with her. And he still hadn’t figured out quite how to handle it. He needed to handle it. Fix it. “Maybe you could ask her out.” “You’re cute.” She frowned. “That’s patronizing.
Maisey Yates (Unexpected (Silver Creek, #1))
the investment pullback came after Portland leaders determined the mega-retailer is “not a socially responsible company.” Portland had about $36 million invested in Walmart, or about 2.9 percent of the city’s investment portfolio. The city announced Thursday that it would be free of all remaining holdings by 2016. The move was preceded by Portland’s adoption of socially responsible investment protocol in October 2013. Portland Commissioner Steve Novick has advocated ending involvement with Walmart based on the retailer’s “controversial business and labor practices,
California is a marvel: a hotbed of technology innovation, home of the entertainment industry, with huge long stretches of just the most gorgeous coastline you have ever seen, but also terrible taxes and third-world infrastructure and an increasingly harried and broke populace who just want to move to Portland, Oregon.
Sara K. Smith
naked bicyclists stage festive Portland protest ride By Shelby Sebens PORTLAND Oregon (Reuters) - Thousands of bicyclists, many of them stark naked, poured into the streets of Portland, Oregon on Saturday night for the 11th annual World Naked Bike Ride, a protest that promotes bike riding as an alternative to driving cars.
Athenaeum, or Jonathan Edwards at thirteen entering Yale College, and while yet of a tender age shining in the horizon of American literature; while the same age finds H. W. Longfellow writing for the Portland Gazette. At fourteen John Quincy Adams was private secretary to Francis H. Dana, American Minister to Russia; at fifteen Benjamin Franklin was writing for the New England Courant, and at an early age became a noted journalist. Benjamin West at sixteen had painted "The Death of Socrates," at seventeen George Bancroft had won a degree in history, Washington Irving had gained
Charles Stewart Given (A Fleece of Gold: Five Lessons from the Fable of Jason and the Golden Fleece)
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They didn’t just sell coffee at Blend, they sold Portland.
Gabby Rivera (Juliet Takes a Breath)
Andy smiled and tapped the side of my head. “Not bad. There’s more up there than marshmallows, I guess. But we took care of the possibility that Jim might die while I was in the slam. The box is in the Peter Stevens name, and once a year the firm of lawyers that served as Jim’s executors sends a check to the Casco to cover the rental of the Stevens box. “Peter Stevens is inside that box, just waiting to get out. His birth certificate, his Social Security card, and his driver’s license. The license is six years out of date because Jim died six years ago, true, but it’s still perfectly renewable for a five-dollar fee. His stock certificates are there, the tax-free municipals, and about eighteen bearer bonds in the amount of ten thousand dollars each.” I whistled. “Peter Stevens is locked in a safe deposit box at the Casco Bank in Portland and Andy Dufresne is locked in a safe deposit box at Shawshank,” he said.
Stephen King (Different Seasons)
hydropower is an obvious first choice for generating electricity. The Willamette Falls Electric Company installed the first AC hydroelectric power station in the United States in 1889 to send power from Oregon City to Portland, Oregon, thirteen miles away.
Richard Rhodes (Energy: A Human History)
As a nine-year-old, Pauling was such a voracious reader that his father wrote a letter to the Portland Oregonian asking for book recommendations for his son. “Please don’t suggest the Bible and Darwin’s The Origin of Species,” the elder Pauling wrote, “because he’s already read these books.
David S. Kidder (The Intellectual Devotional Biographies: Revive Your Mind, Complete Your Education, and Acquaint Yourself with the World's Greatest Personalities)
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Portland could have been any city. Port Clyde was too uncluttered to be anything else. There is a reason Stephen King sets his stories in little Maine towns. They are too quiet to be believed wholly savory.
Thomm Quackenbush (Holidays with Bigfoot)
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You’ve got something on Randall or else you wouldn’t work with him, so what’ve you got?” “Addresses, names. His whole crew.” “You scared of him?” “He’s insane. We got his kid, he’s got a son in Portland, we keep an eye on him. If we didn’t have that…” “Are you scared of him?” she repeated. “Y-yes.” A drop of sweat fell from her forehead and splashed onto the back of his scalp. An oppressive quiet grew around them. “Think carefully about this next one,” Deirdre whispered, craning forward to get her lips close to his ear, pressing the barrel harder against his skin. “Are you scared of me?
S.R. Hughes (The War Beneath)
To P.J. (2 yrs old who sed write a poem for me in Portland, Oregon) if i cud ever write a poem as beautiful as u little 2/yr/old/brotha, I wud laugh, jump, leap up and touch the stars cuz u be the poem i try for each time i pick up a pen and paper. u. and Morani and Mungu be our blue/blk/stars that will shine on our lives and makes us finally BE. if i cud ever write a poem as beautiful as u, little 2/yr/old/brotha, poetry wud go out of bizness.
Sonia Sanchez
What the hell? In my time away from the scene, apparently I’d gotten fucking trendy.
Annabeth Albert (Delivered Fast (Portland Heat, #3))
Well, being a porn star would break my mama’s heart.” His laugh was even warmer than the soup. I kicked him under the table, making him laugh harder. “Better not start selling it.” “Damn.
Annabeth Albert (Delivered Fast (Portland Heat, #3))
They’re like your spirit animal or something, huh?
Annabeth Albert (Delivered Fast (Portland Heat, #3))
than the other scenes,” said Mercy. “It feels rushed. Like he didn’t find what he expected when he entered the house. No one else was shot to death in their kitchen. Even with Jefferson Biggs, it appeared they had a drink before he became suspicious.” “I agree,” said Eddie. “Especially since Anders fired a weapon at our suspect. Our guy was the aggressor in our other scenes. What went wrong this time?” “Come look back here.” Truman gestured for the agents to follow him. They trailed him down a long hallway to a small room at the back of the house. In the closet a gun safe stood wide open. And full of guns. “He didn’t take the weapons.” Mercy looked stunned. “Was he scared off?” “Anders Beebe’s sister showed up at five this morning to drive him to Portland for a doctor’s visit later this morning.” “All the way in Portland?” asked Eddie. “A cancer specialist.” “Oh.” Agent Peterson pushed on the nose of his glasses. “So it’s possible she interrupted something.” “She said her brother was warm when she found him, but she didn’t hear anyone else or see anyone leave.” “How about another vehicle?
Kendra Elliot (A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick, #1))
Amy crut opportun de nous expliquer combien elle souffrait de son exil. Ce qui lui manquait le plus ? Le peanut butter, dit-elle sans rire. Chacune de ses phrases commençait par « In Portland… ». Les trois garçons l’écoutaient poliment alors qu’à l’évidence, ils ignoraient sur quelle côte américaine se situait ce bled et s’en fichaient. Quant à moi, je haïssais l’antiaméricanisme primaire puis songeai que m’interdire de détester cette fille pour ce motif constituerait une forme immonde d’antiaméricanisme primaire : je me laissai donc aller à une exécration naturelle.
Amélie Nothomb (Ni d'Ève ni d'Adam)
Side-Wheelers were built following the time sail ships were popular. It was a time when engineers experimented with various ways to transfer the thrust of steam engines to useful ways of propelling vessels through water. Side-Wheelers are a subspecies of paddleboats that were popular for a time, until it was determined that they were actually dangerous in heavy seas. Paddle steamers have a paddle wheel on each side of the ship’s hull making the vessel vulnerable to wave action coming in from abeam. If the seas were heavy enough the upper paddles could actually push water in the opposite direction from the ships heading, although the upper reach of the paddles were usually encased in a wooden housing. If the vessel rolled far enough the paddles or blades on one side or the other could come completely out of the water, thereby losing the necessary resistance. It was dangerous at best and was most frequently used on river boats. One of the best examples of a side-wheeler lost at sea was the sidewheel steamer Portland owned by the Eastern Steamship Company. It was 7 p.m. on Nov. 26, 1898 when Capt. Hollis Blanchard, convinced that he could outrun an oncoming storm and make it back to Portland in the morning left Boston. The 219-foot vessel had 120 passengers and 60 crew members including the night watchman, Griffin S. Reed of Portland. That night, hurricane-force winds and 40-foot seas blew up as blinding snow from two storms hit simultaneously and ravaged the New England coast. The Portland must been swamped by the violent sea just a few hours later. Although a ship’s whistle was heard on Cape Cod giving a distress signal of four short blasts, nothing could be seen through the heavy snow. Later that night bodies started washing ashore, late that night however. Many of the victims of the gale were laid to rest in the Portland Evergreen Cemetery. Griffin Reed’s body was never recovered however a stone has been placed in the cemetery in his memory. A total of about 400 New Englanders died in this storm still known as “The Portland Gale.” A hundred and fifty vessels, including the Portland sank in this ferocious storm leaving no survivors. In 2002, divers finally located the Portland in 500 feet of water. From her location, Highland Light, on Cape Cod, bears 175 degrees true at a distance of 4.5 miles.
Hank Bracker
I tried relaxing once. Then I realized that I wasn’t the one who was crazy. It was all the relaxed people.
Rosalind James (No Kind of Hero (Portland Devils, #2))
told Nike that to have a shot at a trillion, they would need to do three things: Increase percentage of direct-to-consumer retail to 40 percent within ten years (closer to 10 percent in 2016). Gain greater facility with data and how to incorporate into product features. Move their headquarters from Portland. As I learned, the algorithm is the easy part. Getting them to listen to you (“You need to relocate HQ from Portland”) is the hard part. Chapter 9 The Fifth Horseman?
Scott Galloway (The Four: The Hidden DNA of Amazon, Apple, Facebook, and Google)
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Driving back to Portland I’d puzzle over my sudden success at selling. I’d been unable to sell encyclopedias, and I’d despised it to boot. I’d been slightly better at selling mutual funds, but I’d felt dead inside. So why was selling shoes so different? Because, I realized, it wasn’t selling. I believed in running. I believed that if people got out and ran a few miles every day, the world would be a better place, and I believed these shoes were better to run in. People, sensing my belief, wanted some of that belief for themselves. Belief,
Phil Knight (Shoe Dog)
He had the marketing department organize tests, running commercials in only the Minneapolis and Portland media markets and measuring whether they generated an uptick in local purchases. They did—but, Bezos concluded, not enough to justify the investment.12 “It was pretty clear afterward that TV advertising wasn’t really having an impact,” says Mark Stabingas, a finance vice president who joined the company from Pepsi.
Brad Stone (The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon)
A flash of light came from deep inside the trees and pulled me to the present. It was so bright the glow kissed the treetops. Within seconds, Torin screeched to a stop beside me. His eyes burned under the glowing runes. “What are you doing?” His voice whipped through the night, and I winced. “Trying to get your attention,” I said. “See, I fixed all the trees you destroyed. Cool, right?” “You do not want to be around me right now, Freckles.” “I disagree. I plan to be around you when you are happy, sad, pissed off, hurting, acting like a jackass, goofing off, or showing off. Whatever and whenever. You and I are a package deal, pal. Equal partners and all that jazz.” I pointed at a nearby tree and moved my finger left and right. The tree swayed. “Any time you want to destroy nature, get me first.” He leaned in until we were eye level. “Go home, Raine.” His voice was mean. “Only if you come with me. You want to stay out here, then I’m staying, too. You want pull a Flash move and sprint to Portland and back, then I’ll either run with you or wait out here until you come back. But I’m not going anywhere without you, Torin St. James.
Ednah Walters (Seeress (Runes, #4))
But Amazon is not alone in its avoidance of taxes. Bloomberg Businessweek reports, “The tactics of Google and Facebook depend on ‘transfer pricing,’ paper transactions among corporate subsidiaries that allow for allocating income to tax havens while attributing expenses to higher-tax countries. Such income shifting costs the U.S. government as much as $60 billion in annual revenue, according to Kimberly A. Clausing, an economics professor at Reed College in Portland, Oregon.” At a time when both local and federal governments are putting off needed infrastructure improvements because of tax revenue shortfalls, the tax avoidance schemes of our richest technology companies are partially to blame.
Jonathan Taplin (Move Fast and Break Things: How Facebook, Google, and Amazon Cornered Culture and Undermined Democracy)
Environmentalist Paul Hawken, in the 2009 commencement address to the University of Portland, said, “Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course. The world would create new religions overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television.
Paul J. Pastor (The Face of the Deep: Exploring the Mysterious Person of the Holy Spirit)
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With looks, identity, and belongings, it is best to remain free. It is DEATH to commit to any idea for so long that one grows inward, so small of mind that one loses the ability to feel how large the world is beyond one's room, one's beliefs, one's house.
Jennifer Robin (Death Confetti: Pickers, Punks, and Transit Ghosts in Portland, Oregon)
The middle part of Maine, all the way from Bar Harbor to Portland, hangs down like stalactites that drip little islands into the Atlantic. It's divided by rivers and harbors with cozy names that sound like brands of bubble bath or places boats sink in folks songs.
Holmes, Linda
won many a beer betting that Reno, Nevada, was farther west than Los Angeles, and Portland, Oregon, farther north than Portland, Maine. (You can look it up.)
Tom Robbins (Tibetan Peach Pie: A True Account of an Imaginative Life)
Smart Gutter Solutions in Portland, Oregon provides professional gutter services including gutter cleaning, storm damage repair and gutter guard installation. "The smart choice for gutters!
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He was born May 30, 1908, in San Francisco. He began collecting dialects and characterizations in his youth, first mastering a thick Yiddish borrowed from an old Jewish couple who ran a grocery store in his neighborhood. He added the sounds of Chinatown (in Portland, where his family had moved) to what was quickly becoming an act. By the time he finished high school, Blanc was an actor, doing occasional skits on local radio with his brother Henry.
John Dunning (On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio)
If they need help with their homework, he gets right in there and does it for them. Like he has to prove that he can do fourth-grade math. Or that he knows where Antarctica is.” —Edie, Portland, ME
Merry Bloch Jones (I Love Him, But . . .)
The combination of Portland's art, music, and food scenes made it the perfect place to hide a blood orgy.
Nicole Kimberling (Irregulars)
The Duke of Portland was one of the richest coal owners in England. In the 1860s, when construction first began, a miner working at one of his collieries earned around £50 a year. The Duke’s annual income was in the region of £108,000. Whimsy, not wages, drove him to burrow underground; an eccentric and a recluse, he could not bear to be seen. The Duke spent his life wandering
Catherine Bailey (Black Diamonds: The Downfall of an Aristocratic Dynasty and the Fifty Years That Changed England)
As a boy, he had worked as a carter for the 5th Duke of Portland, wheeling stone from the local quarry, used to construct a vast network of underground rooms that extended for twelve miles under the Welbeck estate. There was a ballroom that could accommodate 2,000 people and a riding school with a gallop a quarter of a mile long, lit by 8,000 jets of gas. One tunnel led to a suite of rooms covering four acres, and another to stables, cow-houses and dairies, where more than sixty people were employed.
Catherine Bailey (Black Diamonds: The Downfall of an Aristocratic Dynasty and the Fifty Years That Changed England)
Portland’s affordability is also being pressured by investors so bullish on this city’s single-family housing they’ve bought properties by the dozen on the heels of the recession, driving up prices and rents as they go. Traditional real estate investors — flippers, remodelers and developers, companies that to some extent have always been here — have been joined by hundreds of private investors and new private equity firms out to make money for investors through real estate.
Anytime you have multiple offers and you have cash in the mix, the conventionally financed borrower is going to try as hard as they can to look like a cash buyer, even though they’re still being financed,” said Eric Hagstette, owner and principal broker at Inhabit Portland, a real estate company. When sellers have a choice, they prefer the sure thing. Unlike cash, financing can fall through, especially in a market with tighter credit. Buyers who turn up with a check rather than a pre-approved loan are more likely to complete the transaction –and sellers know it. To compete, some buyers are simply borrowing cash from friends and family and financing their houses after closing — bout 14 percent of cash buyers in the greater Portland area between 2011 and the end of 2014, in fact, according to RealtyTrac. Others are overbidding to ram deals through quickly, then waiving the right to negotiate price if an appraiser doesn’t agree. The practice comes with significant risks. It also allows the next guy to price his house just as high, while one sale becomes a benchmark for the starting price of the next, Hagstette said.
When I get home I spend a few hours typing customer service emails and working on the listings in my online bookstore, which is the other half, besides the dog-walking, of what I call my “Portland hustle”- the way I make my living in this strange city where hipsters with masters degrees fight each other for barista jobs.
Carrot Quinn (Thru-Hiking Will Break Your Heart: An Adventure on the Pacific Crest Trail)
He rolled over until he was on top of me, bracing his weight on his elbows. "Kisses or sleep?" "Kisses," I said. "Good answer." He dipped his head down and captured my laugh with his lips.
Catherine Gayle (Comeback (Portland Storm, #6))
This is the hospital's idea of nondenominational." She points around the chapel. There is a crucifix mounted on the wall, a flag of a cross draped over the lectern, and a few paintings of the Madonna and Child hanging in the back."We have a token Star of David," she says, gesturing to the six-pointed star on the wall. "But what about the Muslims? No prayer rugs or symbol to show which way is east towards Mecca? And what about the Buddhists? Couldn't they spring for a gong? I mean there are probably more Buddhists than Jews in Portland anyway.
Gayle Forman (If I Stay (If I Stay, #1))
Ten days before the Battle of the Eastern Solomons, a plan circulated briefly, never to be executed, providing for the creation of a “surface attack group” under Fletcher’s cruiser boss, Rear Admiral Carleton H. Wright, drawing the battleship North Carolina, the heavy cruisers Minneapolis, San Francisco, New Orleans, Portland, and Salt Lake City, the Atlanta, and four destroyers into a single fighting force should the Japanese fleet come within gun range. Those ships were finally reckoned too valuable to spare in missions other than antiaircraft defense.
James D. Hornfischer (Neptune's Inferno: The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal)
Health-food stores are, by their nature, assholish places. Portland is itself rather assholish, so, walking into a health-food store in Portland is like walking into assholishness squared.
Nick Pageant (Beauty and the Bookworm (Beauty and the Bookworm #1))