Puddin Quotes

Your great puddin' of a son don' need fattin' anymore Dursley, don't worry

I kind of wonder what it feels like to love something so much that you’re even happy to fail at it.

For the longest time, I thought the power of positive thinking would get me by. And it helps, that's for dang sure. But it takes more than thinking and hoping and wishing and praying. You need a whole lot of doing.

Sometimes we have to break the rules to get what we want. But now I think it’s time we change them.

I try not to cringe. Dog-earing a book feels like a violation of some sacred unspoken rule.

The body I have shouldn't change how deserving I am of my dreams. - Millie

Then hearing Elvis today made me think I didn't have a lot to bitch about, but when I said that to Mr. Nak after group, he said, "Don't get to thinkin' just because some other guy's sinkin' in horse manure, the stuff up around your neck is chocolate puddin'. A wound is a wound, young Brewster. Remember that. Don't diminish the pain of your own just because you see some other gut-shot cowboy bleedin' to death.

Boomer had asked her once, in a telephone call from Virginia, “Why does this stuff, these hand-painted hallucinations that don’t do nothin’ but confuse the puddin’ out of a perfectly reasonable wall, why does it mean so much to you?” It was a poor connection, but he could have sworn he heard her say, “In the haunted house of life, art is the only stair that doesn’t creak.

My magic truth-the thing that has changed everything for me-is this: the body I have shouldn't change how deserving I am of my dreams. I stopped obsessing over my body being too round or too wise or too lumpy. Because I'm not too much of anything. I am just enough. Even when I don't feel like I am.

Girls don't have to be nice," she says simply. "But they should stick together...The wider world wants you to think other women are drama...or catty. But that's just because when we work together, we're unstoppable....One day you'll wake up to find that there's a woman, or maybe a few, who have outlasted every changing season of your life.

You will. One day you’ll wake up and find that there’s a woman, or maybe a few, who have outlasted every changing season in your life.

Find the things you love and do them every day, even if it means failing. That's all there is to it.

There was no doubt about it. Chaser had learned Puddin the pony’s name in a single trial. Identifying the new object correctly after hearing its name only once indicated that Chaser had achieved a form of referential understanding. Somehow she had grasped the idea that objects can have names.

God created dinosaurs. God destroys dinosaurs. God creates man. Man destroys God. Man creates dinosaurs. Dinosaurs eat man. Woman inherits the earth.

I believe the bad parts of us always live inside of us. It's just up to us to take those flaws and repurposed them for good.

If you only love what comes easy for you, you'll find you don't have much to love." -Abuela

I don't exactly get to be moody or snappy when I don't feel like putting on a happy face, because when most people meet me, I'm already starting out with a deficit. Fat girls don't get that luxury.

But everything happens for the first time at some point, so why can't that first time be me?

I'm constantly left to wonder if the people we are online will lever materialize in real life.

I think so many of us waste too much time dreaming of the things we believe we can’t have. But I’m done dreaming. I’m ready to make my dreams my reality.

Even the wrong direction sometimes feels better than no direction at all.

Diet Dr. Pepper is my survivalist elixir, my lifeblood, if you will.

Love is in the details" -Millie

Find the things you love and do them every day, even if it means failing. That's all there is to it" -Abuela

I guess...well, that's what stories do. They connect people. Stories change hearts and then hearts change the world

But you have Aurelia. She’s, like, your ride or die. I don’t have a lifelong BFF like that.” “You will. One day you’ll wake up and find that there’s a woman, or maybe a few, who have outlasted every changing season in your life.

I know. They don’t put fat girls on the news. Well, they didn’t let fat girls win runner-up in the Miss Teen Blue Bonnet Pageant either. But everything happens for the first time at some point, so why can’t that first time be me?

I'm not ashamed of my dreams. But something in me has always felt like the more people you share your hopes with, the flimsier they become. Suddenly everyone else is poking holes in your future until there's not much left to hope for at all" -Millie

I know thinking like that isn’t gonna get me anywhere. And it’s the exact reason why I’m not going to fat camp and obsessing over diets with my mom anymore, but all those horrible thoughts still exist. I’m just trying to figure out how to live in spite of them.

HERE IS A LIST of foods we discovered in America: Peanut butter. Marshmallows. Barbecue sauce. (You can say, “Can I have BBQ?” to a kid’s mom at potlucks and they’ll know what you mean.) Puppy chow. (Chex cereal covered in melted chocolate and peanut butter and tossed in powdered sugar. They only give it if you win a Valentine friend.) Corn-chip pie (not a pie). (Chili on top of corn chips with cheese and sour cream (not sour).) Some mores. (They say it super fast like s’mores.) Banana puddin. (They don’t say the g. Sometimes they don’t even say the b.) Here is a list of the foods from Iran that they have never heard of here: All of it. All the food. Jared Rhodes didn’t even know what a date was.

Stories change hearts and then hearts change the world.

My magic truth—the thing that has changed everything for me

kind of wonder what it feels like to love something so much that you’re even happy to fail at it.

Like, the way they talk about gay people and loving the sinner but not the sin. I mean, if you can’t love the whole of a person, do you really love them at all?

I don’t need a church to be a Christian. And I don’t have to be thin to be a good person. Or a pretty person.

hearts

You can't expect the younger version of you to know who your friends are going to be. People change." -Callie

Even the wrong direction sometimes feels better than no direction at all" -Millie

Oh, I need you,” I tell her. “I need you like Oprah needs Gayle.

Why is everyone always trying to take money away from libraries? Aren’t books sort of the reason we’re even in school at all?

Callie: I don't have a lifelong BFF like that. Abuela: You will. One day you'll wake up and find that there's a woman, or maybe a few, who have outlasted every changing season in your life.

We kicked off the night with pizza—courtesy of my dad—and a plethora of online quizzes. (Yes, I did google “slumber party activities.” No, I did not expect to be inundated with pornography.)

Girls don't have to be nice, but they should stick together. The wider world wants you to think other women are drama...or catty. But that's just because when we work together, we're unstoppable" -Abuela

I could do three things right now. One I could break down and just start sobbing. Really, I could. I've had a shit week, and being told off by Millie Michalchuk is just the turd cherry on the shit sundae.

It doesn't have to be pressure to find something new or be someone else all of a sudden. Maybe you do decide to go back to dance. You don't need a team to dance. Or maybe you want to be an engineer or work at a makeup counter. It doesn't matter.

ODE TO A HAGGIS Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang’s my arm The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, You pin wad help to mend a mill In time o’need While thro’ your pores the dews distil Like amber bead His knife see Rustic-labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reeking, rich! Then, horn for horn they stretch an’ strive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive Bethankit hums Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi’ perfect sconner, Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither’d rash His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He’ll mak it whissle; An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned, Like taps o’ thrissle Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care, An’ dish them out their bill o’fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r, Gie her a Haggis!

Pausing for a breath, he uses his hand to keep Patrick right up at the edge before shoving Patrick’s cock back in his mouth, lapping at the leaking head and sucking deep into his throat. Patrick growls, his deep voice vibrating in the back of Will’s head like an urgent, needy buzz, and humps his mouth in frustration. “Stop teasing.” Will hums and taps Patrick’s squeezing hole in rhythm to his slurps. He’s happy with Patrick’s cock in his mouth, but the low hum that starts in his veins, an emptiness he recognizes as his blood sugar dropping, means he needs to have dinner soon. So he stops teasing and reaches for the open bottle of juice on the coffee table. He takes a few swigs, and then starts sucking just the way Patrick likes best: pulling his entire shaft in, then sliding up with a long, wet drag before diving down again. “Puddin’-pop,” Patrick grits out. “Yeah, yeah—like that.” A spurt of liquid hits his tongue, and Will pulls back to lick at the slit. Patrick’s cock thrums against his palm, rigid and throbbing. “Tastes good,” Will murmurs and then swoops down again. “Ungh,” Patrick grunts, tugging Will’s hair. “Get me off.” Will hollows his cheeks, sucks back up, and uses his hand to jerk the base of Patrick’s cock as he works. “Yes, yeah.” Patrick arches his hips up and his stomach tenses as he clenches Will’s hair in his fists. “Suck it.” Will slurps hard and steady while Patrick whispers filthy things and struggles to get there or hold back, thighs clenching and stomach quivering. “Gonna come,” Patrick groans. Will gets ready to swallow, and Patrick’s thighs jump and his asshole pulses against Will’s finger. “Fuck!” Patrick curls up, his hips bucking, and his cock shoves deep into Will’s throat. Choking, tangy spurts of come fill Will’s mouth, but he swallows all of it down while Patrick shakes and curses, tugging hard against Will’s hair. “Stop, stop,” Patrick whines, holding Will down on his dick despite his words. “Too much. Stop.” Will lets Patrick’s cock twitch in his mouth until Patrick loosens his grip, and then he pulls off with a wet, sweet slurp. Patrick falls back to the sofa, panting and rolling his head limply back and forth. Sweat shines on his forehead and in the notch at the base of his neck. He’s trembling all over, and Will beams up at him, his own cock throbbing against the placket of his jeans. “Good?” “A+ cock sucking,” Patrick whimpers. “Wins all the awards.” “I know.” “Mmm.” Will

Georgie Porgie puddin’ and pie. Kissed the boys and made them cry. What kind of name is Georgia?” “My great-great grandma was Georgia. The first Georgia Shepherd. My dad calls me George.” “Yeah. I’ve heard him. That’s just nasty.” I felt my temper rise in my cheeks, and I really wanted to spit on him from where I sat atop my horse, looking down on his neatly shorn, well-shaped head. He glanced up at me and his lips twitched, making me even angrier. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to be mean. But George is a terrible name for a girl. Hell, for anyone who isn’t the King of England.” “I think it suits me,” I huffed. “Oh, yeah? George is the name for a man with a stuffy, British accent or a man in a white, powdered wig. You better hope it doesn’t suit you.” “Well, I don’t exactly need a sexy name, do I?

Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ any more, Dursley, don’ worry.

if friends are the family you choose,

Don’t get to thinkin’ just because some other guy’s sinkin’ In horse manure, the stuff up around your neck is chocolate puddin’. A wound is a wound, young Brewster. Remember that. Don’t diminish the pain of your own just because you see some other guy-shot cowboy bleedin’ to death.

Ellen shrugs. “I pretended to be asleep. And hey, if he wants allllllll of this”—she motions to her body. “Then he can’t pick and choose what he gets. People fart! Girls fart!

Mama says Austin was made to be a tiny-big city, but now it’s trying to be a big-big city in tiny-big-city pants,

I don’t want to be a challenge, either; don’t want to be an alarm system and floodlights and a gate that makes someone want to test his skill and wit against it. I just want to be a big dog in the yard. Next time you come ’round, the dog might be inside. Might be at the vet, might be mama’s li’l puddin’ pup and no threat to anyone at all, but might also take a chunk out of your leg, and so better to try elsewhere.

that’s what stories do. They connect people. Stories change hearts and then hearts change the world.