Pumpkin Patch Quotes

Minerva, kindly go to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.

Dear Great Pumpkin, Halloween is now only a few days away. Children all over the world await you coming. When you rise out of the pumpkin patch that night, please remember I am your most loyal follower. Have a nice trip. Don't forget to take out flight insurance.

Who are you writing to, Linus?" "This is the time of year to write to the Great Pumpkin. On Halloween Night, the Great Pumpkin rises out of his pumpkin patch and flies through the air with his bag of toys for all the children!" "You must be crazy! When are you going to stop believing in something that isn't true?" "When *you* stop believing in that fellow with a red suit and the white beard who goes, 'Ho, ho, ho!'" "We're obviously separated by denominational differences.

Severus, please fetch me the strongest truth potion you posess, then go down to the kitchen and bring up the house elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrids house where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.

I’m not sure what made me think God would choose to reveal himself to little ol’ me. I think I believed that if I pleaded often and hard enough, he would see how sincere I was and grant my request, kind of like Linus and the Great Pumpkin. My sincerity would win him over so he would choose my pumpkin patch -- or, in this case, my bedroom -- to make a brief personal appearance. Unfortunately, that never happened.

Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He's gotta pick this one. He's got to. I don't see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there's not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see.

Fall makes me think that if I fail horribly at this art thing, and then fail horribly with this writing thing, I'll go run a pumpkin patch.

Who,” said the man, his accent thick and British, “are you?” “The Great Pumpkin,” I responded. “I’ve risen from the pumpkin patch a bit early because Butters is just that nifty. And you are?

I also remember, having been fucked up every day for years, that the world seemed like such a novelty to me during my first few years sober. Like, I remember going through each of the seasons and the magic of rediscovering what it felt like to be in the world: going to a pumpkin patch on Halloween, getting a tree for Christmas, I felt excited by reality in a way that I never had before. I actually wanted to be alive.

Did you see Sarmine's trick with the pumpkin patch?" I said. "That's what real witches are like. Conceited paranoid monsters, who'd as soon punish you as look at you.

For the girls who dream of being chased through a cornfield by a masked man, then fucked in the pumpkin patch when he catches you

When the first day of autumn rolls around, I don't care how hot it is outside, I bust out the over-the-knee boots, sweater dresses, Halloween decorations, fall-scented candles, and I google the nearest pumpkin patch. I can't get enough of everything fall-related. I want apple cider. I want to spend the whole month of October watching Hocus Pocus on repeat. Haunted hayride? Yes, please.

He saw her legs first. Ankle boots met her bare calves, and the tops of her knees were hidden under a maroon, long-sleeved body-con dress. His gaze momentarily flitted to her breasts, which were pushed up and toward him. He was only human, after all, and they were really amazing breasts. He was used to seeing her in conservative wardrobe choices for the show, or the casual-date look she'd had at the pumpkin patch and ice-cream shop. In this fitted, sleek dress that showed off every one of her curves, though, she looked...

Just as a snowflake went on to feed a puddle that filled a stream and then the river, the pumpkin patch is a gathering of molecules from my old goats, chickens, and cats, feeding the underworld of dirt creatures. And somewhere, my father’s ashes mingle with birds, air, and sea.

Those baby-ghosts love to whisper; they love to hypnotize me every time I smell a newborn’s head or even look at Facebook posts of toddlers splashing in bathtubs and playing in pumpkin patches. But the truth is, those whispers are small echoes of a life that wasn’t supposed to be—a life I unknowingly abandoned when I stepped foot in that classroom and used my time to care for other people’s children. Those whispers taunt from some innate, ancestral, maybe even mystical place of wonder that, surely, I’ll never understand. What I do understand is the transformative value—how to use those voices to repair others and bring meaning to my life. For every student rocking in that blue chair, I have purpose.

My father after all was a drunk. As much as I had loved him and adored him as a child, I had begun to realize how much he had wasted his life and his own opportunities in life. As much as I resented Mother's control of him, I began to realize that she had a reason for pushing him and that it was not entirely for selfish reasons. She also wanted our family to be more.

And this, too, is something that the pagans understood. Consider the word integrity. It does not mean sincerity; that and a really fine pumpkin patch won’t get you much. The man of integrity is integrated. He does not make his moral decisions ad hoc, reckoning up advantages, or gauging his feelings. He sees, too, that all of the virtues are related to one another, and are meant to inform the whole life of a man. He therefore would no more cheat a customer than he would commit adultery. He would no more lie under oath than he would flee from his post in time of war. He would no more spread rumors about his enemy than he would sprinkle rat poison upon a beggar’s dish. His honesty is brave; his chastity is generous; his great-heartedness is clean. But the divorce regime teaches and rewards dis-integrity. And one can no more build a great nation or even a good, solid town upon dis-integrated people, than one can build a town hall out of straw, or a church out of dust. Again, the evil principle is that the sexual gratification of adults must be met; no customs or laws may stand in its way. The principle is a universal solvent. Nothing can contain it.

When she died at the age of eighty-four, there was one person holding her hand. There was one person who sat with her every day. Who made Glee leave when she got too loud and who made Devin, Abby’s ex-husband, visit even though he hated sickness with a phobic intensity. There was one person who read to her when she could no longer see the pages of her book, who fed her pumpkin soup when she got too weak to feed herself, who held up a glass of apple juice when she could no longer raise it to her mouth, and who moistened her lips with a sponge when she lost the ability to swallow. There was one person who stayed by her side even after Mary got too upset and had to leave the room. There was one person with her, all the way down the line. Abby Rivers and Gretchen Lang were best friends, on and off, for seventy-five years, and there aren’t many people who can say that. They weren’t perfect. They didn’t always get along. They screwed up. They acted like assholes. They fought, they fell out, they patched things up, they drove each other crazy, and they didn’t make it to Halley’s Comet. But they tried.

Pumpkin seed were simply used to re – grow pumpkin patches and was never considered otherwise beneficial. However it was later demonstrated that the seeds are made up of phytosterols, zinc, magnesium and tryptophan. They have been thoroughly investigated and have been attributed many functions, including preventing cancer development, osteoporosis and the formation of kidney stones. They are also known for improving bladder function, lowering cholesterol levels, destroying parasites, and treating inflammation.

NON-AD VENTURERS WITHOUT QUESTS ARE AD VISED TO NOT STAND IN ONE PLACE FOR LONG PERIODS. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw them dotted throughout the crowd. Questgivers. Armored knights in the pay of lords and barons stood around the areas of highest traffic, soliciting cheap muscle for dirty jobs, shoulder to shoulder with farm workers looking for someone to shoo the gnolls off the pumpkin patches. I'd stumbled into some kind of quest exchange. My first thought was to shrug him off and leave, which was backed up by my second, third and fourth thought. But it was my fifth thought that somehow got control of my voice. "Yes, I have a quest for you," I said, placing two fingertips on his sternum and gently pushing him out of my personal space. "Lend me fifty talans." Our gaze met for a few seconds, or rather, I looked into his eyes and he focused vaguely on something behind my head. Then he produced an understated but roomy purse from his britches, shook out five freshly-minted coins, and thrust them forwards. "Your quest is complete," I announced, jingling them in my palm. "Well done. You are truly a hero." The tiniest glimmer of understanding flashed momentarily in the center of his dead eyes, then he turned a smooth 180 degrees and jogged off into the crowd, swinging his hips.

I stared at him for a moment, pondering, taking in what he had just said. Then I settled back comfortably into those leather seats and watched the small town that had produced me flow gradually out of sight. There was a warmth in my heart then. I can't really explain how it felt. Up until that morning, I was indeed very fond of him, but I think it was then, right there in that brief passing of time that I fell in love -

Prologue: I've heard it said that any life that is worth living is worth living well. Perhaps they should have said, "any life is worth living." At least I believe that. If you are here, it is because you are meant to be here. Maybe we are all here just to live our own story, only that.

I've heard it said that any life worth living is worth living well. Perhaps they should have said, "any life is worth living." At least I believe that. If you are here it is because you are meant to be here. Maybe we are all here just to live our own story, only that.

Maybe that's the genius you were talking about," I said. "The genius to heal it is to hit it head on and keep hitting it 'til you develop the strength to deal with it. Make sure you don't pull the rug over it and pretend it isn't there. Talk about it. Face it. Feel it. 'Til you heal it.

Child, I am telling you that you don't have to do anything to be special." She leaned forward a little more and patted my arm to call my attention. When I turned to look, her eyes met mine with a gaze of pure love. "You are already special," she went on. "You don't have to get an education to be special, but you can if you want to. You don't have to cure cancer to be special, but if you do the world would be grateful. God don't make nobody who ain't special. It means we are all equal in his love. There ain't no way around it. If you believe that love is real, then we are all equal in it.

Walter Cronkite, after some introduction, came on and announced, "Good evening. Dr. Martin Luther King, the apostle of nonviolence, of the civil rights movement, has been shot in Memphis, Tennessee." "Oh my god!" I cried aloud and held my hand over my mouth. I watched in horror as awful descriptions of the assassination followed. My eyes filled with tears and my chest heaved as grief and fear flooded over me. I had seen this man speak at a march in New York only a year before. In many ways I felt almost as though I knew him personally.

Your daddy worshiped her. If that girl ever had a tear to fall, your daddy would have caught it in the palm of his hand before it ever hit the ground. He knew her like a road map on his heart.

Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid’s house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.

he first time I ever laid eyes on you, you were jogging with your friend, Hilary,” he murmured. I lowered my gaze back to the tiny shoe and smiled. “The first time I ever had the pleasure of hearing your voice,” he titled his head in thought, “you ended up tripping and needed bandaged.” His finger brushed over the tiny silver Band-Aid. Tears began pooling in my eyes. His gift was unlike anything I ever expected. I wasn’t sure what to think or even feel in that moment. “The first time I knew you were more than a pretty face,” he smiled, his thumb caressing my cheek for the briefest moment, “you brought Oliver and me muffins.” His voice cracked and I bit my bottom lip as he touched upon the tiny muffin. The burn of a stray tear as it slipped down my cheek pulled my gaze to my lap. Quickly, I wiped it away. Next, he held up the miniature swimming pool in his hand and I laughed, looking up at him. “This one speaks for itself, sweetheart.” His smile widened into a broad grin. “It was a night I’ll never forget…and one I wouldn’t mind experiencing again next summer.” My head shot down, heat creeping up my cheeks. I shook my head, chuckling. “This,” he held up a music note, “is for the first time we danced.” He lowered the bracelet and looked me in the eyes. “I wanted you that night, Cassandra. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman. But I’m thankful every day that you wouldn’t let me have my way.” He sighed. “We wouldn’t be here today if I had slept with you then.” He looked back down, frowning. “I can’t image you not being here today.” My heart swelled helping me find my voice. “The pumpkin patch,” I said, running my fingers over the shiny jack-o-lantern. “Yes, the first day I realized I wanted nothing more than to protect you. From your ex, from anyone that could hurt you.” I smiled, his words soothing every part of my soul. “The carnival.” I smiled, remembering our day together. The charm was of a Ferris wheel and the only one that was gold. Logan took my hand and clasped the bracelet around my wrist. He looked up at me, my hand still in his. “The first day I knew Oliver was falling in love with you.

We go outside. We rake the leaves. We pile them way up high. We jump on top. We toss them up and watch the colors fly. What can we do with all these leaves? I know. I have a plan. We run inside and find old clothes. We'll make a pumpkin man. We button all the buttons. We tie up legs and sleeves. We fill and stuff the body with lots of crunchy leaves. We give him gloves. We give him boots. We're having so much fun. It's time to pick a pumpkin head. We'll find the nicest one. Some are short and some are tall. Some are bumpy. Some are small. We look around the pumpkin patch. We find the best of all! We cut the top to get inside. We scoop out all the seeds. We draw a face and cut it out. A light is all it needs. We go outside at sunset, put the pumpkin head in place. Our pumpkin man smiles back at us with a happy, glowing face.

There appears to be a large duffel bag in my bedroom.” “I’m moving in for a while, unless you throw me out. My mom is at Luke’s for the evening. She and I will spend tomorrow afternoon with Rosie while you’re in Redding at work. I thought I’d take babysitting duty while you do your twenty-four-hour shift. If that’s okay with you. Wednesday morning, while Rosie’s at preschool and day care, I’m driving my mom to the airport. She’s going home to get some things done around her condo so she can come right back. I guess the plants are dying, and the bills need to be paid. On the way over here this afternoon, after picking up my things at Luke’s, I scoped out the pumpkin patch and bought new pajamas.” He grinned at her. “I thought you might be annoyed we didn’t invite you along, so I took lots of pictures.” “Weren’t you going to ask?” she said. “About the pumpkin patch?” he returned. “About the pajamas,” she stressed. He straightened and his expression was serious. “I was going to beg. I have four weeks of leave, if they don’t call me in early. Can you put up with me? If I’m neat?” Her heart swelled, but she was afraid to let it show. He’d always been neat. In fact, he was a little on the fussy side. Things he valued had to be perfectly maintained—his home, his car, his man toys. Put up with him? “We’ve never actually done this before, you know,” she pointed out to him. “We’ve never really lived together.” The look in his eyes was tender. “We should have.” *

Pumpkins are just like everything else in nature,” said Papa Bear as he and the cubs finished weeding the pumpkin patch. “No two of them are exactly alike.” “That’s for sure,” agreed Brother Bear. “Look at that funny flat one and that lumpy one over there.” Then there was The Giant, which is what Papa had named one that just seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. “Why is it that no two things are exactly alike?” asked Sister Bear. “It’s just the way nature is,” answered Papa. “Time to wash up for supper!” called Mama Bear from the tree house steps. “What about Queenie McBear’s twin brothers?” asked Sister. “They certainly look a lot alike,” said Papa. “But I’ve noticed that Mrs. McBear can tell them apart quite easily.” “In you go,” said Mama, shooing her family into the house. But Sister didn’t go right in. She stood on the stoop for a moment and looked out over Bear Country. It was well into fall, so the days were getting shorter. Halloween had come and gone. Pretty soon the Bears would start thinking about Christmas. But right now Bear Country was aglow in the setting sun. Farmer Ben’s well-kept farm looked especially fine, with its baled hay, corn shocks, and pumpkins casting long shadows. “I guess nature’s pretty amazing,” Sister said as she looked out over the beautiful scene. “It’s the most amazing thing there is,” said Mama.

I - I took him outside", said Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the jug. "He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an' - an' smell the fresh air - before -

Shattered Silence" (aka "When Michael Calls") for that early 1970s Halloween school carnival feel. It stars a young Michael Douglas and has decidedly autumnal feel. The nostalgic/vintage Halloween also includes the classic elements of the season from ghosts made of sheets and witches flying on broomsticks to pumpkin patches, corn mazes, apple cider, apple bobbing, fall leaves, Sleepy Hollow, and the like. You might start getting inspired with some candy of your childhood with candy crate collections – 1950s, 1960s

Who’s that?” she asked Farmer Ben. Ben gave one look and muttered, “Uh-oh. It’s Ed Hooper. I’m almost afraid to ask him what he wants…” In his three-piece suit and expensive hat, Hooper came stepping across the pasture, being very careful to avoid the cow pies. When he reached the pumpkin patch, he walked right up to Farmer Ben and held out his hand. Ben made no move to shake it. “As you wish, Ben,” said Hooper, lowering his hand. “Five, four, three, two, one, zero!” “What’s that?” said Ben. “You going into the rocket-ship business?” Hooper laughed. “No, Ben,” he said. “That’s the countdown for the number of grocery stores left in Beartown. The last one just closed down for good.” “For your good, maybe,” Ben sneered. “Not for mine.

In his three-piece suit and expensive hat, Hooper came stepping across the pasture, being very careful to avoid the cow pies. When he reached the pumpkin patch, he walked right up to Farmer Ben and held out his hand. Ben made no move to shake it. “As you wish, Ben,” said Hooper, lowering his hand. “Five, four, three, two, one, zero!” “What’s that?” said Ben. “You going into the rocket-ship business?

Wow!” said Queenie. “I’ve never seen Farmer Ben so mad!” The cubs were huddled in the pumpkin patch. “Where did he go?” asked Lizzy. “Into the house,” said Ferdy. “I’ll bet he’s asking his ancestors for help again.

I’m vine.” Dad looked around. “Wow, Kate, this sure is a seedy part of town,” he said with a sigh. “What? No!” Kate held her hands up in surrender. “I guess last night will always give us pumpkin to talk about.” “Dad, no. Please,” Kate begged. “Boy, those pumpkins sure got… squashed.” He scooted a damaged pumpkin out of the road with his foot. “Do you think we can put any back together… with a patch? A pumpkin patch.” Kate looked around to see if anyone was close enough for Dad to tell jokes to besides herself. She was out of luck. “I guess it makes sense the Jack-o’-lanterns lost the fight. They’re pretty empty-headed.” “Too soon, Dad,” Kate said. “Too soon.” She turned to go. “Wait!” Dad yelled at her. She turned to see what he wanted. “I don’t feel so gourd.” Kate rolled her

That just goes to show that you should never compare your life to the one people portray, especially online. We all have our personal demons. Some are just better at hiding theirs.

We can be more specific about what the universe would look like if it were an eternal system fluctuating around equilibrium. Boltzmann invoked the anthropic principle (although he didn’t call it that) to explain why we wouldn’t find ourselves in one of the very common equilibrium phases: In equilibrium, life cannot exist. Clearly, what we want to do is find the most common conditions within such a universe that are hospitable to life. Or, if we want to be a bit more careful, perhaps we should look for conditions that are not only hospitable to life, but hospitable to the particular kind of intelligent and self-aware life that we like to think we are. Maybe this is a way out? Maybe, we might reason, in order for an advanced scientific civilization such as ours to arise, we require a “support system” in the form of an entire universe filled with stars and galaxies, originating in some sort of super-low-entropy early condition. Maybe that could explain why we find such a profligate universe around us. No. Here is how the game should be played: You tell me the particular thing you insist must exist in the universe, for anthropic reasons. A solar system, a planet, a particular ecosystem, a type of complex life, the room you are sitting in now, whatever you like. And then we ask, “Given that requirement, what is the most likely state of the rest of the universe in the Boltzmann-Lucretius scenario, in addition to the particular thing we are asking for?” And the answer is always the same: The most likely state of the rest of the universe is to be in equilibrium. If we ask, “What is the most likely way for an infinite box of gas in equilibrium to fluctuate into a state containing a pumpkin pie?,” the answer is “By fluctuating into a state that consists of a pumpkin pie floating by itself in an otherwise homogeneous box of gas.” Adding anything else to the picture, either in space or in time—an oven, a baker, a previously existing pumpkin patch—only makes the scenario less likely, because the entropy would have to dip lower to make that happen. By far the easiest way to get a pumpkin pie in this context is for it to gradually fluctuate all by itself out of the surrounding chaos.

Garrett was looking at me as if I were the king-sized Butterfinger candy bar in his trick-or-treat haul.

He grabbed me by the waist and easily set me on the island counter. It put my pumpkin patch right at perfect fucking height.

Do you like my outfit?" "I love it," I said. "Take it off.

My last coherent thought was that I was glad I had shaved. I didn't want Garrett to get lost in the weeds on the way to the pumpkin patch.

Are you going to help plan the party or not?" I mumbled. "Not. I know it's going to be a disaster, just like you.

I wanted what the Macbeths had—not the stabbing and murdering, but the easy and deep and knowing love the two Macbeths had for each other.

A man after my own heart!" I turned to Garrett. He was scowling. "You should have bought me some cake." "How about I eat your cake later," he whispered in my ear, making me blush.

You're trying to manipulate him," Bronwyn spat. "And steal him from me.

Me? You're the conniving one. I know you're up to something," Bronwyn said, eyes narrowing. "And I'm going to find out. If I can't have Garrett, you can't either." She turned on her heel and flounced out of the office.

I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out." "Outside?

Trick or treat. Thanks for giving me something good to eat.

So crawl away as fast as you can through my pumpkin patch, little field mouse. I’ll still catch you.

- I'm going to miss the pumpkin patch. And I'm going to miss YOU. You're better than anyone I know. Deja. I don't want October to be over. Because October means you.

Now I make you pay for all those years you made me wait. All those All Hallows’ Eves, where you never came for me. So crawl away as fast as you can through my pumpkin patch, little field mouse. I’ll still catch you.” My hand dropped to clutch my rock-hard bulge, straining against my breeches. “And when I do, I’m going to break you open and claim your soul…and whatever else spills out.

Start by dumping one rotten little pumpkin in your patch, the one you occasionally fantasize about leaving on a deserted island

The mountains are cast away with the other turmoils that melted your snowmen during your relapses into retrospect where the cat of your crossings jumped through its curious hoops while the flummoxed chicken ran around a pumpkin patch until it found the dirt that no rug could conceal for the shootout on the street that subsequently became a war in a chaotic dust storm on the porch of reflection.

Sometimes, of a spring evening, Papa would hear that distant honking that always makes his scalp tingle, and we would all rush out to see the geese, in lines of hundreds, steer up from the southwest, turn over the barn as over a landmark, and head into the north. Or on autumn nights of sudden cold that set the ewes breeding in the orchard, Papa would call you out of the house to stand with him in the now celebrated pumpkin patch and watch the northern lights flicker in electric clouds on the horizon, mount, die down, fade and mount again till they filled the whole northern sky with ghostly light in motion. Thus, as children, you experienced two of the most important things men ever know—the wonder of life and the wonder of the universe, the wonder of life within the wonder of the universe. More importantly, you knew them not from books, not from lectures, but simply from living among them. Most important, you knew them with reverence and awe—that reverence and awe that has died out of the modern world and has been replaced by man’s monkeylike amazement at the cleverness of his own inventive brain….. I have great silent thanks to God. For I knew that if, as children, you could thus feel in your souls the reverence and awe for life and the world, which is the ultimate meaning of Beethoven and Shakespeare, as a man and woman you could never be satisfied with less.

Kioni and I walked through the pumpkin patch as pies and crumbles swelled in the air, everyone in wool coats and snug hats to cover their ears. Leaves tumbled from stubborn branches. Each one fell as if plucked by an invisible hand, Fall’s version of a snow globe.

Unfortunately, he was charming. That trait in a man was the worst, because it was the best until they weren’t so charming.

Duck E beak, Pumpkin feet. Wonder Woman is on fleek!