Rachel Green Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Rachel Green. Here they are! All 104 of them:

You're never safe from being surprised until you're dead.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Avonlea (Anne of Green Gables, #2))
Rambo was a Green Beret," Hannah said. "Please. We eat those army boys for breakfast.
Rachel Caine (Lord of Misrule (The Morganville Vampires, #5))
They're pretty conspicuous." "Why? Are they green and horny?" I willed a blush away and said, "I mean, as in having horns,not...the other.
Rachel Hawkins (Hex Hall (Hex Hall, #1))
He must have driven this way countless times, and yet he had no memory of the scenery. He must have been so caught up in the day's agenda, and arriving punctually at their destination, that the land beyond the car had been no more than a wash of one green, and a backdrop of one hill. Life was very different when you walked through it.
Rachel Joyce (The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Harold Fry, #1))
STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL FAUX VOMIT: 1 cup of cooked oatmeal 1.2 cup of sour cream (or buttermilk ranch dressing or anything that smells like rancid, sour milk) 2 chopped cheese sticks (for chunkiness) 1 uncooked egg (for authentic slimy texture) 1 can of split pea soup (for putrid green color) 1/4 cup of raisins (to increase gross-osity) Mix ingredients and simmer over low heat for 2 minutes Let mixture cool to warm vomit temperature Use liberally as needed Makes 4 to 5 cups
Rachel Renée Russell (Tales from a Not-So-Popular Party Girl (Dork Diaries, #2))
Balance is key. In everything you do. Dance all night long and practice yoga the next day. Drink wine but don’t forget your green juice. Eat chocolate when your heart wants it and kale salad when your body needs it. Wear high heels on Saturday and walk barefoot on Sunday. Go shopping at the mall and then sit down and meditate in your bedroom. Live high and low. Move and stay still. Embrace all sides of who you are and live your authentic truth! Be brave and bold and spontaneous and loud and let that complement your abilities to find silence and patience and modesty and peace. Aim for balance. Make your own rules and don’t let anybody tell you how to live according to theirs.
Rachel Brathen
Mrs. Rachel was one of those delightful and popular people who pride themselves on speaking their mind without fear or favor.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables)
We would not have hurt the child, even if she is our natural enemy. Nor would we have hurt you, if it could be helped. Finn was killed by a male cat, and in exchange for that information, we also agreed to try to remove the female cats from your encampment before the true melee begins.” Melee?! Were these ninja birds? Green Berets with feathers?
Rachel Vincent (Shift (Shifters, #5))
There's the usual suspects in there, Green Day and The Clash and The Smiths, yeah, but there's also Ella and Frank, even Dino, some Curtis Mayfield and Minor Threat and Dusty Springfield and Belle & Sebastian, and as I flip through his musical life, getting to know his tastes, I must acknowledge that not only am I not frigid, but I also may be multi-orgasmic.
Rachel Cohn (Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist)
I detest that woman [Rachel Lynde] more than anybody I know. She can put a whole sermon, text, comment, and application, into six words, and throw it at you like a brick.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Avonlea (Anne of Green Gables, #2))
Rachel must be putting on a theatrical display, because the small boat rocks while she talks. "I don't need these life jackets anymore," she says, in her thickest Italian accent. "The colors are all wrong for me. I mean, look at this orange. Ew, right?" Galen rolls his eyes. I try not to giggle. "And this green? Hideous!" she continues.
Anna Banks (Of Triton (The Syrena Legacy, #2))
Colors shift like smoke within the branch beneath our feet. Sprites jump from leaf to leaf, leaving sprinklings of glittery dust in the air behind them. Droplets of water are strung like pearls from the silver strands of a spider’s web. Bluebottle glow-bugs stick to the leaves and branches, lighting up the night with their blue-green bodies. And high above us, clouds are draped like sashes of color across the sky. Amethyst, azure, jade.
Rachel Morgan (The Faerie Guardian (Creepy Hollow, #1))
People are motivated by three things, Rachel. Love …” A red marker clattered in with the rest. “Revenge …” A black one landed next to it. “And power,” she finished, tossing in a green one. “Trent has enough money to buy all three.” “You forgot one,” I said, wondering if I should just keep my mouth shut. “Family.
Kim Harrison (Dead Witch Walking (The Hollows, #1))
I was coming down off the last painkiller left in my dresser drawer after Autumn tossed my stash. In that moment I was so groggy and happy I would have accepted a date with Oscar the Grouch - and planned to do some serious feeling up on the green furry beast too. Yeah, stooping to pharmaceutical-inspired sex fantasies about garbage can Sesame Street characters - that had to be the best Just Say No drug lecture a girl in a leg cast could ever receive to make her go cold turkey off the meds.
Rachel Cohn (Cupcake (Cyd Charisse, #3))
So, your friends call you Bastian. Your enemies call you asshole. What do lovers call you?” “Why do you want to know?” She smiled up at the stars. “Future reference.
Rachel Grant (Catalyst (Flashpoint #2))
I drag the body out into the snowdrifts, as far away from our shack as I can muster. I put her in a thicket of trees, where the green seems to still have a voice in the branches, and try not to think about the beasts that’ll soon be gathering. There’s no way of burying her; the ground is a solid rock of ice beneath us. I kneel beside her and want desperately to weep. My throat tightens and my head aches. Everything hurts inside. But I have no way of releasing it. I’m locked up and hard as stone. “I’m sorry, Mamma,” I whisper to the shell in front of me. I take her hand. It could belong to a glass doll. There’s no life there anymore. So I gather rocks, one by one, and set them over her, trying my best to protect her from the birds, the beasts, keep her safe as much as I can now. I pile the dark stones gently on her stomach, her arms, and over her face, until she becomes one with the mountain. I stand and study my work, feeling like the rocks are on me instead, then I leave the body for the forest and ice.
Rachel A. Marks (Winter Rose)
Why do you call him a monster?” “Well, an eight-foot tall green gorilla with web feet and bug eyes—what would you call him? A well-developed frog? Not exactly an Ivy-league type, anyway.’” “I’ve met plenty of Ivy-leaguers I’d call monsters.
Rachel Ingalls (Mrs. Caliban)
Even in the wake of Rachel Carson's best-selling Silent Spring, Americans in 1963 spent nearly as much money fighting crabgrass with chemical weed controls as they contributed to the American Cancer Society.
Ted Steinberg (American Green: The Obsessive Quest for the Perfect Lawn)
Although, fanciful's origin circa 1627 made me still love the word, even if I'd ruined its applicability to my connection with Snarl. (I mean DASH!) Like, I could totally see Mrs. Mary Poppencock returning home to her cobblestone hut with the thatched roof in Thamesburyshire, Jolly Olde England, and saying to her husband, "Good sir Bruce, would it not be wonderful to have a roof that doesn't leak when it rains on our green shires, and stuff?" And Sir Bruce Poppencock would have been like, "I say, missus, you're very fanciful with your ideas today." To which Mrs. P. responded, "Why, Master P., you've made up a word! What year is it? I do believe it's circa 1627! Let's carve the year--we think--on a stone so no one forgets. Fanciful! Dear man, you are a genius. I'm so glad my father forced me to marry you and allow you to impregnate me every year.
Rachel Cohn (Dash & Lily's Book of Dares (Dash & Lily, #1))
When the holly’s in the red And the pine is in the green, When the mornings all are frosty, In a brilliant silver sheen Then I love to go a’ walking Rambling here and there, quite slow, Plucking greenery and berries; Wishing for a Christmas snow
Rachel Heffington
Live with no regrets, dream not despair, and once in a while, love without a care.
Rachel E. Greene
HIDEOUS! Sorry, Mom, but vomit green is NOT my colour. And that dress is impossible to walk in! It’s so tight around my legs that it looks like a giant fish tail. While the other bridesmaids walked gracefully to the “Wedding March” song, I flopped my way down the aisle like a human-sized catfish or something! Those rug burns were pure agony! It was getting late and I was running out of time! The last thing I wanted to do was to traumatise Brandon by showing up at the dance looking like a MUTANT FISH GIRL or something. Right now I’m SO frustrated that I’m seriously considering just NOT going to the dance. Why is my life so hopelessly CRUDDY?!
Rachel Renée Russell (Dork Diaries: Holiday Heartbreak)
The newly formed Council all rose to their feet as I entered the room, but I immediately raised my hands. “Oh, God, please don’t do that. I’m freaked out enough as it is.” One of the faeries, a huge man with emerald green wings, frowned at me. “But as heir presumptive to the Head of the Council, you’re afforded a certain degree of respect.” “I can feel respected with you all sitting down. Honestly.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
Can I ask you guys something?” No one nodded, but I kept going anyway. “Why did you pick me? I mean, sure, I’m a demon, but so is Nick. Why not ask him? Is it because of the whole ‘He Once Went Crazy And Killed A Bunch Of People’ thing?” The green-winged faerie stared at me. “That is a large part of it, yes.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
Ceri,” I said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her vivid green eyes met mine. “I thought you’d be angry,” she said with desperate worry. “Rachel, it’s the only way I can get rid of it.” My lips parted. “You don’t want it?” Ceri’s expression blanked. She stared wonderingly at me for a moment. “What are we talking about?” she asked cautiously. “Your baby!” Her mouth dropped open and she flushed scarlet.
Kim Harrison (The Outlaw Demon Wails (The Hollows, #6))
As soon as the cold became uncomfortable, Eli had opened his shirt and had a nice long chat with the burn on his chest. Karon was happy to help them stick it to the ice and wind spirits, and he cheerfully kept the air around Eli as warm and dry as a smokehouse. “I only wish it didn’t reek of sulfur,” Josef said, pressing up the mountainside. “I’d almost rather deal with the cold.” “Well, don’t let me stop you,” Eli huffed, though even he looked a little green. “Who am I to stand between a man and his frostbite?
Rachel Aaron (The Spirit Eater (The Legend of Eli Monpress, #3))
There is a Sufi story about a man who is so good that the angels ask God to give him the gift of miracles. God wisely tells them to ask him if that is what he would wish. So the angels visit this good man and offer him first the gift of healing by hands, then the gift of conversion of souls, and lastly the gift of virtue. He refuses them all. They insist that he choose a gift or they will choose one for him. "Very well," he replies. "I ask that I may do a great deal of good without ever knowing it." The story ends this way: The angels were perplexed. They took counsel and resolved upon the following plan: Every time the saint's shadow fell behind him it would have the power to cure disease, soothe pain, and comfort sorrow. As he walked, behind him the shadow made arid paths green, caused withered plants to bloom, gave clear water to dried up brooks, fresh color to pale children, and joy to unhappy men and women. The saint simply went about his daily life diffusing virtue as the stars diffuse light and the flowers scent, without ever being aware of it. The people respecting his humility followed him silently, never speaking to him about his miracles. Soon they even forgot his name and called him "the Holy Shadow.
Rachel Naomi Remen (Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal)
So said Mrs. Rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fullness of her heart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patiently at the Bright River station at that very moment her pity would have been still deeper and more profound.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables (Anne of Green Gables, #1))
He thought that maybe when you're making your way forward into your life, it just looks higgledy-piggledy, the way, if you were a fly walking across one of Beautiful Girl's drawings all you'd be able to see was green, then blue, then yellow. Only if you got in the air before the swat came down would you see the colors belonged to a big drawing, with the green for this part of the picture, the blue and yellow for others, every color being just where if was meant to be. Could that be what life was?
Rachel Simon (The Story of Beautiful Girl)
Drink this.” “Um, how ‘bout no,” I replied, staring at the dark green contents. Whatever the liquid was, it smelled like pine trees and dirt, and seeing how this woman was Izzy’s mom, I figured it was poisoned. But Aislinn just shrugged. “Don’t, then. No skin off my nose if your head hurts.” “It’s okay,” Mom said, never taking her eyes off Aislinn. “It’ll make you feel better.” “By making me dead?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sure that would make my headache go away, but that’s a heck of a side effect.” “Sophie,” Mom murmured, a warning tone in her voice. But Aislinn just regarded me shrewdly, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “She’s got a mouth on her, that’s for sure,” she said. Her eyes flicked to Mom. “Must’ve gotten that from him. You were always quiet.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
I glanced around, but no one seemed to be watching me. That would probably change once I started yelling at a waiter. I have Archer what I hoped was a significant look, but thanks to all the sparkle, I wasn't sure he got it. I walked away to the corner of the room and ducked behind a truly insane amount of potted plants. The light back there was dim and green, and everything smelled rich and loamy.
Rachel Hawkins (Demonglass (Hex Hall, #2))
I leaned my head back. "I look worse than I did the night you met me." "I thought you looked fine." I rolled my head to the side, so I could see him. Hoping the shadows made it so he couldn't see me. "What are you talking about? I looked like a Cirque du Soleil performer." "What are you talking about?" "The black dots around my eyes?" He shook his head. "I'm lost." "You were staring--" "Oh, yeah." He gazed through the windshield. "Sorry about that. I've just never seen eyes as green as yours. I was trying to figure out if you wore contacts." "You were looking at my eyes?" "Yeah." "Not the makeup?" He turned his attention back to me. "I didn't realize you were wearing any. That night, anyway. Tonight it's pretty obvious." "Oh." Didn't I feel silly? "I thought--" I shook my head. "Never mind." On second thought... "You don't like all the makeup?" "I just don't think you need it. I mean, you look pretty without it." Oh, really? That was totally unexpected.
Rachel Hawthorne (The Boyfriend League)
Staring into his eyes, she noticed a thin circle of gray around the green. A SILVER LINING, she thought.
Rachel Harris (Accidentally Married on Purpose (Love and Games, #3))
The sky is blue, the grass is green, and people are stupid." "Meaning?" "Meaning that you can't change any of them.
Rachael F. Heller (The 13th Apostle)
Was this part of being a Paladin/superhero? Was I like the Hulk, only sweaty instead of green?
Rachel Hawkins (Rebel Belle (Rebel Belle, #1))
If you can't be cheerful, be as cheerful as you can. - Mrs Rachel Lynde
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables (Anne of Green Gables, #1))
I added pieces the same way I’d constructed my body, from the inside out: boy-cut panties first (lacy), bra (sheer), stockings (thigh high), knee-length leather skirt (black), lime green midriff-baring shirt (polyester). David leaned against the wall and watched this striptease-in-reverse with fabulously expressive eyebrows slowly climbing toward heaven, I finished it off with a pair of strappy lime green three-inch heels, something from the Manolo Blahnik spring collection that I’d seen two months ago in Vogue. He looked me over, blinked behind the glasses, and asked, “You’re done?” I took offense, “Yeah. You with the fashion police?” “I don’t think I’d pass the entrance exam.” The eyebrows didn’t come down. “I never knew you were so…” “Fashionable?” “Not really the word I was thinking.” I struck a pose and looked at him from under my supernaturally lustrous eyelashes. “Come on, you know it’s sexy.” “And that’s sort of my point.
Rachel Caine (Heat Stroke (Weather Warden, #2))
Jenna, you have Vix, and Archer, you have…Actually, what do you have?” “You,” he said firmly. “And a whole bunch of holy knights who want to kill me.” “Vix can visit,” Jenna said. “And the school will be a good place now, so it’s not like one more year will be torture. Although,” she said, frowning, “I will admit the place is pretty awful to look at. I don’t know how we’re going to fix that.” Facing the pond, staring at that green, green grass, I gave a shuddery laugh. “I don’t think we have to worry about the island,” I said, wiping stray tears with the back of my hand. “It’s being healed.” “Well, there you have it, then,” Archer said. “Vix can come for a visit, the island will eventually be a heck of a lot less depressing, and I’m not leaving you ever again.” “Yeah, and we still have to deal with The Eye being…Eyeish, and me learning to be Head of the Council, which will probably involve lots of boring books and-“ Archer pressed his mouth to mine, effectively shutting me up and kissing the hell out of me. When he pulled back, he was grinning. “And you have an arrogant, screwed-up former demon hunter who is stupidly in love with you.” “And an angsty vampire who will walk into hell with you. Actually, who has walked into hell with you,” Jenna added, coming around to my other side. “And parents who love you, and who are probably making out back at the car,” Archer said, and I laughed. “So, really,” Jenna said, and looped her arm through mine, “what more do you need?” I looked back and forth between them, these two people I loved so much. The breeze ruffled the tall grass around the pond, and I thought I could hear Elodie’s laugh. “Nothing,” I told them, squeezing both their hands. “Nothing.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
The two-man crew of the patrol boat does not speak English. Rachel exploits this as best she can, while still dumping life jackets in the water. “What? I don’t understand what you’re saying? Do you speak English?” They confirm in their native tongue that they obviously do not. Rachel must be putting on a theatrical display, because the small boat rocks while she talks. “I don’t need these life jackets anymore,” she says, in her thickest Italian accent. “The colors are all wrong for me. I mean, look at this orange. Ew, right?” Galen rolls his eyes. I try not to giggle. “And this green? Hideous!” she continues. The men get more irate when she doesn’t stop littering their domain. “Hey, what the…Don’t touch me! I have a foot injury, you jerk!” Galen and I slink below the surface. “We knew that might happen,” he says.
Anna Banks (Of Triton (The Syrena Legacy, #2))
I’m going to make an exception for you. If you want to study me – every inch of me – I’m willing to be your lab rat.” “Well, I’d need to have research questions if it’s going to be a valid scientific endeavor.
Rachel Grant (Catalyst (Flashpoint #2))
What's Toraf's favorite color?" She shrugs. "Whatever I tell him it is." I raise a brow at her. "Don't know, huh?" She crosses her arms. "Who cares anyway? We're not painting his toenails." "I think what's she's trying to say, honey bunches, is that maybe you should paint your nails his favorite color, to show him you're thinking about him," Rachel says, seasoning her words with tact. Rayna sets her chin. "Emma doesn't paint her nails Galen's favorite color." Startled that Galen has a favorite color and I don't know it, I say, "Uh, well, he doesn't like nail polish." That is to say, he's never mentioned it before. When a brilliant smile lights up her whole face, I know I've been busted. "You don't know his favorite color!" she says, actually pointing at me. "Yes, I do," I say, searching Rachel's face for the answer. She shrugs. Rayna's smirk is the epitome of I know something you don't know. Smacking it off her face is my first reflex, but I hold back, as I always do, because of the kiss I shared with Toraf and the way it hurt her. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with that same expression she had on the beach, and I feel like fungus, even though she deserved it at the time. Refusing to fold, I eye the buffet of nail polish scattered before me. Letting my fingers roam over the bottles, I shop the paints, hoping one of them stands out to me. To save my life, I can't think of any one color he wears more often. He doesn't have a favorite sport, so team colors are a no-go. Rachel picked his cars for him, so that's no help either. Biting my lip, I decide on an ocean blue. "Emma! Now I'm just ashamed of myself," he says from the doorway. "How could you not know my favorite color?" Startled, I drop the bottle back on the table. Since he's back so soon, I have to assume he didn't find what or who he wanted-and that he didn't hunt them for very long. Toraf materializes behind him, but Galen's shoulders are too broad to allow them both to stand in the doorway. Clearing my throat, I say, "I was just moving that bottle to get to the color I wanted." Rayna is all but doing a victory dance with her eyes. "Which is?" she asks, full of vicious glee. Toraf pushes past Galen and plops down next to his tiny mate. She leans into him, eager for his kiss. "I missed you," she whispers. "Not as much as I missed you," he tells her. Galen and I exchange eye rolls as he walks around to prop himself on the table beside me, his wet shorts making a butt-shaped puddle on the expensive wood. "Go ahead, angelfish," he says, nodding toward the pile of polish. If he's trying to give me a clue, he sucks at it. "Go" could mean green, I guess. "Ahead" could mean...I have no idea what that could mean. And angelfish come in all sorts of colors. Deciding he didn't encode any messages for me, I sigh and push away from the table to stand. "I don't know. We've never talked about it before." Rayna slaps her knee in triumph. "Ha!" Before I can pass by him, Galen grabs my wrist and pulls me to him, corralling me between his legs. Crushing his mouth to mine, he moves his hand to the small of my back and presses me into him. Since he's still shirtless and I'm in my bikini, there's a lot of bare flesh touching, which is a little more intimate than I'm used to with an audience. Still, the fire sears through me, scorching a path to the furthest, deepest parts of me. It takes every bit of grit I have not to wrap my arms around his neck. Gently, I push my hands against his chest to end the kiss, which is something I never thought I'd do. Giving him a look that I hope conveys "inappropriate," I step back. I've spent enough time in their company to know without looking that Rayna's eyes are bugging out of their sockets and Toraf is grinning like a nutcracker doll. With any luck, Rachel didn't even see the kiss. Stealing a peek at her, she meets my gaze with openmouthed shock. Okay, it looked as bad as I thought it did.
Anna Banks (Of Poseidon (The Syrena Legacy, #1))
I may have something to help you along... Eros!" The winged youth raised his bow, his arrow already nocked, took aim, and loosed. Aidon caught the golden arrow and winced, his hand clamped around its head, inches from his heart. He opened his fist. Parallel wounds from the razor sharp edges closed themselves. His blood quickened as he held the golden arrow in his shaking hands. Heart racing, his head grew light, and he shifted his stance to steady his feet underneath him. Flashes of russet hair, a soft female voice, the twirling skirt of a green linen chiton, grass-stained knees, and delicate, flower-trimmed ankles invaded his thoughts. He looked at Zeus with a mixture of bewilderment and fury. "Was that necessary?" Zeus laughed. "We shall see.
Rachel Alexander (Receiver of Many (Hades & Persephone, #1))
Just imagine -- this night week I'll be in Avonlea -- delightful thought!" said Anne, bending over the box in which she was packing Mrs. Rachel Lynde's quilts. "But just imagine -- this night week I'll be gone forever from Patty's Place -- horrible thought!
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of the Island (Anne of Green Gables, #3))
Well the end is coming, isn't it? We spend our entire lives running from it. No speaking of it allowed. Fearing it for our loved ones." She shook her head and folded the burp cloth in her hand. "But after all we've seen of the world, I decided I'll get more joy out of the days I have left if I just acknowledge that death is part of life. The leaves on an apple tree blossom yield and fall. No use fretting over the sweetness of the fruit. Got to pick it when it looks ripe and move on. It's the fool who's forlorn over what he imagines he's lost. I'm sure that's in the Gospel somewhere." Even if it wasn't, Rachel would amend the text to her liking. The Word according to Rachel, as some complained. Not Marilla of course. Rachel was her closest friend, so she kept quiet, in Cuthbert fashion.
Sarah McCoy (Marilla of Green Gables)
Lincoln Greene didn’t look at me like a puzzle that needed to be solved in order for us to be friends. He didn’t try to fix the pieces. He simply accepted them for what they were. Screwed up. It was as if he saw the fear, hurt, anger – the ugly – and accepted me anyway.
Rachel Van Dyken (Capture (Seaside Pictures, #1))
Psychologists say the best way to handle children at this stage of development is not to answer their questions directly but instead to tell them a story. As pediatrician Alan Greene explained, “After conversing with thousands of children, I’ve decided that what they really mean is, ‘That’s interesting to me. Let’s talk about that together. Tell me more, please?’ Questions are a child’s way of expressing love and trust. They are a child’s way of starting a conversation. So instead of simply insisting over and over again that the object of my son’s attention is, in fact, an elephant, I might tell him about how, in India, elephants are symbols of good luck, or about how some say elephants have the best memories of all the animals. I might tell him about the time I saw an elephant spin a basketball on the tip of his trunk, or about how once there was an elephant named Horton who heard a Who. I might tell him that once upon a time, there was an elephant and four blind men; each man felt a different part of the elephant’s body: the ears, the tail, the side, and the tusk . . .
Rachel Held Evans (Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again)
There was once a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live in harmony with its surroundings. The town lay in the midst of a checkerboard of prosperous farms, with fields of grain and hillsides of orchards where, in spring, white clouds of bloom drifted above the green fields. In autumn, oak and maple and birch set up a blaze of color that flamed and flickered across a backdrop of pines. Then foxes barked in the hills and deer silently crossed the fields, half hidden in the mists of the fall mornings. Along the roads, laurel, viburnum, and alder, great ferns and wildflowers delighted the traveler's eye through much of the year. Even in winter the roadsides were places of beauty, where countless birds came to feed on the berries and on the seed heads of the dried weeds rising above the snow. The countryside was, in fact, famous for the abundance and variety of its bird life, and when the flood of migrants was pouring through in spring and fall people traveled from great distances to observe them. Others came to fish the streams, which flowed clear and cold out of the hills and contained shady pools where trout lay. So it had been from the days many years ago when the first settlers raised their homes, sank their wells, and built their barns. Then a strange blight crept over the area and everything began to change. Some evil spell had settled on the community: mysterious maladies swept the flocks of chickens, the cattle, and sheep sickened and died. Everywhere was a shadow of death. The farmers spoke of much illness among their families. In the town the doctors had become more and more puzzled by new kinds of sickness appearing among their patients. There had been sudden and unexplained deaths, not only among adults but even among children whoe would be stricken suddently while at play and die within a few hours. There was a strange stillness. The birds, for example--where had they gone? Many people spoke of them, puzzled and disturbed. The feeding stations in the backyards were deserted. The few birds seen anywhere were moribund; they trembled violently and could not fly. It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh. On the farms the hens brooded, but no chicks hatched. The farmers complained that they were unable to raise any pigs--the litters were small and the young survived only a few days. The apple trees were coming into bloom but no bees droned among the blossoms, so there was no pollination and there would be no fruit. The roadsides, once so attractive, were now lined with browned and withered vegetation as though swept by fire. These, too, were silent, deserted by all living things. Even the streams were not lifeless. Anglers no longer visited them, for all the fish had died. In the gutters under the eaves and between the shingles of the roofs, a white granular powder still showed a few patches; some weeks before it had fallen like snow upon the roofs and the lawns, the fields and streams. No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of life in this stricken world. The people had done it to themselves.
Rachel Carson
Well, cats live as long as dogs,” he said, “mostly, anyway.” This was a lie, and he knew it. Cats lived violent lives and often died bloody deaths, always just below the usual range of human sight. Here was Church, dozing in the sun (or appearing to), Church who slept peacefully on his daughter’s bed every night, Church who had been so cute as a kitten, all tangled up in a ball of string. And yet Louis had seen him stalk a bird with a broken wing, his green eyes sparkling with curiosity and—yes, Louis would have sworn it—cold delight. He rarely killed what he stalked, but there had been one notable exception—a large rat, probably caught in the alley between their apartment house and the next. Church had really put the blocks to that baby. It had been so bloody and gore-flecked that Rachel, then in her sixth month with Gage, had had to run into the bathroom and vomit. Violent lives, violent deaths. A dog got them and ripped them open instead of just chasing them like the bumbling, easily fooled dogs in the TV cartoons, or another tom got them, or a poisoned bait, or a passing car. Cats were the gangsters of the animal world, living outside the law and often dying there. There were a great many of them who never grew old by the fire.
Stephen King (Pet Sematary)
Dude, what're you waiting for?" Carlos calls. "Plant one on her." I lift my eyes and am shocked to see Brandon is staring at my mouth. He swallows audibly and flicks his gaze to mine. the emotions darkening the soft green color are too confusing to name. Does he want to back out? An exhale of breath leaves Brandon's lips, almost like a laugh, and he scoots closer to me on the blanket. I twist my legs under myself, sitting tall as I face him. He cups my chin and tilts it toward him, drowning me in the now dark-green depths of his eyes, the cologne I gave him for his birthday filling my head. It's woodsy and yummy and I always loved how it smelled on the store testers, but on Brandon, it's even sexier. My eyes flutter closed, and I inhale again, this time slowly. Goose bumps prickle my arms, and my head gets fuzzy. Brandon slides his hand down the column of my neck and brings the other up, threading his fingers through the hair at my nape. His breath fans across my cheek, and everything south of my bellybutton squeezes tight. When his mouth first meets mine, it's hesitant, questioning. But as I move my lips with his, he quickly grows bolder, coaxing them apart. Desire, pure and raw, electrifies my veins as his tongue sweeps my mouth. A whimpering sound springs from my chest, and instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Needing more. My teeth graze his full bottom lip, and I pull it, sucking on it gently. He moans and knots his fingers in my hair, and a thrill dances down my back. Brandon is an amazing kisser, just as I knew he would be. I have no control over my body's reactions. I lose myself in his lips, his tongue, and his strong arms, forgetting time and space and even my surroundings...
Rachel Harris (The Fine Art of Pretending (The Fine Art of Pretending, #1))
You know, the real problem is going to come in a few days when it begins yellowing. Then it’ll seriously clash with your reddish hair.” Only Tiffany would worry about properly accessorizing a black eye. “But it’ll go great with my eyes,” I said. “Because yellow and green go together.” “Mmm. Might work. Still, come and see me if you want it to go away.” And what was she going to do? Wave a magic wand?
Rachel Hawthorne (The Boyfriend League)
It was a perfect spring day. The air was sweet and gentle and the sky stretched high, an intense blue. Harold was certain that the last time he had peered through the net drapes of Fossebridge Road (his home), the trees and hedges were dark bones and spindles against the skyline; yet now that he was out, and on his feet, it was as if everywhere he looked, the fields, gardens, trees, and hedgerows and exploded with growth. A canopy of sticky young leaves clung to the branches above him. There were startling yellow clouds of forsythia, trails of purple aubrietia; a young willow shook in a fountain of silver. The first of the potato shoots fingered through the soil, and already tiny buds hung from the gooseberry and currant shrubs like the earrings Maureen used to wear. The abundance of new life was enough to make him giddy.
Rachel Joyce (The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Harold Fry, #1))
You must know something.” “And why is Archer Cross here?” That was from Jenna. His voice had apparently changed over the summer, since he actually said the words instead of squeaking them. “He’s an Eye.” “Didn’t he try to kill you?” Nausicaa had drifted up, and she narrowed her eyes at me. “And if so, why exactly were you holding his hand earlier?” Conversations like this usually ended in pitchforks and torches, so I held my hands out in what I hoped was an “everyone just calm the heck down” gesture. But then Jenna spoke up. “Sophie doesn’t know anything,” she said, nudging my behind her. That might’ve been more effective if Jenna weren’t so short. “And whatever reason we’re here, the Council had nothing to do with it.” Jenna didn’t add that that was because the entire Council, with the exception of Lara Casnoff and my dad, was dead. “She’s just freaked out as the rest of us, so back. Off.” From the expressions on the other kids’ faces, I guessed Jenna had bared her fangs, and maybe even given a flash of red eyes. “What’s going on here?” a familiar voice brayed. Great. Like this night didn’t suck out loud enough already. The Vandy-who had been a cross between school matron and prison guard at Hex Hall-shoved her way through the crowd, breathing hard. Her purple tattoos, marks of the Removal, were nearly black against her red face. “Downstairs, now!” As the group began moving again, she glared at Jenna and me. “Show your fangs again, Miss Talbot, and I’ll wear them as earrings. Is that understood?” Jenna may have muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” but her tone said something totally different. We jogged down the stairs to join the rest of the students lining up to go into the ballroom. “At least one thing at Hex Hall hasn’t changed,” Jenna said. “Yeah, apparently the Vandy’s powers of bitchery are a constant. I find that comforting.” Less comforting was the creeptasticness of the school at night. During the day, it had just been depressing. Now that it was dark, it was full-on sinister. The old-fashioned gas lamps on the walls had once burned with a cozy, golden light. Now, a noxious green glow sputtered inside the milky glass, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
The stadium went black. A colorful array of fireworks--green, yellow, white--burst into the air. A couple of seconds later, a boom sounded. Everyone oohed and ahhed. Even me. I’m a sucker for fireworks. Jason pulled me closer, and everything I felt for him just seem to swell like those fireworks. It was glorious. Brighter than I’d expected it to be. Bursting forth with all sorts of emotions. Joy because he was mine. Sadness because he would be leaving. A scariness because I didn’t know exactly what the future would hold for us. Red, white, and blue streamers exploded against the black sky. The air popped. I’d hoped for a summer boyfriend. Pick a boy. Any boy. How dumb was that? But somehow I’d lucked out. When it came to boyfriends, I’d somehow managed to hit a home run. I was crazy about Jason. And he was crazy about me. And somehow, we’d make it work. Another explosion of fireworks filled the sky. The colors faded away and then…a burst of red, bang, a burst of white, bang, a burst of blue, bang. I was sure more followed, because I could hear the distant booms but I was no longer watching the fireworks. Jason was kissing me, and we were creating our own.
Rachel Hawthorne (The Boyfriend League)
Korie: Ray’s daughter, Rachel, and I were best friends, and they were going to Phil’s house for dinner one night. They invited me to go along. I still remembered Willie from camp, so needless to say, I was just dying to go. I begged my parents to let me go with them. They said yes! I even remember what I wore at Willie’s house-a black top with fluorescent green earrings. Don’t judge…it was the eighties. When Rachel and I got to the Robertsons’ house, the first thing Phil said to us was: “Have you met my boys, Jason Silas and Willie Jess? They’ll make good husbands someday. They’re good hunters and fisherman.” I was so nervous. I couldn’t believe this was happening. The other thing I remember about walking in their home was that Phil and Kay had a sign on the door that said, “Honeymoon in progress.” Phil and Kay have never been shy about their honeymooning…another thing that shocked me about their family. Once we had eaten, Willie took us back to his room, which was actually the laundry room. He made us laugh the whole time. He would stick his thumb in his mouth and pretend that he was blowing up his muscles. He did acupressure tricks and showed us our pressure points. This was all very impressive to a couple of fifth-grade girls. After a while, I decided I was going to try to really impress Korie. I started punching the tiles on the ceiling of the laundry room, which was a trick one of my buddies taught me. I’d rear back and just punch my fist through the ceiling and busted tile would fall over onto the floor. I’m sure she was really impressed.
Willie Robertson (The Duck Commander Family)
On the Craft of Writing:  The Story Grid: What Good Editors Know by Shawn Coyne The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White 2K to 10K: Writing Faster, Writing Better, and Writing More of What You Love by Rachel Aaron  On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King Take Off Your Pants! Outline Your Books for Faster, Better Writing by Libbie Hawker  You Are a Writer (So Start Acting Like One) by Jeff Goins Prosperity for Writers: A Writer's Guide to Creating Abundance by Honorée Corder  The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles by Steven Pressfield Business for Authors: How To Be An Author Entrepreneur by Joanna Penn  On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction by William Zinsser Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer by Roy Peter Clark On Mindset:  The One Thing: The Surprisingly Simple Truth Behind Extraordinary Results by Gary Keller and Jay Papasan The Art of Exceptional Living by Jim Rohn Vision to Reality: How Short Term Massive Action Equals Long Term Maximum Results by Honorée Corder The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change by Stephen R. Covey Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg Mckeown Mastery by Robert Greene The Success Principles: How to Get from Where You Are to Where You Want to Be by Jack Canfield and Janet Switzer The Game of Life and How to Play It by Florence Scovel Shinn The Compound Effect by Darren Hardy Taking Life Head On: How to Love the Life You Have While You Create the Life of Your Dreams by Hal Elrod Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill In
Hal Elrod (The Miracle Morning for Writers: How to Build a Writing Ritual That Increases Your Impact and Your Income, Before 8AM)
Wishing I had a towel, I used my fingers to wipe the raindrops off my face. My wet face that had been partially protected by the brim of his cap. Which would have worked if the rain fell straight down. This had been slashing across. “Oh, no.” “What?” Jason said. “Turn on the light.” He did. I lowered the sun visor, looked at my reflection in the mirror, groaned, and slapped the visor back into place. “Turn the light off.” “What’s wrong?” I didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see. “The makeup ran.” Not as badly as I’d expected, but I had dark smudges beneath my eyes and my bruising was more visible. “So what?” I leaned my head back. “I look worse than I did the night you met me.” “I thought you looked fine.” I rolled my head to the side, so I could see him. Hoping the shadows made it so he couldn’t see me. “What are you talking about? I looked like a Cirque de Soleil performer.” “What are you talking about?” “The black dots around my eyes?” He shook his head. “I’m lost.” “You were staring--” “Oh, yeah.” He gazed through the windshield. “Sorry about that. I’ve just never seen eyes as green as yours. I was trying to figure out if you wore contacts.” “You were looking at my eyes?” “Yeah.” “Not the makeup.” He turned his attention back to me. “I didn’t realize you were wearing any. That night, anyway. Tonight it’s pretty obvious.” “Oh.” Didn’t I feel silly? “I thought--” I shook my head. “Never mind.” On second thought… “You don’t like all the makeup?” “I just don’t think you need it. I mean, you look pretty without it.” Oh, really? That was totally unexpected. He started tapping the steering wheel like he was listening to a rock concert, or suddenly embarrassed, maybe wishing someone would shut him up. “Sorry I don’t have a towel in the car.” Subject change. He was embarrassed. How cute was that?
Rachel Hawthorne (The Boyfriend League)
I remember a rainbow spectrum of men’s wing tips parked in rows, triple-A narrow, the leather dyed snake green, lemon yellow, and unstable shades of vermilion and Ditto-ink blue. All of humanity dresses in uniforms of one sort or another, and these shoes were for pimps.
Rachel Kushner (The Flamethrowers)
Chikusho, I thought. This was the famous Imogen Kato, right here! She saw me and glanced down at the magazine I'd been looking at while waiting for my meeting with Chloe, open to the photo spread- of her. God, how embarrassing. I closed the magazine abruptly. It was definitely the same girl, although now her hair was platinum blond with dark roots instead of a mixture of auburn with honey and green apple-colored streaks. Beneath her plaid uniform skirt, she wore deep purple-and-blue-and-silver leggings that had prints of galloping gray unicorns, and over her blouse was a worn-out, oversize, cream-colored cardigan sweater with the belt tied to the side instead of center. Apparently, the uniform dress code was not that strict at this school.
Rachel Cohn (My Almost Flawless Tokyo Dream Life)
She tastes like the air around me, hunger and urgency, and— Green apple Jolly Ranchers?
Rachel A. Marks (Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle #1))
Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken mental note of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea;14 but the dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any particular company. Yet what of Matthew’s white collar and the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.
L.M. Montgomery (The Annotated Anne of Green Gables)
People throughout Hellas had built shrines of wood and living things to Kore and to her mother aeons ago, maintaining them generation after generation. Her private sanctums were always open to the sky, the sunlight, the honeybees and birds that helped her tend to the new shoots and flowers. One of Kore's favorite sacred places lay in this very clearing at the base of the oak tree. Clusters of white larkspur grew up the perfect circle of green willow shoots that served as her walls. Her ceiling was the vaulted branches and the stars wheeling above. The grass beneath her was soft, not wet with dew as it sometimes was, and strewn with rushes and violet petals upon which she made her bed.
Rachel Alexander (Receiver of Many (Hades & Persephone, #1))
Well, they're splendid to amuse children with," said Diana. "Fred and Small Anne look at the pictures by the hour." "I amused ten children without the aid of Eaton's catalogue," said Mrs. Rachel severely.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne's House of Dreams (Anne of Green Gables series #5))
Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped
L.M. Montgomery (The Anne of Green Gables Collection (Anne of Green Gables, #1-3, 5, 7-8))
Tiger kidnap,’ Green
Rachel Abbott (Stranger Child (DCI Tom Douglas, #4))
My name is Logan Ryan, but everyone calls me Kash,” I said, and she laughed softly. “I was born and raised in Tampa Bay, Florida, and for almost four and a half years now I’ve worked in law enforcement. I’ll be twenty-six soon and don’t have any siblings. I’ll do just about anything for pancakes and green Sour Patch Kids.” She smiled and I stroked her jaw with my thumb. “And I will do anything to make sure I never lose you again.” “My name is Rachel Lynn Masters, I’m twenty-one, and I’m from Yorba Linda, California . . . formerly known as far West Texas.” She winked and wiggled closer to me. For a few moments she just looked at me before taking a big breath and laying the rest of it out there. “I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life, but I know that whatever it is, I want to do it with you.
Molly McAdams (Forgiving Lies (Forgiving Lies, #1))
We’re from far West Texas.” I let that linger for a moment before turning and shooting him a grin. “Otherwise known as California.” “Smart-ass.” He smiled wide and I forced my eyes back on the road. Oh Lord, that smile was perfect. “Let me guess. College?” “Yep.” “Isn’t it summer? Wouldn’t you want to go home during vacation?” “Uh, yeah. It is . . . but Candice has a cheer camp for elementary-school girls she’s working at this summer. And where Candice goes, I go.” He huffed softly and looked back at Candice and Mason. “Cheerleader. Yeah, I’d already kinda pegged her as one; she looks like it.” At barely over five feet, with bleached blond hair, bright green eyes, and an ever-present smile and bounce in her step, yeah, she definitely looked like it. “So you’re a cheerleader too?” “Ha! Um, no. Definitely not.” Candice usually had to drag me to games and was always getting on me about my lack of enthusiasm for sports. Not my fault they reminded me of my dad. I would always sit on the couch with him while he watched whatever games were playing. He’d taught me everything there was to know about each sport, and watching them now, I could still hear him calling out fouls, flags, and strikes before the refs or umps did it themselves. “So . . .” Kash drew out the word and turned his body so his back was against the door and he was facing me. “So, what?” “You’re not a cheerleader; what are you?” For such an innocent question, it hit me deep. I felt like I was walking around lost half the time, and the other half I was just following Candice to be near someone I considered family so I wouldn’t break down. I’d only majored in athletic training because it was close to Candice’s major. I didn’t want to do anything with it when I graduated—to be honest, I had no idea what I wanted to do when I graduated. I didn’t know who I was, let alone who, and what, I wanted to be. “I’m just Rachel,” I finally answered, and flickered a glance toward Kash to see his brow furrow as he studied me. We
Molly McAdams (Forgiving Lies (Forgiving Lies, #1))
A smile tugged at my lips as I took in Rachel wrapped up in the comforter like a burrito, Kleenex everywhere, a half-empty Gatorade bottle on the floor next to the couch, and an empty box of Sour Patch Kids on the table next to the cold and allergy medicine. I brushed the back of my hand against her forehead, making sure she hadn’t gotten a fever since I’d left her, and she rolled toward me on a groan. “Rach, wake up,” I whispered close to her ear, and let my fingers trail down her cheek. She grumbled again as her eyes slowly cracked open. “Time is it?” “Almost five. You hungry?” Shaking her head, she closed her eyes again. Laughing softly, I kissed her forehead and spoke against it. “It’s probably because you ate the green ones when I told you not to.” Her body went rigid for all of three seconds before she began burrowing herself deeper into the comforter and away from me. My next laugh was louder. “Take some more medicine, and go take a hot shower; the steam will help. I’ll make you soup for when you get out.” As
Molly McAdams (Forgiving Lies (Forgiving Lies, #1))
dinner guests. Lorena Lim and Carol Tai shook Rachel’s hand, while Daisy Foo embraced Nick. (It did not escape Rachel that Daisy was the first person who had hugged him all night.) “Aiyah, Nicky, why have you been hiding your beautiful girlfriend for so long?” Daisy said, greeting Rachel with an effusive hug as well. Before Rachel could respond, she felt someone grabbing her arm. She looked down at the bing-cherry-size ruby ring and long red manicured claws before looking up in shock at a woman with teal-green eye shadow and rouge painted heavier than a drag queen’s. “Rachel, I’m Nadine,” the woman said. “I’ve heard so much about you from my daughter.” “Really? Who’s your daughter?” Rachel asked politely. Just then, she
Kevin Kwan (Crazy Rich Asians (Crazy Rich Asians, #1))
I wasn't born in this universe. I was blown off a star on a blustery day and buffered my landing by stuffing clouds into my clothes before plopping into a vat of freshly puffed marshmallows ten miles east of Kathmandu. The marshmallows were undeniably springy and I bounced back up 1,700 miles before sliding down a rainbow into Lake Michigan. I stripped the color of a rainbow that day, and you can still see the violet, yellow, red, and green stripes on the bottoms of my feet. -Rachel Hutcheson
Rachel Hutcheson
If I died in a freak accident while hurrying through Shibuya's notorious "scramble" intersection, where thousands of pedestrians crossed from all directions at once when the WALK light shifted to green, I hoped whoever performed my funeral service would know I died satisfied. Shibuya felt like being in the center of the vertical world, with tall buildings flashing advertisements, neon lights, and level after level of stores and restaurants visible through glass windows. So many people, so hurried, so much to look at and experience. Fashionista women wearing skinny pants with stiletto pumps riding bikes down crowded sidewalks. Harajuku girls with pink hair and crazy outfits. Loud izakaya bars where men's conversations and laughter spilled onto the street, and women walking by wearing kimonos with white socks tucked into flip-flops. Young people strutting around dressed in kosupure ("cosplay," Nik translated) outfits from their favorite anime, like it was Halloween every day here. TOO MUCH FUN. I didn't want to die, but if I did, I would tell the souls I met in the afterlife: Don't feel bad about my premature end. I saw it all in my short time down in the upworld of Tokyo.
Rachel Cohn (My Almost Flawless Tokyo Dream Life)
Alex picked up his fork and knife and cut a piece of scallop, then forked it into his mouth with a stack of greens. The seafood was indeed perfectly cooked, tender and sweet and juicy, and the slight tang of the dressing complemented the mild flavors of the scallop. "What's in the dressing?" he asked. A crafty smile formed on her lips, a sparkle in her eye. "The dreaded fennel." "That's fennel? I like it. It's not all that licorice-y." "Not in these concentrations." Rachel took a bite, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she considered. "I like this one. Simple. Tastes like summer to me. But it's too..." "Common?" "That's exactly it." "I don't know. I like the scallops. They're perfect. Maybe with some sort of starch. Not as light." Rachel took another bite. "Puree. Artichoke maybe, with wild mushrooms.
Carla Laureano (The Saturday Night Supper Club (The Supper Club, #1))
We didn’t make it far before being ushered aside. Only now did I realize that a line of what I guessed to be some sort of welcoming committee from the island stood posted beside each aircraft. They wore uniforms similar to those of our instructors during the trials—green t-shirts and cargo pants. Each with bronzed skin, a courtesy of the abundance of sun here, and dark, silky hair. It went without saying that we were having our first, official encounter with the inhabitants of Sanluuk—a beautiful tribe with a brigade of formidable dragon warriors.
Rachel Jonas (First Term (Dragon Fire Academy #1))
Dear Miss Know-It-All, I worked really hard to make the eighth-grade cheerleading team this year, but the other cheerleaders treat me like I don’t belong. I never get to do much cheering or dancing like they do. The only time the team captain needs me is when we do the human pyramid, and she always puts me at the bottom! I have to hold the most people on my back, which is totally excruciating, and if I lose my balance, the whole pyramid collapses and everyone bullies me about it! I’m tired of those girls walking all over me. Literally! I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of treatment, but it’s pretty obvious they all hate my guts. ! I’m majorly frustrated! I don’t know if I should quit the team, confront my teammates, or just keep quiet so I don’t make things worse. I really don’t want to give up my dream of making varsity! What would you do?? —Cheerless Cheerleader * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Dear Cheerless Cheerleader, Hon . . . I think you’re kidding yourself if you think you made the cheerleading team based on your awesome moves. My reliable source on the team told me your tryout routine was HOR-REN-DOUS. She said she couldn’t tell if you were trying to dance or going into convulsions! Your backflips were BACKFLOPS, your cartwheels were FLAT TIRES, and your dismount was totally DISGUSTING! Get the picture? You were chosen for one reason, and one reason alone—you look like a sturdy ogre who can carry a lot of weight! It’s been a long tradition for cheerleading captains to hand-pick strong, ugly girls for the bottom of the pyramid. Didn’t you know that?? Quit taking everything so personally! Just accept that the bottom is where you belong, sweetie! You should hold your green, Shrek-looking head high that someone actually wants you for something. Bet that doesn’t happen often! Yay you! Sincerely, Miss Know-It-All P.S. My source wants you to stop dancing. She says you’re giving the squad NIGHT TERRORS!
Rachel Renée Russell (Dork Diaries: Drama Queen)
town this time of year and he NEVER visits; if he'd run out of turnip seed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy to go for more; he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor. Yet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I'm clean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know a minute's peace of mind or conscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea today." Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, as shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods when he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible from the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so sociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place LIVING at all. "It's just STAYING, that's what," she said as she stepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables)
Kore stood amidst the the sheaves of barley to wave Demeter over, then crouched again and poked her finger into the soil. Dark green leaves shot out in every direction, and she circled her wrist upward, raising a stalk out of the earth. She stood slowly. The plant crept toward her hand. Kore splayed her fingers wide and a purple blossom sprang from the thorny stalk. "Oh, Kore, if you grow a thistle in the barley field, someone might prick their finger." "Wait," Kore said, smiling. "Just watch." A fiery copper butterfly fluttered on the warm breeze and alighted on the blossom. Demeter smiled. "You see? I saw her wandering in the barley and made her a home. You don't mind, do you?" "My sweet, clever girl, of course I don't." Demeter hugged Kore. The butterfly folded its wings, fed and content. "My thistle won't interfere with the harvest, will it?" Kore knit her brows. "Not in the slightest." The butterfly spread its wings, sunlight catching them as they fanned. "I don't think she will be alone for long. Surely a good mate will come looking for her.
Rachel Alexander (Receiver of Many (Hades & Persephone, #1))
The thing about songwriting,” John Dogg was saying to someone, “is that you can address things obliquely, but no matter. You can’t get away from the content that is the essence of the form. All songs are about unrequited love.” “Except ‘Green Onions,’ ” Ronnie said. “Which isn’t about love at all.
Rachel Kushner (The Flamethrowers)
Friends call me Brie. You may call me Ms. Stewart.” “Stewart? Not Prime?” She shrugged. “I legally changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name.” “Like Prime Petroleum changed to Prime Energy a dozen years ago? Obvious and unconvincing greenwashing.” “I wasn’t greenwashing, I simply no longer wished to be associated with Prime Energy, and the decision to change my last name sent a clear message to Jeffrey Senior.
Rachel Grant (Catalyst (Flashpoint #2))
I’m an aid worker. I’ve been helping South Sudanese people who’ve returned to their villages after being displaced by the civil war prepare for the rainy season, which, by all accounts, is going to suck elephant dicks this year.
Rachel Grant (Catalyst (Flashpoint #2))
Ten years ago, I attended a community meeting for an oil pipeline proposal PE was ramming through the environmental impact process in eastern Washington. I sat in the front row as you defended PE’s plan to destroy an important Traditional Cultural Property to build a pipeline that would bisect the state from the Canadian border to the Columbia River. You had no respect for the sovereignty of tribes over the land. Your plan lacked even basic environmental protection for air and water, but you defended it because you didn’t give a fuck about air Indians breathe or water Indians drink.
Rachel Grant (Catalyst (Flashpoint #2))
I look worse than I did the night you met me.” “I thought you looked fine.” I rolled my head to the side, so I could see him. Hoping the shadows made it so he couldn’t see me. “What are you talking about? I looked like a Cirque de Soleil performer.” “What are you talking about?” “The black dots around my eyes?” He shook his head. “I’m lost.” “You were staring--” “Oh, yeah.” He gazed through the windshield. “Sorry about that. I’ve just never seen eyes as green as yours. I was trying to figure out if you wore contacts.” “You were looking at my eyes?” “Yeah.” “Not the makeup.” He turned his attention back to me. “I didn’t realize you were wearing any. That night, anyway. Tonight it’s pretty obvious.” “Oh.” Didn’t I feel silly? “I thought--” I shook my head. “Never mind.” On second thought… “You don’t like all the makeup?” “I just don’t think you need it. I mean, you look pretty without it.” Oh, really? That was totally unexpected.
Rachel Hawthorne (The Boyfriend League)
Crows lined the crumbling and contaminated road that led to Stonewall. As Rachel Wheeler approached, they lifted one by one against the hazy October sky. A muted lime-green aurora shimmered behind the clouds as if the black birds were swimming against a frothy tide. The hardwood trees on the surrounding Appalachian slopes were gone to gold and scarlet, and the strange light hinted at the gray winter waiting ahead. One of the crows turned, and its eyes flashed with fire. A blood-chilling caw cracked the brittle air. Rachel slid her machete from its canvas sheath, but the crow veered wildly and then rejoined the broken formation heading south toward the distant city of mutants.
Scott Nicholson (Afterburn (Next, #1))
The doorbell rang. Mo’s head whipped back so fast I thought she might break her neck. She looked like she was trying to x-ray the ceiling, which was a little intense even for Mo. Finally, for the first time since the show started, she looked straight at me. “Are you going to get that?” Her jaw looked tight. “Jonathan can. Or my dad, if it breaks through his office door to his brain.” “You should.” “Why?” I frowned at her. “Kyle might be on again.” Yes, I was that pathetic. “Your dad’s working, right? You should get the door.” “Who cares? It’s probably evangelists trying to un-Jew my family or something.” “RACH-el.” Monique fixed me with her green eyes. “Get the door. Trust me.” “All right.” Jesus, what in the actual hell was going on? I could hear Monique trailing behind me as I padded up the basement stairs, but I didn’t turn to look at her. She might hiss, and besides, now I was nervous. If I tried to look backward while walking upward, I’d probably get vertigo and fall and bleed out slowly while Monique tried to drag my body to answer the door. “I don’t know why you’re coming, Mo,” I called back. “Whoever it is doesn’t need your input, I promise.
Jilly Gagnon (#famous)
Abbey's work inspired a quickly maturing environmental movement and threw some dynamite on Rachel Carson's fire. As he later wrote, 'Sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul.
Will Potter (Green Is the New Red: An Insider's Account of a Social Movement Under Siege)
Hell! His beard grows fast as blazes, like a damp wicket in springtime sun, green, and Rachel's skin is so fine, his bristles can score her red the way a new ball marks a bat, English alum on English unbleached willow, finest quality, special selection, Rachel-grade. Zach, my man, you have cricket on the brain! Thomas has asked him to play on Sunday. Bring Rachel, he said. Thomas 'All Souls' Aubry, gentleman, corinthian at heart, and half French yet more English than a true-born.
Emma Richler (Be My Wolff)
I look just like one of Brianna’s UGLY finger paintings. Because now I’m completely covered with: 1. brown peanut-butter stains 2. purple jelly stains 3. white soap suds AND 4. bright fluorescent-green hand soap from the girls’ bathroom.
Rachel Renée Russell (Dork Diaries: Once Upon a Dork)
Then I had a continental breakfast with freshly squeezed orange juice, half a bagel with goat cheese, and a green smoothie, all served on a silver tray by my maid, Olga, right in my bedroom.
Rachel Renée Russell (Tales from a Not-So-Happily Ever After! (Dork Diaries, #8))
Kash— If you’ve found this, and I’m with you, then you know that I love you, and let me take this time to remind you that I will love you with everything that I am for the rest of our lives. I hope that by now I’m getting tired of hearing the name Sour Patch again, but, please, don’t ever stop calling me that. No matter how much I say I hate it, it reminds me of when we first met, and I love those memories. I hope we’re already fighting again. Couples are afraid to fight with each other, but fighting with you is one of the things I miss the most. You drive me crazy, and I know you push my buttons on purpose, but you also don’t put up with my bullshit, and that’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. Knowing you, I’m probably making you pancakes as you read this. And I guarantee you I’m already tired of those, but I’ll continue to make them as long as I can continue eating your green Sour Patch Kids. But . . . if you’re finding this, and I’m gone, please know that I loved you fiercely up until the very end. I know you did everything to try and find me, don’t blame yourself for any of this, because I don’t blame you. Take care of Trip, and take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid to fall in love again, I can’t stand to think of you spending the rest of your life alone. Love her as much as you’ve loved me, and I pray the woman knows how lucky she is to have a man like you by her side. . . . I know you, Kash; you come in and save the day at the last minute . . . so I’ll be here, waiting for you at the “last minute.” But no matter what happens, Logan Kash Ryan, you’re still my hero. I love you. Always. —Rachel
Molly McAdams (Deceiving Lies (Forgiving Lies, #2))
She had taken Shirley with her to her brother's home during his parents' absence, while all the other children had gone to Avonlea, and she had three blessed months of him all to herself. Nevertheless, Susan was very glad to find herself back at Ingleside, with all her darlings around her again. Ingleside was her world and in it she reigned supreme. Even Anne seldom questioned her decisions, much to the disgust of Mrs. Rachel Lynde of Green Gables, who gloomily told Anne, whenever she visited Four Winds, that she was letting Susan get to be entirely too much of a boss and would live to rue it. "Here is Cornelia Bryant coming up the harbour road, Mrs.
L.M. Montgomery (Rainbow Valley (Anne of Green Gables #7))
Still, people would notice a man with a green head. I guess I should get you a wig.” “Good. I think I’ll try a different colour every night.
Rachel Ingalls (Mrs. Caliban)
She looked over to where he was, seated at the other end of the kitchen table in the light which, since his arrival, she had blocked by curtains because of his sensitive eyes. He concentrated on polishing spoons with a silver cloth: six teaspoons from a great-aunt. One leg was slung over the other, which would have looked strange enough, but he was also wearing a flowered apron fastened around his waist, and it contrasted stunningly with his large, muscular green body, his nobly massive head. Dorothy thought he looked, as always, wonderful.
Rachel Ingalls (Mrs. Caliban)
The female diver continued to peel off the wet suit. Was Sam the only one who noticed? "And, Rachel, I don't believe you've met Sam." "No. No, I haven't. But I've heard great things about him." The diver flashed a million-watt smile as she slipped out of the wet suit. The conservative black maillot swimsuit beneath wasn't worth a damn at hiding what the wet suit had covered up. Sam's throat went dry and there was a humming sound behind his ears. Venus had risen from the sea, not in a shell, but in neon yellow and black neoprene. Green eyes seemed to assess him, as he stepped forward to take the hand she offered. Winter and the photographer faded away entirely. Please, please, please, he silently begged, don't be Winter's wife.
Mariah Stewart (Priceless)
Mrs. Rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thought in exclamation points. A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all people adopting a boy! From an orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainly turning upside down! She would be surprised at nothing after this! Nothing!
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables)
! I’m majorly frustrated! I don’t know if I should quit the team, confront my teammates, or just keep quiet so I don’t make things worse. I really don’t want to give up my dream of making varsity! What would you do?? —Cheerless Cheerleader * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Dear Cheerless Cheerleader, Hon . . . I think you’re kidding yourself if you think you made the cheerleading team based on your awesome moves. My reliable source on the team told me your tryout routine was HOR-REN-DOUS. She said she couldn’t tell if you were trying to dance or going into convulsions! Your backflips were BACKFLOPS, your cartwheels were FLAT TIRES, and your dismount was totally DISGUSTING! Get the picture? You were chosen for one reason, and one reason alone—you look like a sturdy ogre who can carry a lot of weight! It’s been a long tradition for cheerleading captains to hand-pick strong, ugly girls for the bottom of the pyramid. Didn’t you know that?? Quit taking everything so personally! Just accept that the bottom is where you belong, sweetie! You should hold your green, Shrek-looking head high that someone actually wants you for something. Bet that doesn’t happen often! Yay you! Sincerely, Miss Know-It-All P.S. My source wants you to stop dancing. She says you’re giving the squad NIGHT TERRORS! * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rachel Renée Russell (Tales from a Not-So-Happily Ever After! (Dork Diaries, #8))
Rachel will be left pretty lonely if anything happens to him, with all her children settled out west, except Eliza in town; and she doesn't like her husband." Marilla's pronouns slandered Eliza, who was very fond of her husband.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables Gold Collection)
Thomas Lynde--a meek little man whom Avonlea people called "Rachel Lynde's husband"--was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field beyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert out to have been sowing his on the big red brook field away over by Green Gables.
L.M. Montgomery
I inspect the notebook of CDs laying on the floor. There’s the usual suspects in there, Green Day and The Clash and The Smiths, yeah, but there’s also Ella and Frank, even Dino, some Curtis Mayfield and Minor Threat and Dusty Springfield and Belle & Sebastian,
Rachel Cohn (Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist)
A weathered cork sat inside the box lined with green velvet. It had turned a darker brown and was a little shriveled, but the name Moet & Chandon was still clearly visible. Vivien reached inside and pulled out her mother's cork. The one she'd searched for in the bed of red impatiens. To anyone else, it was nothing. Just a weathered piece of nothing. To Vivien, it was everything.
Rachel Gibson (Just Kiss Me)
He ladled the borscht into bowls and topped each with a dollop of sour cream and a sprig of fresh dill- very attractive, Rachel thought, both the presentation and the look of concentration on his ridiculously handsome face. That thought made her struggle to hold back her smile as he brought the bowls to the table. The meat had been arranged on the platter in an elegant swoop of mushroom sauce with more drizzled over the top. He'd gone to some trouble to think it through and make it restaurant-worthy. The fact he'd given it so much effort only put more weight behind her smile. He swept his hand toward the table and pulled her chair out for her. "Shall we eat then?" "This looks amazing." She was rewarded with a pleased smile from him. It was amazing, actually, especially considering he claimed he didn't cook. The borscht held just the right amount of sweetness, the beets tender but still fresh and bright, finely diced pork giving it further flavor. The dumplings, colored green from the spinach in the dough, were tender with a delicious filling.
Carla Laureano (The Saturday Night Supper Club (The Supper Club, #1))
Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they were there'd be enough of them.
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables (Anne of Green Gables, #1))
I got up at exactly 6:15 a.m., showered, and did ten minutes of yoga. Then I had a continental breakfast with freshly squeezed orange juice, half a bagel with goat cheese, and a green smoothie, all
Rachel Renée Russell (Tales from a Not-So-Happily Ever After! (Dork Diaries, #8))
IT HAD NEVER been such a beautiful May. Every day the sky shone a peerless blue, untouched by cloud. Already, the gardens were crammed with lupins, roses, delphiniums, honeysuckle, and lime clouds of lady’s mantle. Insects cricked, hovered, bumbled, and whizzed. Harold passed fields of buttercups, poppies, ox-eye daisies, clover, vetch, and campion. The hedgerows were sweetly scented with bowing heads of elderflower, and wound through with wild clematis, hops, and dog roses. The allotments too were burgeoning. There were rows of lettuce, spinach, chard, beetroot, early new potatoes, and wigwams of peas. The first of the gooseberries hung like hairy green pods.
Rachel Joyce (The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Harold Fry, #1))
Cameron Edmunds’ wife hadn’t been far wrong when she said she thought Jagger might live in a cave. It was actually a cottage, which could have been quite beautiful if the woods surrounding it hadn’t been allowed to encroach on the garden and shroud the building in darkness. The walls and paintwork were stained with green mould through lack of light, and the windows were thick with years of grime. There were old net curtains at the windows, grey with age. There was a dead feel to the place. No vehicle was parked on the weed-covered drive, but that made sense as they had found Jagger’s car in central Manchester. As Tom and Keith got out of the car, the silence struck both of them. The trees masked the sound of nearby roads and Tom would have expected birdsong. And yet there was none. Both men closed their car doors quietly and walked softly up the path to the front door, looking around almost as if they were expecting someone or something to appear from the dense undergrowth.
Rachel Abbott (The Shape of Lies (DCI Tom Douglas, #8))
She returned to the deck to watch the sun set until only a segment was left above the horizon, followed by the smallest clipping, and then, just as it disappeared altogether, the sky gave an explosion of green, like a blazing emerald. It came and went. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it.
Rachel Joyce (Miss Benson's Beetle)
The scent of the steaming broth was exquisite. The bowl teemed with thick, fresh noodles, tender meat, a soft-boiled egg and green onion garnishes floating at the top. We sat down and clinked Coke bottles. "Kanpai," said Uncle Masa. "What's that mean?" "Cheers." I took my first spoonfuls. Cheers was right. "OH MY GOD!" I exclaimed. Uncle Masa misinterpreted my outburst. "Too spicy for you?" "Hardly! I can't believe how flavorful the broth is. And these noodles are so fresh. I've never had noodles so good.
Rachel Cohn (My Almost Flawless Tokyo Dream Life)