Rash Ride Quotes

In movies, people always “borrow” cars by yanking some wires out from under the dash and connecting them. But the real way it works involves a screwdriver and the starter thingy, under the hood. My personal ethics prevent me from giving you more information. That’d be just what I need: a rash of car thefts across America, committed by dedicated readers.

In three days, as the King had said, Éomer of Rohan came riding to the City, and with him came an éored of the fairest knights of the Mark. He was welcomed; and when they sat all at table in Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts, he beheld the beauty of the ladies that he saw and was filled with great wonder. And before he went to his rest he sent for Gimli the Dwarf, and he said to him: ‘Gimli Glóin’s son, have you your axe ready?’ ‘Nay, lord,’ said Gimli, ‘but I can speedily fetch it, if there be need.’ ‘You shall judge,’ said Éomer. ‘For there are certain rash words concerning the Lady in the Golden Wood that lie still between us. And now I have seen her with my eyes.’ ‘Well, lord,’ said Gimli, ‘and what say you now?’ ‘Alas!’ said Éomer. ‘I will not say that she is the fairest lady that lives.’ ‘Then I must go for my axe,’ said Gimli. ‘But first I will plead this excuse,’ said Éomer. ‘Had I seen her in other company, I would have said all that you could wish. But now I will put Queen Arwen Evenstar first, and I am ready to do battle on my own part with any who deny me. Shall I call for my sword?’ Then Gimli bowed low. ‘Nay, you are excused for my part, lord,’ he said. ‘You have chosen the Evening; but my love is given to the Morning. And my heart forebodes that soon it will pass away for ever.

He is a slave.” “He is a man, as I am.” Kestrel slipped from her saddle, stood face-to-face with Ronan, and lied. “He is nothing to me.” Ronan’s anger dimmed a little. He waited, listening. “I never should have challenged Irex.” Kestrel decided to weave some truth into her story, to toughen the fabric of it. “But he and I have an unfriendly history. He made me an offer last spring. I turned him down. Since then, he has been…aggressive.” She had Ronan’s sympathy then, and she was grateful, for she didn’t know what she would do if he and Jess turned their backs on her. She needed them--not only today, but always. “Irex angered me. The slave was just an excuse.” How much easier everything would be if that were so. But Kestrel wouldn’t let herself consider the truth. She didn’t want to know its shape or see its face. “I was thoughtless and rash, but I’ve drawn my tiles and must play them. Will you help me, Ronan? Will you do as I asked in my letter?” “Yes.” He still looked unhappy. “Though as far as I can see, there is little for me to do but stand and watch you fight.” “And Jess? Will she be at the duel?” “Yes, as soon as she is done weeping her eyes out. What a fright you’ve given us, Kestrel.” Kestrel opened a saddlebag and passed Ronan the purse with the death-price. He took it, recognizing it by its weight and the fact that her letter had told him to expect it. Softly, he said, “You frightened me.” She embraced him, stepping into his arms. They relaxed around her. His chin rested on top of her head, and she felt his forgiveness. She tried to push away thoughts of Arin on the auction block, of the look in his eyes when he asked where his honor was, of him swearing at her guards in his tongue. She held Ronan more tightly, pressing her cheek against his chest. Ronan sighed. “I’ll ride with you to Irex’s house,” he said, “and see you safely home after you’ve won.

rash riding is not my hobby am just trying kill my self..

In three days, as the King had said, Éomer of Rohan came riding to the City, and with him came an éored of the fairest knights of the Mark. He was welcomed; and when they sat all at table in Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts, he beheld the beauty of the ladies that he saw and was filled with great wonder. And before he went to his rest he sent for Gimli the Dwarf, and he said to him: “Gimli Glóin’s son, have you your axe ready?” “Nay, lord,” said Gimli,”but I can speedily fetch it, if there be need.” “You shall judge,” said Éomer. “For there are certain rash words concerning the Lady in the Golden Wood that lie still between us. And now I have seen her with my eyes.” “Well, lord,” said Gimli, “and what say you now?” “Alas!” said Éomer. “I will not say that she is the fairest lady that lives.” “Then I must go for my axe,” said Gimli. “But first I will plead this excuse,” said Éomer. “had I seen her in other company, I would have said all that you could wish. But now I will put Queen Arwen Evenstar first, and I am ready to do battle on my own part with any who deny me. Shall I call for my sword?” Then Gimli bowed low. “Nay, you are excused for my part, lord,” he said. “You have chosen the Evening; but my love is given to the Morning. and my heart forebodes that soon it will pass away for ever.

If you flee, this Comanche will follow you. Anyone who tries to keep you from me will die. Think long and hard on this. I paid a fine bride price. You are my woman. What is mine, I keep.” “You wouldn’t!” She said with a gasp. “My family, Hunter?” The stunned disbelief that crossed her face nearly made Hunter retract the threat, but he knew if he did, she would run at the first opportunity. If she feared for her loved ones, she would be less likely to do something rash. Her eyes turned hard and glassy. Raising her chin, she met his gaze with contemptuous disdain. “But of course you would, wouldn’t you? All you care about is keeping what belongs to you. In this case, me. Bought and paid for, your tosi woman! No better than a horse.” “You are mine. I have spilled my seed within you. Run from me, and I will beat you until you wail and weep. It is a promise I make for you.” “You know what my problem has been, Hunter? I have seen only what I wanted to see.” She flung her arm toward his scalp pole again. “The evidence has always been here, but I made excuses for you and saw you the way I wanted you to be. Somehow, I told myself you cared about me, not as a possession, but as a person! And in doing so I forgot one major fact. You’re a Comanche, first, last, and always. A murdering heathen! Aunt Rachel was right.” He stepped across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her. “If you think I’m going to lie there beside you now, you’re crazy,” she informed him in a tremulous voice. “I am sure enough one crazy Comanche,” he replied. “You will lie beside me. This night and for always. You cannot run. If you do, death will ride beside you, wherever you go.

Huxley: Ask me a question, we’ve been too quiet on this ride. Lottie: Uh . . . what did you have for breakfast? Huxley: Jesus Christ. Out loud. Ask me a question out loud. “Oh,” I say quietly and then chuckle. Facing Huxley, I ask, “How’s your rash doing?” His eyes narrow and I have to hold back the straight-up outburst of laughter that threatens to slip past my lips. “Rash is fine,” he answers through clenched teeth. “But now that you bring it up, is your yeast infection improving?

Away deep in the aim to study himself in the school of the land his ancestors' gravestones flowered, Rip planned to burn his oil on the journey for growth by the hike, the thumb, the hitch, the rod, the freight, the rail, and he x'd New York on a map and pencilled his way to and into and through and under and up and between and over and across states and capitals and counties and cities and towns and villages and valleys and plains and plateaus and prairies and mountains and hills and rivers and roadways and railways and waterways and deserts and islands and reservations and titanic parks and shores and, ocean across to ocean and great lakes down to gulfs, Rip beheld the west and the east and the north and the south of the Brobdingnagian and, God and Christ and Man, it was a pretty damn good grand big fat rash crass cold hot pure mighty lovely ugly hushed dark lonely loud lusty bitchy tender crazy cruel gentle raw sore dear deep history-proud precious place to see, and he sure would, he thought, make the try to see it and smell it and walk and ride and stop and talk and listen in it and go on in it and try to find and feel and hold and know the beliefs in it and the temper and the talents in it and the omens and joys and hopes and frights and lies and laughs and truths and griefs and glows and gifts and glories and glooms and wastes and profits and the pulse and pitch and the music and the magic and the dreams and facts and the action and the score and the scope and span of the mind and the heart and spine and logic and ego and spirit in the soul and the goal of it.

Inside the Galleria it was dark and dank, with fountains and foliage unchanged from the 1980s. I instantly knew it—an old friend—despite having never stepped foot inside, and the loneliness that had been haunting me all day lifted in an instant. Even though I was two thousand miles from it, I was home. I had just moved from Philly, and I didn’t know a soul. My new life was feeling so empty, I needed cheap stuff to fill it up, and there was something particularly alluring that drew me to the Galleria that day—a store I had heard about that was becoming ubiquitous in Los Angeles, popping up faster than a rash of Starbucks in the cityscape. It was a fast-fashion empire to rule them all—pitch-perfect knockoffs of designer styles on an endlessly rotating trend carousel that changed out daily. If you couldn’t afford a Murakami Louis Vuitton monogram bag or the Miu Miu pleated micro mini, you could pacify yourself with their bogus cousins for a fraction of the price, and not feel bad tossing them when the trends shifted in a month or two. I spotted the store’s golden logo overhead. Forever 21. The name alone was pure poetry written in the California sand. Forever 21—like the spirit of a roller-skating bikini girl riding into the Venice Beach dusk. Forever 21—like Madonna, like Angelyne—faces and bodies sculpted into youthful approximations of their aging corporal forms. Forever 21—the true spirit of Los Angeles. I felt it enter me, I was possessed.