Reba Quotes

To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone and a funnybone.

Parents had some kind of sin radar, Claire thought. They always called when you were in the middle of something you just knew they'd consider wrong. Or at least risky.

Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking. Loving might be a mistake. but its worth making

Make sure you're always giving, way more than you're taking

And I knew Nick’s love for Auntie Reba. He loved her in a way that was indescribable. It wasn’t like she walked on water or was the earth and moon and stars. It was different. It was breath. It was necessity.

For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness.

To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone and a funnybone.”—Reba McEntire

Anything worth doing, is worth doing all the way. Just know you'll have to live with all the choices that you make.

If I'm not the one thing you can't stand to lose, If I'm not that arrow to the heart of you, If you don't get drunk on my kiss, If you think you can do better than this then I guess we're done. Let's not drag this on, Consider me gone...

Watch what you say and do because little eyes are watching you.

You're home. See, Auntie Reba said home isn't a place, home is anywhere just as long as the people you love are there.

when life gives you lemons. Make yourself a screwdriver

On the radio, turned low, Reba sang of hard times with the full authority of a cross-eyed redheaded millionaire.

In life, as in knitting, don't leave loose ends. Take the time to thank the people who matter in your life.

How was I to know that I'd be ok? I thought I'd lose it all when you walked away. How was I to know that I'd be this strong? I had what it takes all along. How was I to know?

With Reba, his only living woman, held with her in this one bubbleskin of time, he felt for the first time that it was all right: It was his life he was releasing, himself past all mortality that he was sending into her starry darkness, away from this pain planet, ringing harmonic distances away to peace and the promise of rest.

Thou shalt not whine' should be the eleventh commandment.

I've never really done this. Now I know what scared is.

Well, we can get started now,” Daz said in a dry tone as he gave me a displeased look for my tardiness. “As always, we’ll begin with an update on our females. My Fra-kee is very round. I told her that, and she didn’t speak to me for half of a rotation, so I suggest to the rest of you with pregnant mates not to call them round.” “Noted,” Ward said solemnly. “Reba cries a lot.

The doing and the daring are the magic keys to unlocking the treasure chest.

Religion is simply a tool to put God's love into words and symbols. Doctrine is only useful to the extent it enhances your understanding of that love. God doesn't care about your religion. He cares about your heart.

Why don't you try something really different and be the same person two days in a row?

but Reba taught me to be grateful no matter what. I looked up at the blue sky.

To succeed in life, you need three things: A Wishbone, A Back Bone, and a Funny Bone.

Love is easy; it's when you actually like someone that it gets difficult. Putting up with their odd idiosyncrasies. They way they suck their teeth after dinner, say, or the way they change perfectly good lightbulbs. It's when you like somebody despite the fact that they have every season of Reba on DVD - that you know it's something special. It's about liking someone in spite of the gaping flaws in their personality...

This is why being broken is so beautiful: being broken means you have cracks for love and light to shine through, gaps for the Godiverse to burrow and bloom, space to move from who you are to who you will become.

It is not my job to convince this man, or anyone for that matter, of anything. My only job is to walk my path.

To thrive in life you need three bones. A wishbone. A backbone. And a funny bone.

Courage is just dreams with shoes on.

You have to let go of what you know to find out what you believe.

I’ve never been fooled by the romantic, grand gestures. Love is all about the little things, the everyday considerations, kindnesses, and pardons.” Reba

Oh, Reba, I can’t stand to watch you burn.

Make your life a prayer. Live your mediation.

Post-Traumatic Church Syndrome is an opportunity to fight your way to the stronger person you will become.

We may not recognize it,” the Urban Monk said, looking straight at me. “But the moment we ask the question is the moment the miracle happens. The answer comes with the question, the miracle with the asking.

The impact on your garment of good finishing versus bad finishing can mean the difference between Ann’s definitions of handmade and homemade. One — handmade (skilled craftsmanship)  — is to be treasured; the other — homemade (uneven execution) — is not up to snuff in Ann’s book.   “Handmade is not homemade. Do it right and wear it with pride!

I’m Nancy Wilson. I’m with a band called Heart. We, uh, we’re from Seattle.” There was no recognition on these guys' faces. I might as well have told them we were the Von Trapps. But they had some pot. “Hey, little lady, want some?” one old guy asked. “Okay, if you insist, just a tiny bit,” I said. I hadn’t had pot for ages, and this was some mellow stuff, like sixties pot. It was exactly the right kind. Suddenly, I was loose and free. I went into the house, and there were a slew of guitars in the center of the room. Our road manager Bill Cracknell told me later that Tony Brown always wanted his parties to turn into jam sessions, but they rarely did. I’ve never seen a guitar I didn’t want to play. I picked one up, and started into Elton John’s “Country Comfort.” My pot-smoking friends joined in, and so did my sister. I started walking with the guitar, and gesturing to everyone to “come on.” Sheryl Crow grabbed a guitar; George Strait, too. Soon enough it was a superstar jam session with Vince Gill, Clint Black, Michelle Branch, Reba McIntire, and many more. I love hootenannies, but this was one of the best.

Usava uma camisola larga demais, de crepe cor-de-cereja, que surgia negra contra o lençol. Os cabelos soltos, agora penteados, pareciam negros. O rosto, pescoço e braços, sobre as cobertas, eram cinzentos. Depois que os outros saíram ela ficou durante algum tempo com a cabeça escondida sob o lençol. Assim continuou até ouvir fechar-se a porta, até se apagar o som dos passos que desciam a escada, da voz do médico que se exprimia com volubilidade, da respiração ofegante de Miss Reba. Sons que adquiriram, no sombrio saguão, a cor do luar, e desapareceram. Depois Temple pulou da cama e foi até a porta, fazendo correr o trinco. Voltou ao leito e cobriu-se, inclusive a cabeça, ali ficando encolhida até faltar-lhe o ar. Derradeiros reflexos cor-de-açafrão tingiam o teto e a parte das paredes onde viam-se as sombras de paliçada da avenida, que a oeste se erguia contra o céu. Ela viu-os desaparecer, consumidos pelos sucessivos bocejos da cortina. Viu também a última luz condensar-se na parte fronteira do relógio e o mostrador passar, no escuro, de orifício redondo a disco suspenso no nada, no primitivo caos, e mudar depois para bola de cristal que continha, na sua tranquila e misteriosa profundidade, o caos ordenado do mundo complicado e sombrio sobre cujos flancos, marcados de cicatrizes, as velhas feridas rolam vertiginosamente para a frente, mergulhando na escuridão onde se escondem novos desastres.

First came the flower girls, pretty little lasses in summery frocks, skipping down the aisle, tossing handfuls of petals and, in one case, the basket when it was empty. Next came the bridesmaids, Luna, strutting in her gown and heels, a challenging dare in her eyes that begged someone to make a remark about the girly getup she was forced to wear. Next came Reba and Zena, giggling and prancing, loving the attention. This time, Leo wasn’t thrown by Teena’s appearance, nor was he fooled. How could he have mistaken her for his Vex? While similar outwardly, Meena’s twin lacked the same confident grin, and the way she moved, with a delicate grace, did not resemble his bold woman at all. How unlike they seemed. Until Teena tripped, flailed her arms, and took out part of a row before she could recover! Yup, they were sisters all right. With a heavy sigh, and pink cheeks, Teena managed to walk the rest of the red carpet, high heels in hand— one of which seemed short a heel. With all the wedding party more or less safely arrived, there was only one person of import left. However, she didn’t walk alone. Despite his qualms, which Leo heard over the keg they’d shared the previous night, Peter appeared ready to give his daughter away. Ready, though, didn’t mean he looked happy about it. The seams of the suit his soon-to-be father-in-law wore strained, the rented tux not the best fit, but Leo doubted that was why he looked less than pleased. Leo figured there were two reasons for Peter’s grumpy countenance. The first was the fact that he had to give his little girl away. The second probably had to do with the snickers and the repetition of a certain rumor, “I hear he lost an arm-wrestling bet and had to wear a tie.” For those curious, Leo had won that wager, and thus did his new father-in-law wear the, “gods-damned-noose” around his neck. However, who cared about that sore loser when upon his arm rested a vision of beauty. Meena’s long hair tumbled in golden waves over her shoulders, the ends curled into fat ringlets that tickled her cleavage. At her temples, ivory combs swept the sides up and away, revealing the creamy line of her neck. The strapless gown made her appear as a goddess. The bust, tight and low cut, displayed her fantastic breasts so well that Leo found himself growling. He didn’t like the appreciative eyes in the crowd. Yet, at the same time, he felt a certain pride. His bride was beautiful, and it was only right she be admired. From her impressive breasts, the gown cinched in before flaring out. The filmy white fabric of the skirt billowed as she walked. He noted she wore flats. Reba’s suggestion so she wouldn’t get a heel stuck. Her gown didn’t quite touch the ground. Zena’s idea to ensure she wouldn’t trip on the hem. They’d taken all kinds of precautions to ensure her the smoothest chance of success. She might lack the feline grace of other ladies. She might have stumbled a time or two and been kept upright only by the smooth actions of her father, but dammit, in his eyes, she was the daintiest, most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. And she is mine.

All the great pillars of my life are crumbling. I must constantly remind myself that I am not the only grieving person in the world. And yet, the loss of Reba is a terrible cross to bear and I do not think I have the strength for it.

Never repaired, his glasses looked as if they'd been thrown at his face, dirty grayish lumps of Reba's sticking plaster holding the frames together in a tentative accord with the forces of gravity.

Well, we’re tough,” Leonard said. “Ain’t nobody tough enough in the end,” Reba said.

You need to run from your daddy's devil about twice as fast as I need to run from my daddy's version o' God.” Reba

To succeed in life you need three things; a wishbone, a backbone, and a funny bone.

The flip side of fear isn’t fearlessness. It’s curiosity. There’s no magic switch to make you unafraid, but curiosity has a way of pushing us past our fears to say yes to the things that could be good for us.

I learned that female professors and departmental secretaries are the natural enemies of the academic world, as I was privileged to overhear discussions of my sexual orientation and probable childhood traumas from ten to ten-thirty each morning through the paper-thin walls of the break room located adjacent to my office. By these means I learned that although I was in desperate need of a girdle, I was better off than one of the other female professors, who would never lose all that baby weight by working all of the time. As hard as I worked, I just couldn’t get ahead. Showers became a biweekly ritual. My breakfast and lunch were reduced to a couple of cans of Ensure from the cases that I kept under my desk, and in desperation, I once threw one of Reba’s Milk-Bones in my purse so that I could gum it during a seminar, trying to keep peoples’ attention off of what I knew would be my growling stomach. The acne that I had never wrestled with as a teenager decided to make up for lost time with a magnificent debut, and I passed the workday biting my nails with ferocity. My brief forays into romance had convinced me that I would be relegated to love’s bargain bin; none of the single guys that I met could understand why I worked all of the time, and nobody wanted to listen to me talk about plants for hours, anyway. Everything about my life looked pretty well messed up compared with how adulthood had always been advertised to me.

Now that’s love.”Jane laughed. “Man’s all aflutter trying to help his missus pull off a nice party for their kid.” She scribbled the name on a sheet of paper. “I’ve never been fooled by the romantic, grand gestures. Love is all about the little things, the everyday considerations, kindnesses, and pardons.” Reba

I understand, honey.” Jane took a seat at the café table and set her lavender cleaner on the ground. “This is a border town, for sure, a transient, crossover place, but some never get to crossing. Stuck in between where they were and where they were headed. And after a few years go by, nobody can recall their original destination anyhow. So here they stay.” “That’s quotable.” Reba tapped her pen. “But you’ve lived here awhile, correct?” “All my life. Born at Beaumont Hospital on Fort Bliss.

Elsie posed with trays of Christmas stollen, nut bars, and lebkuchen hearts. “During times of war, Christmas may mean fewer gifts under the tree but more gifts from the heart.” That was her all-star quote. Reba had pushed hard to get it. Reba

The catcalls and screams didn’t surprise Leo, nor did discovering Meena at the heart of chaos. There was his delicate flower, on the ground wrestling Loni, a lioness who’d come to town for the wedding. The same Loni who’d made numerous passes at him over the years, but whose high maintenance attitude made him steer clear. He wondered what had triggered the hair pulling and wrestling. He also really wished, once again, that Meena had worn panties. The occasional flash of her girly bits dragged the possessive side of him out— which really wanted to snarl, “Mine. Don’t look.” It also woke the hungry lover that wanted to toss her over a shoulder and take her somewhere private for ravishing. At least those closest to the fight and witness to her bare bottom were all women. The bad? They were all women. His usual method of smacking a few heads together to save time wouldn’t work in this situation. Boys shouldn’t hit girls. So how to stop the catfight? He stuck fingers in his mouth and blew, the whistle strident and cutting through the noise. In the sudden quiet, he said, “Vex, what the hell are you doing?” Meena, fist held back, poised for a serious blow, froze. She swiveled her head and smiled sweetly. No sign of repentance at being caught misbehaving. “Just give me a second, Pookie. I am almost done here.” He arched a brow. “Vex.” He used his warning tone. “Maybe you should let Loni go and forget about hitting her.” “Probably. But the thing is, I really want to smash her face in.” Sensing an out, Loni turned her head and whined, “Get this crazy bitch off me. I didn’t do a damned thing. She started it. She always starts shit. She should have never been unbanned. She’s trouble. Always has been.” Reba and Zena opened their mouths, ready to leap to Meena’s defense, but Leo raised a hand. They held their tongues— not an easy feat for cats— but their eyes spoke quite eloquently. Leo focused his attention on Meena. “Vex, is this true? Did you jump her?” Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” “Why?” “Does it matter?” she asked. “It does to me. Why do you want to rearrange her nose?” “She said we didn’t belong together and that maybe she should show you why she’s a better choice.” Meena couldn’t help but growl as she recounted the reason for her ire aloud. “Punch her.” To say a few mouths O’d in surprise would be an understatement. No one was more surprised than Meena at his order. “Seriously?” “Yeah, seriously. Given any idiot with eyes could see we were together, then that makes what she said mean and uncalled for. If you’re going to talk the talk, then you have to be prepared to pay the price. Since I can’t very well smack Loni for causing trouble, as pride omega”— and, yes, he thrust out his chest and put on his most serious mien—“ I am giving you permission to do so.” Permission granted, and yet Meena didn’t hit Loni. On the contrary, she stood, smoothed down her skirt, and tossed her head, sending her ponytail flying. “No need to rearrange her face. You just admitted in front of an audience we are together. That calls for a round of shots. Whee!” Meena did a fist pump and yelled, “In your face, bitch!

You’re home. See, Auntie Reba said home isn’t a place, home is anywhere just as long as the people you love are there.

Eyeballing the broken welds on the headboard of the brass bed, she remarked, “Who do you think won the bet this time?” Because, after the first two bed mishaps, a betting pool started. “I won,” Leo purred as he flipped her onto her back. “You mean you wagered on us breaking the bed?” “Hell yeah I did. But I won more than that. I totally scored when it came to finding you.” “Don’t you mean I found you? I mean, after all, it was my Frisbee that smacked you in the head.” “A Frisbee I could have caught.” “You never saw—” He shook his head. She giggled. “Pookie, you sly devil, do you mean you purposely let yourself get smacked by it just to meet me? But if that’s the case, then why play hard to get?” “Because you scared me but that was before I realized you were exactly what I needed. I love you, Vex.” “Pookie!” she squealed as she plastered him with smooches. “I love you too, so much that I am totally going to forget about the fact that Reba and Zena have a ticket for me to go to Russia and rescue my sister.” “And miss out on a chance at a honeymoon? Did I forget to mention I’m going too? What do you say we go pay a tiger a visit?” “Aren’t you afraid I might start a war?” “I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. Now enough talking, Vex. It’s time for our morning nookie.” And while they couldn’t break the bed any further, the condo below them did complain about cracking plaster.

Reba

farmer, living with his wife, Reba, and one child, on land he owned. I

Reba hesitated. He could see it. A primal reaction—more a reflex. He was, after all, a stranger. We are trained by both biology and society to fear the stranger. But evolution has given us societal niceties too. They were in a public parking lot and he seemed like a nice man, a dad and all, and he had a car seat and, well, it would be rude to say no, wouldn’t it? These calculations all took mere seconds, no more than two or three, and in the end, politeness beat out survival. It often did. “Sure.

Stuckie fascinated me and I loved to imagine him as Creon breaking into Antigone’s tomb, his face contorted into a grimace of need and regret. When I recalled, however, that Reba always refused to go anywhere near the macabre thing, I realized that from her perspective, Stuckie was a sort of canine poor Yorick whose smell probably inspired unpleasant ruminations about a dog’s place in the universe.

Robert offered Reba a seat, then sat down himself.

Before we had gone a block toward nowhere, we heard a hard thump followed by the yowl of a cat and we knew that we were passing the “Felisphere,” a fully functioning feline ecosystem that we had named after Columbia University’s Biosphere project in Arizona. It was an old house inhabited by hundreds of apparently self-sufficient cats that patrolled the neighborhood, their activities disrupted only superficially by human traffic. I forced Reba to duck down in the backseat, knowing that canine hubris is never more tragic than in the face of superior numbers.

Make your life a prayer. Live your meditation.

I considered not getting up, but recognized the pain of staying down was worse than the pain of attempting to stand.

Sometimes to move forward, you have to find yourself backwards.

Love is bigger than everything.

Defeat is triumph in disguise.

To succeed in life you need three things: A back bone; A wish bone; A funny bone.

This is my theory," she said. "If everybody is dressing formal, wear jeans. If everybody is wearing jeans, dress formal. Be different. They'll notice you.

My kind of country is the clear, pure, old-fashioned kind, emotional and gutsy and also sentimental. The songs tell about real human problems - love and the pain of heartbreak and loss - in a way that shows you that the singer is no stranger to pain, and is tough enough to suffer and survive.

Writing a book is like quilting. Once you start, keep on until it's finished.

offered Reba a seat, then sat down himself.

... has helped bring it home to me how fragile life is - and how necessary it is to concentrate on the essentials. No matter what happens to you, if you can draw strength from God and the people you love, nothing can ever defeat you.

Jimmy Bowen: You've got to find your own songs, because nobody but you knows what you want to sing.

rogor warvudginoT adamianebi erTmaneTs saqmiani etiketis wesebis dacviT dabali Tanamdebobis piri ufro maRali Tanamdebobis pirs unda warudginoT _ bavSvobaSi albaT iswavleT, rom ada­ mianebis wardgenisas, zrdilobis wesebi moiTxovs _ um­ crosi warudginoT ufross, mamakaci _ qals. Tumca bevr qveyanaSi, gansakuTrebiT ki dasavleTSi, saqmiani komuni­ kaciisas asakisa da sqesis faqtori mxedvelobaSi ar mi­ iReba, mniSvneloba mxolod Tanamdebobas eniWeba

Clarence Morrow and Frank Tremont, along with a few local cops, were nearby. They were surreptitiously checking around. There was still faint hope that maybe Guy Novak had kidnapped Reba Cordova and was holding her here, but as the seconds passed, that seemed less and less likely. Guy