Records Are Meant To Be Broken Quotes

It’s not my fault that you couldn’t turn down a dare.” “That’s what I made you think. I was just miserably trying to impress you, even if it meant risking a few broken bones and a criminal record to do so.

Dear Mr. Weston, Hello again. We were beginning to wonder what had happened to you. I guess things have been pretty quiet since the Salvation Army tried to take over the world. We are sorry, but after much deliberation we have elected not to assign any men to Protect Trillium Air Base. We feel that the Forces can protect themselves, and if they can't, who is going to protect the country? Also, thank you for sending us that shard of broken glass with the fingerprint on it. It was yours. Our mail clerk required four stitches and a tetanus shot. Relay our condolences to your Mr. Waghorn. We have no idea what unfortunate circumstance (for him) drew him to your ever-watchful attention, but he has no criminal record and his face is not known to us. Yours Sincerely, Bruce Hmmm, thought Sidney, Waghorn has no criminal record. "Let me see one of those," said Tom. "I'm sorry, Tom, but I can't show you the letters." Tom muttered something about a lack of trust. He was extremely alarmed at the intensity of Sidney's expression. As Sidney himself would have put it, the investigation was progressing. That meant trouble. There was always trouble when his brother got to the letter-writing stage. Tom would have to stay on his toes. Sidney opened the last letter. Dear Mr. Weston, Please stop bothering us. Cordially yours, The Ontario Provincial Police.

Look, I never meant to get involved with Lock and Deep in the first place and now everything is all messed up and my whole life feels out of control! I can feel their emotions filling me up until I think I’m drowning. Can you help me block them? Lock said you might be able to.” Mother L’rin shook her head. “Only with a full bond is mind privacy possible.” Kat’s heart sank. “So you’re saying in order to have any kind of peace I’d have to tie myself to them for life?” The wise woman nodded solemnly. “Bonded to them you must be.” “But I can’t be. I don’t want to be,” Kat protested. “Until you are, weak you will be.” Mother L’rin poked a finger at her. “The pain…return it will.” “It will?” Kat felt sick. Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt anything like the symptoms she’d had while she was aboard the Mother ship since she woke up. But just the thought of enduring that splitting headache again was hideous. “You must touch them—one at least. Both is better.” Mother L’rin nodded sagely. “As greater your weakness grows, the more deeply must you touch.” “You mean like a…” Kat cleared her throat. “Like a sexual touch?” “Yes, yes.” Mother L’rin nodded vigorously. “The bond it strengthens. Your pain will ease.” “But I don’t want to be bonded to them,” Kat said, feeling like a broken record.

When my visa finally came, it had been nearly two months, and it felt like Christmas morning. That night we had a good-bye party at the restaurant my sister owned, and my whole family came. Some brought homemade cookies, others brought presents, and we had a celebration. Although I knew I would miss everyone, I was ready to go home. Home didn’t mean Oregon to me anymore. It meant, simply, by Steve’s side. When I arrived back at the zoo, we fell in love all over again. Steve and I were inseparable. Our nights were filled with celebrating our reunion. The days were filled with running the zoo together, full speed ahead. Crowds were coming in bigger than ever before. We enjoyed yet another record-breaking day for attendance. Rehab animals poured in too: joey kangaroos, a lizard with two broken legs, an eagle knocked out by poison. My heart was full. It felt good to be back at work. I had missed my animal friends--the kangaroos, cassowaries, and crocodiles.

I flew back to the States in December of 1992 with conflicting emotions. I was excited to see my family and friends. But I was sad to be away from Steve. Part of the problem was that the process didn’t seem to make any sense. First I had to show up in the States and prove I was actually present, or I would never be allowed to immigrate back to Australia. And, oh yeah, the person to whom I had to prove my presence was not, at the moment, present herself. Checks for processing fees went missing, as did passport photos, certain signed documents. I had to obtain another set of medical exams, blood work, tuberculosis tests, and police record checks--and in response, I got lots of “maybe’s” and “come back tomorrow’s.” It would have been funny, in a surreal sort of way, if I had not been missing Steve so much. This was when we should have still been in our honeymoon days, not torn apart. A month stretched into six weeks. Steve and I tried keeping our love alive through long-distance calls, but I realized that Steve informing me over the phone that “our largest reticulated python died” or “the lace monitors are laying eggs” was no substitute for being with him. It was frustrating. There was no point in sitting still and waiting, so I went back to work with the flagging business. When my visa finally came, it had been nearly two months, and it felt like Christmas morning. That night we had a good-bye party at the restaurant my sister owned, and my whole family came. Some brought homemade cookies, others brought presents, and we had a celebration. Although I knew I would miss everyone, I was ready to go home. Home didn’t mean Oregon to me anymore. It meant, simply, by Steve’s side. When I arrived back at the zoo, we fell in love all over again. Steve and I were inseparable. Our nights were filled with celebrating our reunion. The days were filled with running the zoo together, full speed ahead. Crowds were coming in bigger than ever before. We enjoyed yet another record-breaking day for attendance. Rehab animals poured in too: joey kangaroos, a lizard with two broken legs, an eagle knocked out by poison. My heart was full. It felt good to be back at work. I had missed my animal friends--the kangaroos, cassowaries, and crocodiles.

Rules are like records, they are meant to be broken.

Pope was only 26 years years old and now he’s dead and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. All he did was break his fucking foot, he wasn’t supposed to die when we left him in Dallas. He was supposed to have surgery, get his cast, and be back out on the road with us by summer. It was the insurance-provided assisted living doctors that killed him. They told him he was schizophrenic. Started feeding him psychiatric drugs. They over-medicated him. Too many pills. His bbody couldn’t take it. He wasn’t crazy. He just wasn’t meant for Texas. They won’t release any of his records to us, only to family. Pope didn’t have much family left, just his older brother and grandmother. He told us all his parents were dead. It wasn’t until after Pope died we found out his father was still alive. None of them are going to chase this. I feel responsible. We left him. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It was just a broken foot, a busted ankle. Heather had been talking to him while he was in the hospital. He told him to come stay with us. He was incoherent whenever I’d hear from him. It was like you could tell the drugs were kicking in. I was too self-obsessed to care, too focused on my failing career. Too busy being full of shit and uninspired. To fucking original. So fucking wasted. It’s a rare thing to meet someone out on the road that you connect with. It’s such a rare and beautiful thing to find a true friend out there on the road. I failed him. Pope, I’m sorry, so very sorry.