Riley Blue Quotes

You can’t change the past, it just is

War breaks out between the colors blue and red, though green seems jealous that it wasn’t involved. Yellow, meanwhile, hides in the corner.

MORGAN: Help me out here. THEO: What's up? MORGAN: Don't make me spell it out, Theo. THEO: Oh. MORGAN:Just talk dirty for a while. THEO: Blue-sky thinking. Thought shower. Full spectrum leadership. MORGAN: NOT corporate dirty. Sex dirty. THEO: I wouldn't know where to start.

That's your pitch to women? Let's get naked?" He snorted. "No wonder your balls are blue.

Don't cry for the horses That life has set free A million white horses Forever to be Don't cry for the horses Now in God's hands As they dance and they prance To a heavenly band They were ours as a gift But never to keep As they close their eyes Forever to sleep Their spirits unbound On silver wings they fly A million white horses Against the blue sky Look up into heaven You'll see them above The horses we lost The horses we loved Manes and tails flowing They Gallop through time They were never yours They were never mine Don't cry for the horses They will be back someday When our time has come They will show us the way

Fuck having blue balls, I’m going to have a fucking blue body.

I’ve got some work to do.” He looked at Blue. “Give me a hug before I go, sweetheart.” She got up. Compliant for the first time since he’d met her. Riley’s appearance had put a crimp in his plan to deal with her lie about April but only temporarily. He moved to the center of the caravan so he didn’t bump his head. She wrapped his arms around his waist. He considered coping a feel, but she must have read his mind because she pinched him hard through his t-shirt. “Ouch.” She smiled up at his as she pulled away. “Miss me, dreamboat.” He glared at her, rubbed his side, and left the caravan.

Isn't this a miracle?' 'Which bit of it?' 'All of it. I mean, I've spent thirty-five years feeling alone on the planet, and then you arrive out of the blue. And suddenly I understand it.' 'Understand what?' He shook his head, and gave a small shrug.'Love

Despite the fact that he no longer dressed like the big dork he did then, despite the fact that he’d swapped the nerd wear for some much cooler clothes, despite the fact that he’d let his hair go all shaggy and loose to the point where it curved down into his face in that cool guy, slightly windswept, effortless way, despite the fact that every time I looked into his brilliant blue eyes I was totally reminded of the Zac Efron poster that used to hang on my old bedroom wall, it still didn’t make it okay for him to laugh at me the way he did.

I'd Like to See ----------------- I'd like to see the red Of the roses in full bloom. I'd like to see the silver Of sun's reflection on the moon. I'd like to see the blue Of the ocean when it's roaring. I'd like to see the brown Of the eagle when it's soaring. I'd like to see the purple Of grapes hanging on the vine. I'd like to see the yellow Of the sun in summertime. I'd like to see the russet Of the chestnuts on the tree. I'd like to see the faces Of those that smile at me.

But as I was walking out, I heard Teddy say, “So when’s the last time you were arrested?” “Never?” Riley said. “Well, tomorrow you’re going to say yesterday,” Teddy said. “Lucky you’re mom’s a lawyer.” Jesus Christ, what had I done?

You really are a detective. I guess that badge didn't come out of a crackerjack box. Does that mean the handcuffs are real too?

The minutes tick by, and though it feels like an eternity, she appears. Her blue eyes find mine, and like every time before, I'm home.

MONEY, MUSIC, and lust inspired Riley in equal measure.

When you look out at the water, at that endless stretch of blue, makes you feel small, doesn’t it? Small but somehow important. Like the ocean goes

First rule: Don’t talk to strangers. Second rule: If you do, don’t follow them anywhere. Third rule: If the kind stranger has beautiful blue eyes, forget the first two rules, bid goodbye to your loved ones and let’s go.

My whole life my dad has said I’ve been a natural talent at whatever I do. I’m smart, so I make straight As. I’m athletic, so I’ve got a full ride to college. But he’s told me over and over that I need to find my passion. That one day I’ll find something that I can’t live without, and that’s what I should do with my life. Looking at Lily, her big blue doe eyes meeting mine, I feel something in my heart change. I think I’ve found something I’m passionate about.

Paradise ---------- A glowing dawn, a sweet, ripe peach, A blue sea lapping on the beach. A hint of spring, a dewy rose Whose scent assails an eager nose. Beauty now at every sight. A feast for senses to delight. A darkened cell, the fear of night, A mistral blows with all its might. A winter's chill in barren land, The bitter cold through frozen hand. Beauty now has closed its door. And swept away for distant shore. A touch of cheek, a lingered kiss So soft remembered, soon to miss. A tender arm around me thrown, The beauty of a heart's true home. In black despair, a shooting star, For Paradise is where you are.

Countless times, I have imagined A. rising through the rivers of this land, to the surface of Florida to be found again, pulled into the air by new hands. The possibilities are endless, but most often I imagine him found by children. Above him, the sky shimmers and undulates blue through transparent springwater. Then four small brown hands break the surface and pull him into the air and into their excited and frightened vocabularies. The delicate bones of their arms and ribs absorb his voice, shattering their knowledge of what is possible.

The Life of Riley in its best-known version evolved from a prospective Groucho Marx vehicle called The Flotsam Family. The Marx series failed at audition when the would-be sponsor wouldn’t accept Groucho in what was, for him, a straight role—as head of a family. Then producer Irving Brecher saw a film, The McGuerins of Brooklyn, with a rugged-looking and typically American blue-collar man, William Bendix, in one of the leading roles. There, on the screen, was his character. A new audition was recorded, with Bendix as star and the character renamed Chester A. Riley. It became a solid midlevel hit.

He was crazy. An evil, psychopathic villain. But when he kissed me, it was like the entire world melted away—like everything was right for just once. Like when you step into your home after you’ve been gone a long time. The second the smell of home and comfort hits you, the tension in your body withers away. The feel of belonging and comfort cloak you like a warm blanket. That’s how it felt when Mendax touched me, when he looked at me with three different shades of light blue eyes. I saw—no felt—what I meant to him. He is the bad guy, I reminded myself for the trillionth time, but it didn’t matter. I craved him every bit as much as he seemed to be lost to me.

The sun is on its descent as I watch it, its lustrous red-gold colors making the blue water beneath it look as if it is on fire. The sound of Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 3 drifts across the terrace, reaching a zenith as the sun plunges gracefully into the sea. This is my favorite moment of the day here, when nature itself seems to be still, watching the spectacle of the King of the Day, the force it relies upon to grow and flourish, make its journey into sleep. We are able to be here together far less than I'd like, so the moment is even more precious. The sun has gone now, so I can close my eyes and listen to Xavier playing. I have performed this concerto a hundred times, and I'm struck by the subtle differences, the nuances that make his rendition his own. Its stronger, more masculine, which is, of course, how it should be.

For Dylan, this electric assault threatened to suck the air out of everything else, only there was too much radio oxygen to suck. “Like a Rolling Stone” was the giant, all-consuming anthem of the new “generation gap” disguised as a dandy’s riddle, a dealer’s come-on. As a two-sided single, it dwarfed all comers, disarmed and rejuvenated listeners at each hearing, and created vast new imaginative spaces for groups to explore both sonically and conceptually. It came out just after Dylan’s final acoustic tour of Britain, where his lyrical profusion made him a bard, whose tabloid accolade took the form of political epithet: “anarchist.” As caught on film by D. A. Pennebaker’s documentary Don’t Look Back, the young folkie had already graduated to rock star in everything but instrumentation. “Satisfaction” held Dylan back at number two during its four-week July hold on Billboard’s summit, giving way to Herman’s Hermits’ “I’m Henry the Eighth, I Am” and Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” come August, novelty capstones to Dylan’s unending riddle. (In Britain, Dylan stalled at number four.) The ratio of classics to typical pop schlock, like Freddie and the Dreamers’ “I’m Telling You Now” or Tom Jones’s “It’s Not Unusual,” suddenly got inverted. For cosmic perspective, yesterday’s fireball, Elvis Presley, sang “Do the Clam.” Most critics have noted the Dylan influence on Lennon’s narratives. Less space gets devoted to Lennon’s effect on Dylan, which was overt: think of how Dylan rewires Chuck Berry (“Subterranean Homesick Blues”) or revels in inanity (“Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”). Even more telling, Lennon’s keening vocal harmonies in “Nowhere Man,” “And Your Bird Can Sing,” and “Dr. Robert” owed as much to the Byrds and the Beach Boys, high-production turf Dylan simply abjured. Lennon also had more stylistic stretch, both in his Beatle context and within his own sensibility, as in the pagan balalaikas in “Girl” or the deliberate amplifier feedback tripping “I Feel Fine.” Where Dylan skewed R&B to suit his psychological bent, Lennon pursued radical feats of integration wearing a hipster’s arty façade, the moptop teaching the quiet con. Building up toward Rubber Soul throughout 1965, Beatle gravity exerted subtle yet inexorable force in all directions.

in. Forgive the mess. Riley said my clutter

she could to help Riley live a happy life. She thought it would just be her and Riley forever…But thirty-three seconds after Riley was born, someone else materialized at the console and started working the controls. Riley began to cry. “I’m Sadness,” the blue newcomer said to Joy, introducing herself somberly. “I just want to fix that,” Joy said, gently pushing Sadness off the controls. She pressed a few buttons and Riley stopped crying. As time went on, more Emotions showed up inside Headquarters, taking control whenever Riley needed them. And with each new Emotion, memories started rolling through in different colors, matching the Emotion that Riley felt about the memory. Fear’s job was to keep Riley safe. He guided her whenever she encountered something he

sad-faced mourners, who each day are wending Through churchyard paths of cypress and of yew, Leave for today the low graves you are tending, And lift your eyes to God’s eternal blue! It is no time for bitterness or sadness; Choose Easter lilies, not pale asphodels; Let your souls thrill to the caress of gladness, And answer the sweet chime of Easter bells. If Christ were still within the grave’s low prison, A captive of the Enemy we dread; If from that rotting cell He had not risen, Who then could dry the gloomy tears you shed? If Christ were dead there would be need to sorrow, But He has risen and vanquished death today; Hush, then your sighs, if only till tomorrow, At Easter give your grief a holiday. May Riley Smith

There was a one in a million chance that this wouldn’t end horribly wrong. He was a bad boy. He was unbelievably sexy, a little wild, and a professional badass. This was the exact type of guy that mothers warned their daughters about, and yet, I was drawn to him, knowing he’d probably break my heart.

In this perfect moment, my mind didn’t fill in worst case scenarios that involved Michael discovering he couldn’t stand me, or cheating on me, or one of us getting hurt or killed in the line of duty. Right now, everything was as close to perfect as it could be. And then the phone rang.

I started to understand why when someone dies, we call it loss. It’s more than the loss of their physical presence. It’s the loss of time, the loss of what was to come, the loss of all the tomorrows. We don’t lose the memories; we lose the future. That’s the tragedy, that’s the loss.

to turn to dust the instant I called them up. The only sensation I could recall was that of moving very fast. Perhaps it had been too fast for my brain to process? I wasn’t sure, but in the end, all I could remember was that during those brief seconds, I had taken out all of our enemies. Somehow. It irritated me that my brain was striving to block that knowledge, actions that I had taken, evading me. The scrape of a boot on rock announced the presence of someone joining me on my high hideaway. “Not now, Vir,” I said without looking, unsure if I could handle his constant positivity at a time like this. He just believed so much that I was the one who could do this that at times it became grating having to live up to such lofty standards. “If he shows up, I’ll be sure to tell him to scram,” Aaron chuckled as he joined me. “Oh, sorry,” I said, still not looking back. “This is my favorite spot, too,” he said. I looked down at where my feet dangled into nothingness. The path to get up here hadn’t been easy to find, but it wasn’t impossible either. And the vista was spectacular. “Listen, Aaron,” I said. “I don’t know if I want to talk about this.” “No?” I snorted a single burst of laughter. “No. Definitely not with a vampire,” I teased. Aaron flopped down on the ledge next to me and looked over, his bright blue eyes looking silver-white in the sunlight. “How about with a friend?” “That was lame,” I pointed out. “You looking nothing like Legolas.” The vampire chortled with laughter. “It’s so much,” I said as he calmed. “I’m not the hero he thinks I am.” There was no need to specify which “he” I was talking about.

Fifty Best Rock Documentaries Chicago Blues (1972) B. B. King: The Life of Riley (2014) Devil at the Crossroads (2019) BBC: Dancing in the Street: Whole Lotta Shakin’ (1996) BBC: Story of American Folk Music (2014) The Weavers: Wasn’t That a Time! (1982) PBS: The March on Washington (2013) BBC: Beach Boys: Wouldn’t It Be Nice (2005) The Wrecking Crew (2008) What’s Happening! The Beatles in the U.S.A. (1964) BBC: Blues Britannia (2009) Rolling Stones: Charlie Is My Darling—Ireland 1965 (2012) Bob Dylan: Dont Look Back (1967) BBC: The Motown Invasion (2011) Rolling Stones: Sympathy for the Devil (1968) BBC: Summer of Love: How Hippies Changed the World (2017) Gimme Shelter (1970) Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked the World (2017) Cocksucker Blues (1972) John Lennon & the Plastic Ono Band: Sweet Toronto (1971) John and Yoko: Above Us Only Sky (2018) Gimme Some Truth: The Making of John Lennon’s “Imagine” Album (2000) Echo in the Canyon (2018) BBC: Prog Rock Britannia (2009) BBC: Hotel California: LA from the Byrds to the Eagles (2007) The Allman Brothers Band: After the Crash (2016) BBC: Sweet Home Alabama: The Southern Rock Saga (2012) Ain’t in It for My Health: A Film About Levon Helm (2010) BBC: Kings of Glam (2006) Super Duper Alice Cooper (2014) New York Dolls: All Dolled Up (2005) End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones (2004) Fillmore: The Last Days (1972) Gimme Danger: The Stooges (2016) George Clinton: The Mothership Connection (1998) Fleetwood Mac: Rumours (1997) The Who: The Kids Are Alright (1979) The Clash: New Year’s Day ’77 (2015) The Decline of Western Civilization (1981) U2: Rattle and Hum (1988) Neil Young: Year of the Horse (1997) Ginger Baker: Beware of Mr. Baker (2012) AC/DC: Dirty Deeds (2012) Grateful Dead: Long, Strange Trip (2017) No Direction Home: Bob Dylan (2005) Hip-Hop Evolution (2016) Joan Jett: Bad Reputation (2018) David Crosby: Remember My Name (2019) Zappa (2020) Summer of Soul (2021)

I wasn’t sure what the weird feeling in my chest had been when I saw the giant smile on Emmy’s face as she hugged Riley. Whatever, it was probably the hangover.

Yeah,” Riley said with a shrug. Little gossip—turns out Riley picked up a habit or two from Luke Brooks.

You’re not supposed to say ‘fucking,’ Dad,” Riley said, and I had to bite back another smile. I shot Riley the sternest look I could muster, and I watched the lightbulb go on in her head. “Oh,” she said. “I’m not supposed to say that either.

Some people consider themselves human beings put on this earth to have a spiritual experience. Other people say they're spiritual beings born to have a human experience. Me?" Riley smiled, green eyes flashing. "I'm a horse having a human experience.

We talked about talking. (We had been interrupting Ms. Diz a lot). She said that when someone is talking, you listen with your ears. And save your questions for the end. Then you use your mouth. Even if you see something that is a miracle. Like a squirrel with a blue Matchbox car in his mouth. Which I saw yesterday. You are not allowed to jump up and scream, 'MS. DIZ I SEE A SQUIRREL WITH A MATCHBOX CAR IN HIS MOUTH OR MAYBE IT'S AN SUV!! I AM NOT KIDDING MS. DIZ!!

And what a man he is. Tall, but not too tall. Five o’clock shadow. Late twenties, early thirties. Piercing blue eyes. Short, brown hair that juts forward, matching his angular face. He’s wearing an untucked, button-down white shirt and dark-grey slacks. He looks disheveled in the best way possible.

In the growing light of the sun behind me, I could finally make out that they weren’t the brown I suspected. They were the darkest shade of blue I’d ever seen, and it reminded me of when I was a kid and my parents had taken me west to California, a rare treat they could barely afford. We had gone to see the ocean when we arrived but missed the best part of the sunset. Yet the light had been just enough that the water wasn’t quite black yet but a blue so dark. A shade I didn’t know the word for.

Emmy: roll call. Gus: Riley and I are home and safe. Luke: Here, sugar. Emmy: Luke, you are literally right next to me. Luke: Come closer. Gus: Yuck.

It was a good thing I was still holding Riley because if I wasn’t, I probably would’ve dropped to my knees.

In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined the beauty that emanated from her face when she smiled. It started deep in her devious blue eyes as an innocent sparkle, but before I could even prepare for it, the laughter emerged, happy and rapturous. Three lines formed at the edges of her eyes. Four would collect on her left side if she was exceedingly happy. If she didn’t try to stop the smile and pulled her lower lip into her mouth, then her nose would wrinkle just above the cluster of freckles shaped like the Tardeki stars.

I started to understand when someone dies, we call it loss. It's more than the loss of their physical presence. It's the loss of time, the loss of what was to come, the loss of all the tomorrows. We don't lose the memories; we lose the future. That's the tragedy, that's the loss.

I started to understand why when someone dies, we call it loss. It's more than the loss of their physical presence. It's the loss of time, the loss of what was to come, the loss of all the tomorrows. We don't lose the memories; we lose the future. That's the tragedy, that's the loss.

Checketts picked up on just how deeply Riley believed in being on the same page within months of working with him. During the team’s first training camp in Charleston, in 1991, Checketts and Riley were having lunch when Checketts’s cell phone rang, interrupting the talk. It was his wife, Deborah, who was about to buy a Chevy Suburban sport-utility vehicle, and wanted her husband’s input on color. Deborah had all but decided on the color green, and asked her husband if he was okay with that option. He was, and told her that would be a perfectly fine choice. But then Riley, who was sitting next to Checketts and had listened in enough to know the couple was choosing a color for a new vehicle, butted in. “What are you talking about? She can’t buy a green car, Dave. Green is the Celtics,” Riley said, referring to the team that had served as the archrival of his Showtime Lakers during the 1980s. Checketts laughed, before realizing Riley’s facial expression hadn’t changed. “I’m dead serious,” Riley said. So Checketts, still on the phone with his wife, told her she couldn’t get a green Suburban. When Deborah asked what other colors were available, the car salesman suggested red. So she asked Checketts how he felt about red. Again, Checketts was fine with that option. Again, Riley wasn’t. “What? Red is the Bulls,” said Riley, almost annoyed Checketts would even ask his take on the color. Checketts relented. “Don’t come home with anything but a blue one,” he told his wife, before hanging up. This was how Riley was wired. You were either all the way in on supporting his vision—down to the color of your car—or you weren’t.

I had watched the life fade from her pretty blue eyes

I washed my face before patting it dry. My cheekbones rested high on my heart-shaped face, making my oversized blue eyes look even more doe-eyed.

Her denial, ironically, confirms my suspicion. The rigid way she stands, her forced smile and her steely blue eyes are an exact re-creation of the uncovered portrait in the hall.

While I think Beckett Riley is gorgeous, he's not as hot as Landy. No, Landy has the whole dangerous sexy vibe going on with his longish dark hair and piercing blue eyes and tattoo sleeves... whatever. Not that it matters, right?

The autumn winds had blown away the dank gray clouds to show patches of blue mingled with the rosy pink of the dying day above the pointed slate roofs. The sort of day Marie-Angelique had liked. She always said weather that made your cheeks look pink could not be spoken ill of.

One of my favorite things that my dad did when I was a kid was read aloud to me, and I wanted to do that for Riley. But because I was dyslexic, I had a hard time reading new material out loud without stumbling, and it made me feel like a fucking idiot, so when we bought new books, I read them to myself a few times before I read them out loud to her. It helped.

Riley and I switched our shakes after we took our first sips. We always took our second sips of each other's.

dour mask this day, eyes a piercing blue, his expression as sour as a squeeze of lemon. Even his familiar little smirk was gone.