Rockford Quotes

He reached out, opened the glove compartment, and took out a gun. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 five-shot special. It looked a lot like my gun. "I stopped by your apartment this morning and picked this up for you," Ranger said. "I found it in the cookie jar." "Tough guys always keep their gun in the cookie jar." "Name one." "Rockford." Ranger grinned. "I stand corrected.

In Rockford I decided that I had seen enough of the world.

And if such a gift could come to him at such a time, then anything—dear girl from Rockford dressed up for her meeting, rushing above the Rock River—he opened his eyes, and yes, there it was, the perfect knowledge: Anything was possible for anyone.

A citizen at his home in Rockford, Illinois, or Boulder, Colorado, could read a newspaper, listen to a radio, or watch the round-the-clock coverage on television, but he had no way of connecting with those who shared his views. Nor was there a quick, readily available tool for an ordinary citizen to gather information on his own. In 1960, communication was a one-way street, and information was fundamentally inaccessible. The whole idea of summoning up data or reaching thousands of individuals with the touch of a finger was a science-fiction fantasy.

That's right. Twenty miles per hour in a forty. A slow-speed chase. I've got a full tank, boys. How 'bout you? ~ Emily Rockford

On her person, she had her bank card, a little cash, and a driver's license. And a gun with a huge barrel shoved uncomfortable down her butt crack. Now I really hate guns." ~ Emily Rockford

On August 27, Cheap Trick opened for Fanny at Snoopy’s (later Stone Hearth) in Madison. Fanny had appeared with Todd Rundgren at Rockford Armory two nights earlier, with Dr. Bop & The Headliners opening. Meanwhile …

There are some friendships you cannot slay, no matter how many times you wound each other.

He had a friend. He would have said this if he could, he would have said it, but there was no need: Like his sweet Sophia who loved her Snowball, Abel had a friend. And if such a gift could come to him at such a time, then anything-dear girl from Rockford dressed up for her meeting, rushing above the Rock River-he opened his eyes, and yes, there it was, the perfect knowledge: Anything was possible for anyone.

And Moose heard her happiness then—Oh, the joy that came of dispensing happiness to others, of entering happiness’s interlocking circuitry! Yet even now Moose felt the persistence of whatever worry he’d heard in Ellen’s voice before the happiness his remark had occasioned, and no sooner was the phone back in its cradle than he was felled by a crash of despair on his sister’s behalf. We’re all alone, he thought, crumpling back onto the fragment of living room couch that wasn’t draped in maps of Rockford. We are all alone.

Sir George Wode read about it in his London club, and Sterndale Rockford in New York, and Joanna Southwood in Switzerland, and it was discussed in the bar of the Three Crowns in Malton-under-Wode. And Mr. Burnaby's lean friend said, "Well it didn't seem fair..." And Mr. Burnaby said acutely, "Well, it doesn't seem to have done her much good, poor lass." But after a while they stopped talking about her and discussed instead who was going to win the Grand National. For, as Mr. Ferguson was saying at that minute in Luxor, it is not the past that matters but the future.

Like many in the intelligence field, Rockford had heard of the Program during his time as Director of the CIA. No matter how deep you tried to bury a special missions unit, there was no such thing as a vacuum. Eventually bits and pieces of the unit made their way out of the shadows. The Program was no different. Once Rockford was sworn in as Vice President he was granted access to the Program, but most of what he knew about Eric Steele came directly from President Cole. Rockford knew that the Program did their own recruitment and assessment of the men and women they wanted. The recruiters had watched Steele for seven months, and while he was everything the Program was looking for, it was originally determined that after only ten years in Special Forces he was still too untested for consideration

Max looks at me questioningly. "What's strange is...nothing looked perfect until you arrived." His words don't make any sense, but I still feel a shiver of foreboding. "What do you mean?" Max shakes his head, perplexed. "This land was once so easy for me to cultivate. But after the fire, the earth seemed to--to go into a depression. Flowers struggled to bloom, the grass yellowed, and even when the grounds looked presentable from afar, you could see when you looked closely how they were a shadow of their former self. The Rockford Manor gardens used to be our number one tourist draw, but it hasn't been that way for years. Now most visitors bypass the grounds in favor of the house." He fixes his gaze on me. "But since the day you arrived, it's been as if... as if the land was waking up. I haven't seen such beauty in seven years.

nose

March 8: Love Happy is released. Marilyn’s total screen time is thirty-eight seconds—long enough for Groucho to respond to her slinking into his detective agency office with the question, “Is there anything I can do for you?” He promptly responds, “What a ridiculous statement.” Marilyn tells him that men keep following her and sways out of camera range as Groucho comments, “Really? I can’t understand why.” Marilyn later recalled, “There were three girls there and Groucho had us each walk away from him. . . . I was the only one he asked to do it twice. Then he whispered in my ear, ‘You have the prettiest ass in the business.’ I’m sure he meant it in the nicest way.” Groucho later said Marilyn was “Mae West, Theda Bara and Bo Peep rolled into one.” Marilyn received $500 for her appearance and another three hundred to pose for promotional photographs. Marilyn is sent on a promotional tour for a fee of one hundred dollars a week. She meets dress manufacturer Henry Rosenfeld in New York City, and they become lifelong friends. During this period she also does her famous Jones Beach photo sessions with Andre de Dienes. The tour takes her to Detroit, Cleveland, Chicago, Milwaukee, and Rockford, Illinois. Marilyn attends a party at the Chicago nightclub Ricketts with Roddy McDowell. Marilyn appears in print advertisement for Kyron diet pills, with accompanying text: “If you want slim youthful lines like Miss Monroe and other stars, start the KYRON Way to slenderness—today!

«Cannell me enseñó que el héroe puede hacer muchas cosas malas, puede cometer toda clase de errores, puede ser vago y parecer tonto, siempre y cuando sea el tipo más listo de la habitación y haga bien su trabajo. Eso es lo que les pedimos a nuestros héroes.» En otras palabras, Jim Rockford era un antecesor de Tony Soprano.

Seriously, see we get there, and there's no answer at the door. A neighbor had seen fire flickering through the blinds of the downstairs bedroom and called in the alarm. So we jimmy the door and storm in, heading straight to the back of the house." "What'd you find?" Trevor Tully asked. A recent academy graduate, he was hanging on Joey's every word. "Get this." Joe strung out the suspense. "In the midst of a shitload of candles, a couple in their sixties were doin' it to beat the band. Man, I hope I got that much energy and enthusiasm for the big nasty when I get up there.

I Haven't Lost My Mind. It's Backed Up On In The Cloud Someplace.

Cuffs was a buddy of mine on the line when I was a lieutenant. He had an adventurous sex life, to put it mildly. We didn't believe half his bragging until one night, when he was off duty, our group got a call from his current girlfriend to come over to her house right away. And bring metal cutters." "Metal cutters?" Tully asked, his eyes round. "Mmm-hmm." Ben smiled at Reed over the rim of his glass. "Seems he and his lady friend were into a little bondage. She handcuffed him to the bed and then found out the key didn't work. I had to cut the cuffs off." "And you told everybody?" Ben's grin was young and devilish. "Are you kidding? It spread through the whole department like wildfire. Everybody called him Cuffs till the day he retired.

one of the funniest mockeries of psychology he'd ever seen. He'd wanted to share the joke with her so badly, he ached with the need. The phone rings… Click… Recording: Hello, welcome to the psychiatric hotline. --If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly. --If you are co-dependent, please ask for someone to press 2. --If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line until we can trace the call. --If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press. --If you are manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press. No one will answer.

This game’s over, man! You gotta move your Boss or Rocky’s gonna lay a subpoenie on him; then his Torpedo is gonna smoke your Old Lady, and all your Heavies’ll be doin’ time—except for maybe your Mouthpiece, but Rocky’s Sheriff got him put in the corner—you got nothin’ left but Punks and Junkies: you’re through, Jimmy.” —Angel Martin to Jim Rockford, commenting on a chess game, in the Rockford Files episode “Chicken Little Is a Little Chicken,” by Stephen J. Cannell

I am beginning to feel that books are all a waste. With the time we spend reading, we could be living and loving those around us. Just how much care and attention has been given to the lives of imaginary people that might have been spent on real ones? How many fewer lonely people would be out there if they received that kind of care and attention? Yet readers are the loneliest of them all, and they do it to themselves. If only once they looked up from their books and at one another, whereupon they would notice the most intricate, marvelous detail that puts the whole of literature to shame.

I'm starting to feel like books are all a waste. With the time we spend reading, we could be living and loving those around us. Just how much care and attention has been given to the lives of imaginary people that might have been spent on real ones? How many fewer lonely people would be out there if they received that kind of care and attention? Yet readers are the loneliest of them all, and they do it to themselves. If only once they looked up from their books and at one another, whereupon they would notice the most intricate, marvelous detail that puts all literature to shame.

I am beginning to feel that books are all a waste. With the time we spend reading, we could be living and loving those around us. Just how much care and attention has been given to the lives of imaginary people that might have been spent on real ones? How many fewer lonely people would be out there if they received that kind of care and attention? Yet readers are the loneliest of them all, and they do it to themselves. If only once they looked up from their books and at one another, whereupon they would notice the most intricate, marvelous detail that puts all literature to shame.

I looked up sharply, displeased to find Donald’s attention on Catherine, who’d been silent at my side throughout the entire confrontation. She offered him a soft smile. “Can I call a car for you, Mr. Rockford?” His mouth fell open then slammed shut. She’d stumped him with her politeness, and I was quietly amused. Catherine had a way of handling the men I met with on a daily basis. Her manners never failed her, but she had a cutting edge beneath her soft outer layer. “No, you can’t call a car for me, young lady.” “Oh, that’s too bad.” She gestured politely to the door. “If there’s anything else I can do to make your exit easier…” His nostrils flared, and his eyes fell on her belly. “You really want to bring a kid into the world working for a man like this? What kind of mother are you—?” That was enough. I jerked him back by the collar of his sports jacket before he could complete his filthy question and marched him toward the door. He resisted, but the old guy wasn’t much more than bones and paunch beneath his tailored suit, so the little fight he put up was laughable. Once he was on the street and my security team was alerted to keep him there, I rejoined Catherine in the lobby. Her lips were rolled over her teeth, eyes on her feet. “Do you have anything to say, Catherine?” She shook her head. “No. Nothing at all, Elliot.” She held her notebook against her chest, her gaze averted. On anyone else, I might have taken her response at face value and believed she was interested in the uninspired architecture of our new building. But not Catherine. She’d been holding herself back from day one. If I hadn’t been so impressed by the ingenuity she’d shown in making an entirely new outfit from the lost and found box—a discarded cardigan, athletic leggings, an oversized blazer, and a tie as a belt—I wouldn’t have hired her. Not because her résumé wasn’t up to snuff. It had been fine. And it wasn’t because her answers to my questions had been anything less than passable.

Ms. Rockford, real life is not some vid drama. Real evidence takes longer to gather than the time between segments, and far more time to analyze.

You won't miss me anyway," I tell Sebastian, my voice breaking on the last word. "You have each other." I turn on my heels, leaving Carole and Keith to reason with a still-arguing Lucia. I keep my head down as I descend the hill toward Rockford Manor, not noticing that I'm being followed until I feel a hand on my shoulder. "It's not true, what you said." I turn around at Sebastian's voice, feeling a strange swooping in my stomach as I face him. "What isn't true?" "That I won't miss you. Because I will. I'll miss you every summer and every holiday if you don't come back," he says, looking at me earnestly. "I'll miss you every time I see a bellflower or anything else that reminds me of my friend Ginny Rockford." Tears prick at the back of my eyelids as he speaks. He can't know how much his words mean to me; how they make everything simultaneously better and worse. But before I can answer, Sebastian bends down and brushes his lips against my cheek. I gasp, reaching up to touch my face in awe. Nothing should be able to make me feel happy after all I've just lost--- but this kiss, platonic though it may be, gives me a moment of pure joy. "Goodbye, Ginny," he says softly. "Till we meet again." "Goodbye," I echo, still touching my cheek as he walks back to rejoin Lucia. When he's no longer within earshot, I whisper, "I'll never forget you.

Is it possible for gardens to be... possessed? Could that be the explanation for my hands causing flowers to suddenly bloom on the Rockford grounds? Is there something enchanted about this land? Could the gardens be responding to me, bringing my unwanted abilities out from hiding?

But my parents who died in the fire, they...they were part of a noble family in England. The family has always owned the Rockford Manor in Oxfordshire, which is a mansion that includes acres of land, plus a local village where people live and farm---" "Wait, noble? Do you mean like royalty?" Zoey interrupts, her eyes wide. "No, no. But in England there's a system called the peerage---dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses---and they're ranked just below royalty. My dad was the younger son of the Duke of Wickersham, which made him a lord and my mom a lady." Carole and Keith sit frozen, listening to me with a look of dread in their eyes. "So what does that make you?" Zoey asks breathlessly. "Well, when my parents were alive, it meant that I was treated a certain way just because I was part of this family of dukes and duchesses. But then after the fire, the line of succession changed---everything changed. My first cousin, Lucia, became next in line to inherit Rockford Manor and the title. So she would have been the Duchess of Wickersham." I swallow hard. "But she died in an accident last year---which I didn't even know about until today." My hands shake as I speak, and I can't look at Keith and Carole, unable to grasp how they could have kept this from me. "That's awful! But what does it mean for you?" Zoey presses. "Her death left me next in line after my grandfather. And he passed away last month---which I was also unaware of." This time I'm able to look at Carole and Keith, shooting them a withering glare. Zoey's mouth hangs open. "That means you're...you're a...?" "Yeah. You're looking at the new Duchess of Wickersham and owner of Rockford Manor.

For more than a century now, Lady Beatrice Rockford (1811-1850) has been known as "that wicked American" and her husband, the fifth Duke of Wickersham, the victim forced to send her to the gallows. But these roles are ludicrously reversed. The real ugly stain in my family history is my ancestor, the duke who murdered his wife simply because she was capable of something he had never seen. He feared what he didn't understand, and let his fear drive him to evil. Is there anything inherently wrong in having a paranormal talent? More than likely, Lady Beatrice didn't wish for her gift, and with the exception of the burned garden, which she instantly restored, there are no accounts of her ever using her skill to cause any harm. If we misconstrue that which we don't understand as frightening or criminal, then we are lost. But if we recognize differences in others as something beautiful or miraculous---even, or especially, differences as astounding as Lady Beatrice's---then we all win in the end.

Now, for your final lesson of the day, it's essential that you know why your title was created. Do you have any idea?" I shake my head sheepishly. "One of your ancestors, Randolph Henry Rockford, proved to be one of England's greatest military heroes at the turn of the eighteenth century. After he won a number of crucial battles for England, King George I expressed his gratitude by granting him a dukedom over the settlement of Wickersham, along with the massive funds to build a palace worthy of such a hero," Basil explains. "Of course, the papers scoffed that King George was cruel to choose Wickersham, for the land was notoriously barren, especially in comparison to Oxfordshire's other, far more verdant towns. But eventually the fifth Duchess of Wickersham, Lady Beatrice, changed all of that." "What did she do?" I ask. "I suppose you could say she was the ultimate green thumb. Within a year, ugly old Wickersham was transformed into one of the most beautiful, frequently painted landscapes in England." This is the first moment of our lesson where I feel a flicker of interest. "How did she do it?" Basil hesitates. "It's hard to separate truth from fiction on that account. I suppose we'll never know.

Boys were Detectives Pat Riley, Riley’s partner, Bobby Rockford, and Mac’s own partner, Richard Lich. When St. Paul Police Chief

Our fiesta ended up taking place in a private cabin in Rockford, about ninety minutes outside of the city.

go

Eyeing this tableau, I had a sudden epiphany—I understood why Thomas had come to Rockford: for all his fund-raising abilities and management abilities and entrepreneurial genius, his dexterity as a salesman of ideas and gift for answering the collective prayers of the Zeitgeist, Thomas Keene wanted something else entirely from his life. He wanted to be a director.

I was losing, page by page, the fine rules of thought and deed that I had learned in church, from Henry to the Boy Scout Troop in Rockford. I was sopping up the poison off the street like a sponge.

Full disclosure. I’m a guy weaned on the reruns of 1970’s and 80’s action/adventure TV shows. You couple that with a pretty white trash upbringing that, when not down at the comic book shop and learning about the art of Jack Cole and obscure Italian crime movies from Von Rudy, translated into an inordinate amount of time spent hanging around Lemons Speedway unsupervised while my mother looked for love, and you’ll see that my convincing a broken down daredevil stuntman drinking buddy of my mom’s named No Eyes Majewsky into teaching me how to pull out of a parking space like Jim Rockford and then raise hell on four wheels seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

car. She got out, and he led her up to the second floor where he pulled out his

Carpet steam cleaning & upholstery cleaning & mattress cleaning & tile and grout cleaning & hardwood floor cleaning in Rockford, IL. To get carpet cleaning services it's good to look for professionals in Rockford, IL to do the job. The company is legally certified by IICRC government inspection and has the Seal of Approval from Carpet and Rug Institute. Also, it's is credited with Clean Trust Certification. All these certifications by government relevant institutions show credibility of company.

Seek joy in what you give, not in what you get,

Mit Leuten, die Selbstbestimmungs - und Heizungsgesetze beschließen oder diese befürworten ist kein rationaler Diskurs zu führen.

If you believe there's more than two sexes out there, it makes no sense to ask for interviews or to talk, since I don't take part in an irrational discursus.

I think stick to my guns is the best idea, a man can hold in troubled times, if the arguments are firm.

I see further no reason to discuss my arguments, because repeating them makes it no more true.

Leider ist es mir nicht möglich, mich mit euch Mainstream-Medien zu unterhalten, da die Basis dafür die formale Logik ist. Ein annähernd ebenbürtiges Niveau diesbezüglich wäre im besten Fall unter optimalen Bedingungen in ca. 15 Jahren möglich (Studium, Expertise, Forschung). Andererseits unterliege ich als Pythagoreer dem Schweigegelübde des Pythagoras.

Basically, I have a problem to understand scientific English, because it's full of aequivocation. Due to that, all scientific research in Englisch is formally irrelevant. In consequence I don't read scientific studies in Englisch, but instead only in Latin or German. Aequivocation is pseudoscientific and therefore to refuse.

Metaphysik ist das Gewinnen einer abstrakten Erkenntnis durch Widerspruchsfreiheit; Mathematik ist das Gewinnen einer konkreten Erkenntnis durch Widerspruchsfreiheit.