Sally Brown Quotes

Happiness is having your own library card. —SALLY BROWN, PEANUTS

LINUS: Where are you going for Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown? CHARLIE: My father, my mother, Sally, and I are all going to my grandmothers for dinner. SALLY: Do you want to come too, Linus? We can hold hands under the table. LINUS: BLECH!

Brown-eyed sublime being. She of soft, deep cardigan pockets. Bubble-bath taker. Pool jumper. Cheese provider. Sunset glower. Heaven sent.

Solitude is independence. -Hermann Hesse Independence is happiness. -Susan B. Anthony Happiness is having your own library card. -Sally Brown, Peanuts

On a cold, fretful afternoon in early October, 1872, a hansom cab drew up outside the offices of Lockhart and Selby, Shipping Agents, in the financial heart of London, and a young girl got out and paid the driver. She was a person of sixteen or so--alone, and uncommonly pretty. She was slender and pale, and dressed in mourning, with a black bonnet under which she tucked back a straying twist of blond hair that the wind had teased loose. She had unusually dark brown eyes for one so fair. Her name was Sally Lockhart; and within fifteen minutes, she was going to kill a man.

You sold out! We elected you, and you sold out! The next time we have an election, I think everyone should vote for himself. Or we might just as well vote for Charlie Brown! Yes, next year we may even say, 'You're elected, Charlie Brown!

Sally, the hardest question we have to ask ourselves in this life is, “Who am I?” Ideally, we answer it for ourselves, but be warned that others will strive to do it for you—so don’t let them.’” There was a lump in Alice’s throat; she

I was amused and surprised by the odd, visceral details that returned to me with each work: Pa bringing the girls real white sugar wrapped in brown paper in Little House in the Big Woods, Sally J. Freeman having a man-o-war wrapped around her foot (who even know what a man-o-war was?), Claudia choosing macaroni at the Automat in From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. These strong, charged images that have never left me - they're often stronger than memories I have of my old life.

One hobby I did not pick up was crocheting, an obsession among prisoners throughout the system. Some of the handiwork was impressive. The inmate who ran the laundry was a surly rural white woman named Nancy whose dislike for anyone but “northerners” was hardly a secret. Her personality left a lot to be desired, but she was a remarkable crochet artist. One day in C Dorm I happened upon Nancy standing with my neighbor Allie B. and mopey Sally, all howling with laughter. “What?” I asked, innocently. “Show her, Nancy!” giggled Allie. Nancy opened her hand. Perched there in her palm was an astonishingly lifelike crochet penis. Average in size, it was erect, fashioned of pink cotton yarn, with balls and a smattering of brown cotton pubic hair, and a squirt of white yarn ejaculate at the tip.

some write, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, as it has all the letters in the alphabet in it.

Sally, the hardest question we have to ask ourselves in this life is, “Who am I?” Ideally, we answer it for ourselves, but be warned that others will strive to do it for you—so don’t let them.

The rust-colored dog was named Pepper, I soon gathered, and as we walked we stopped at more places and soon had a brown female dog named Sally and a hairy, stocky male dog named Beevis, all on leashes in a most unnatural dog family.

She said, ‘Sally, the hardest question we have to ask ourselves in this life is, “Who am I?” Ideally, we answer it for ourselves, but be warned that others will strive to do it for you—so don’t let them.’” There was a lump in Alice’s throat; she was on the brink of tears.

Alice thought the supposedly toxic plant seemed perfectly harmless. The flowers resembled bell-shaped slippers, grouped in satisfying lines that hung from the main stalk as though weighted from their centers. "This one? It's actually quite pretty." "Isn't it?" "The previous owner must have loved it. There's quite a lot." Alice noted aside from the bunch in front of her, it grew in two other spots in the garden. "It seems she did," Sally said. "The plant also has another name; maybe you've heard of it? Digitalis purpurea." "Doesn't sound familiar." "They use foxgloves to make digitalis, the heart medication." Sally put her glove back on. "But touching any part of the plant- leaves, flower, stem- with bare hands can cause a whole host of trouble.

Nora Ephron is a screenwriter whose scripts for Silkwood, When Harry Met Sally, and Sleepless in Seattle have all been nominated for Academy Awards. Ephron started her career as a journalist for the New York Post and Esquire. She became a journalist because of her high school journalism teacher. Ephron still remembers the first day of her journalism class. Although the students had no journalism experience, they walked into their first class with a sense of what a journalist does: A journalists gets the facts and reports them. To get the facts, you track down the five Ws—who, what, where, when, and why. As students sat in front of their manual typewriters, Ephron’s teacher announced the first assignment. They would write the lead of a newspaper story. The teacher reeled off the facts: “Kenneth L. Peters, the principal of Beverly Hills High School, announced today that the entire high school faculty will travel to Sacramento next Thursday for a colloquium in new teaching methods. Among the speakers will be anthropologist Margaret Mead, college president Dr. Robert Maynard Hutchins, and California governor Edmund ‘Pat’ Brown.” The budding journalists sat at their typewriters and pecked away at the first lead of their careers. According to Ephron, she and most of the other students produced leads that reordered the facts and condensed them into a single sentence: “Governor Pat Brown, Margaret Mead, and Robert Maynard Hutchins will address the Beverly Hills High School faculty Thursday in Sacramento. . .blah, blah, blah.” The teacher collected the leads and scanned them rapidly. Then he laid them aside and paused for a moment. Finally, he said, “The lead to the story is ‘There will be no school next Thursday.’” “It was a breathtaking moment,” Ephron recalls. “In that instant I realized that journalism was not just about regurgitating the facts but about figuring out the point. It wasn’t enough to know the who, what, when, and where; you had to understand what it meant. And why it mattered.” For the rest of the year, she says, every assignment had a secret—a hidden point that the students had to figure out in order to produce a good story.

I was amused and surprised by the odd, visceral details that returned to me with each work: Pa bringing the girls real white sugar wrapped in brown paper in Little House in the Big Woods, Sally J. Freeman having a man-o-war wrapped around her foot (who even know what a man-o-war wa?), Claudia choosing macaroni at the Automat in From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. These strong, charged images that have never left me - they're often stronger than memories I have of my old life.

He’s as bad as he was when he first came,” Mandy said sadly, looking at the little brown-and-white ball in the basket. It was all they’d been able to see of Harry for days. Sally called gently, “Harry! Here, boy!” but he didn’t even twitch. “It’s so sad. He really adored Grace, but I can understand why she doesn’t think she should visit him any more, and it’s probably for the best.” “Still, there’s a family coming to see him this afternoon,” said Mandy. “They saw him on the website, and they think he looks perfect. If they like him, and they can give him the time to settle down…” They stared at Harry, still curled up silently, and Sally sighed. “Well, you never know…

On Christmas Day her mother gave her an envelope with five hundred euro in it. There was no card; it was one of the small brown-paper envelopes she used for Lorraine’s wages. Marianne thanked her, and Denise said airily: I’m a bit concerned about you. Marianne fingered the envelope and tried to arrange her face into a suitable expression. What about me? she said. Well, said Denise, what are you going to do with your life? I don’t know. I think I still have a lot of options open. I’m just focusing on college at the moment. And then what? Marianne pressed her thumb on the envelope and smudged it until a faint dark smear appeared on the paper. As I said, she repeated, I don’t know. I’m worried the real world will come as a bit of a shock to you, said Denise. In what way? I don’t know if you realize that university is a very protective environment. It’s not like a workplace. Well, I doubt anyone in the workplace will spit at me over a disagreement, said Marianne. It would be pretty frowned upon, as I understand. Denise gave a tight-lipped smile. If you can’t handle a little sibling rivalry, I don’t know how you’re going to manage adult life, darling, she said. Let’s see how it goes. At this, Denise struck the kitchen table with her open palm. Marianne flinched, but didn’t look up, didn’t let go of the envelope. You think you’re special, do you? said Denise. Marianne let her eyes close. No, she said. I don’t.

One platter held two fillets of salmon, each thinly sliced and surrounded by appropriate garnishes and small rounds of dark bread. The other platter had a lush assortment of appetizers. "Why, that's perfectly lovely," said Sally, who immediately had a brioche round swathed with foie gras on the way to her mouth. I attacked the salmon. Between chews, Sally managed to say, "Please thank him for us. I'm sure it's a sweatshop in the kitchen, but when there's time, I'd love to meet him." "I'll be sure to tell him. Right now he's a bit like a chicken without its noggin." "This salmon is delicious. Do you smoke it yourself?"I always like to compliment freebies from the kitchen. It usually keeps them coming. This time I was being totally honest; the salmon was incredible. "Aye, we do. And the other salmon fillet on the plate is cured in tequila and lime juice. We do that here as well. And we bake the brown bread that's with it. All of our salmon comes from Ireland, as well as the dark flour for the bread.

His were hazel, like trees in the early spring when they’re ready to explode with leaves and even though they’re still winter-brown, you can see a green shimmer.

That night, I wore a dress that Mary had picked out for my trip. I had told her that I wouldn't need anything that dressy, but she'd convinced me otherwise. "You don't know who you'll meet, since you'll be with Sally and American TV. It could be a count or a prince or Marcello from 'Under the Tuscan Sun.'" As soon as she'd mentioned Marcello, I'd put the dress in my "take it" pile. The pinkish-brown dress was a very thin, satiny silk weave that Mary said was "charmeuse" and I said was the next best thing to foie gras and white truffles. The neckline plunged into a deep V, revealing nothing but suggesting everything. The skirt ended midcalf and would have totally met Nonna's approval were it not for the slit to my thigh.

Solitude is independence. -Hermann Hesse Independence is happiness. -Susan B. Anthony Happiness is having your own library card. -Sally Brown, Peanuts” ― Abbi Waxman, The Bookish Life of Nina Hill

When someone, anyone! Black, white, red, yellow, brown. Anybody! Disrespects you, get right on their ass, and stay there until somebody pulls you off. That’s how you get respect, and teach people not to fuck with you at the same time.

Really?’ says Jason excitedly. ‘Sure. But no more kicking the ball into the tree, OK?’ she says sternly. ‘Or there’ll be BIG trouble.’ Jason grins.‘OK,’ he

SURE? The Case of the Knockout Artist Bugs Meany’s heart burned with a great desire. It was to get even with Encyclopedia. Bugs hated being outsmarted by the boy detective. He longed to punch Encyclopedia so hard on the jaw that the lump would come out the top of his head. Bugs never raised a fist, though. Whenever he felt like it, he remembered Sally Kimball. Sally was the prettiest girl in the fifth grade—and the best fighter. She had done what no boy under twelve had dreamed was possible. She had flattened Bugs Meany! When Sally became the boy detective’s junior partner, Bugs quit trying to use muscle on Encyclopedia. But he never stopped planning his day of revenge. “Bugs hates you more than he does me,” warned Encyclopedia. “He’ll never forgive you for whipping him.” Just then Ike Cassidy walked into the detective agency. Ike was one of Bugs’s pals. “I’m quitting the Tigers,” he announced. “I want to hire you. But you’ll have to take the quarter from my pocket. I can’t move my fingers.” “What’s this all about?” asked Encyclopedia. “Bugs’s cousin, Bearcat Meany, is spending the weekend with him,” said Ike. “Bearcat is only ten, but he’s built like a caveman. Bugs said he’d give me two dollars to box a few rounds with Bearcat. “Bearcat tripped you and stepped on your fingers?” guessed Encyclopedia. “No, he used his head,” said Ike. “I gave him my famous one-two: a left to the nose followed by a right to the chin. I must have broken both my hands hitting him.” “You should have worn boxing gloves,” said Sally. “We wore gloves,” said Ike. “Man, that Bearcat is something else!” “Did he knock you out?” asked Encyclopedia. “He did and he didn’t,” said Ike. “His first punch didn’t knock me out and it didn’t knock me down. But it hurt so much I just had to go down anyway.” “Good grief!” gasped Encyclopedia. “H-he licked you with one punch?” “With two,” corrected Ike. “When I got up, he hit me again. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move enough to fall down.” “Bearcat sounds like a coming champ,” observed Sally. “He’s training for the next Olympics,” said Ike. “Isn’t he a little young?” said Sally. “You tell him that,” said Ike. “He hurt me when he breathed on me.” The more Encyclopedia heard about Bearcat, the unhappier he became.

Chocolate Macaroons ¾ cup sugar 4 large egg whites 4 cups shredded sweetened coconut 3 tablespoons matzah cake meal 3 tablespoons cocoa powder Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Set aside. Combine the sugar and egg whites in the top of a double boiler over simmering water (boil 2 inches of water in the bottom of the double boiler and reduce the heat to simmer). Cook the mixture, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Stir in the coconut, cake meal, and cocoa until smooth. Spoon 24 mounds of macaroons onto the baking sheet and bake for 15 to 18 minutes, until the tops are just golden. Allow to cool completely before removing from the baking sheet. Yield: 24 macaroons. Evangeline’s Cook’s Notes Naturally this is a new recipe for the girls and me, but from what I hear they turned out pretty yummy. So yummy, I decided to try it myself. Vernon made an absolute pig of himself! Lemon Chicken 1/3 cup flour 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon paprika 1 frying chicken (2½ to 3 pounds) 3 tablespoons lemon juice 3 tablespoons Crisco 1 chicken bouillon cube ¼ cup green onion, sliced 2 tablespoons brown sugar 1½ teaspoons lemon peel, grated chopped parsley for garnish In paper or plastic bag, combine flour, salt, and paprika. Brush the cut-up chicken with lemon juice. Add 2 to 3 pieces of chicken at a time to the bag and shake well. In a large skillet, brown chicken in hot Crisco. Dissolve bouillon cube in ¾cup boiling water; pour over chicken. Stir in onion, brown sugar, lemon peel, and remaining lemon juice. Cover, reduce heat, and cook chicken over low heat until tender, 40 to 50 minutes. Garnish with chopped parsley. Serves 4. Goldie’s Cook’s Notes Sally is a real doll for sharing this recipe with me. She says she found it in an old cookbook of her mother’s and that nothing but nothing her mother ever cooked came out bad. One taste of this recipe and you’ll be a believer in old cookbooks too!

Our approach to QA is based on the belief that the balance between control and accountability on the one hand and quality enhancement on the other must be weighted towards the latter. Only if the QA process is perceived as bringing advantages to those who interact with it, will they contribute to it co-operatively and positively, and only in such circumstances will quality be enhanced.

I want my new friends and my old friends to get together,' she said, 'so we're going to have a shoe dance. All the guys take off one shoe and put it in the middle of the floor. All the girls pick a shoe, find its mate, and dance with the fellow who's wearing it.' Without a second's hesitation, I glanced over at Billy. He was standing next to Sally at the victrola. His saddle shoes were black and white, not brown and white, and very dirty. I memorized the dirt.

recess,

Norah agreed. But she couldn’t place her. And when the bartender approached, Norah stopped trying and decided to look at him instead. He had brown skin, a mop of back curls, and—Norah felt faint at this—a mustache.

Chapter Five Already Gone In which the Oppenheimer triplets arrive and immediately commence to grow apart Lewyn’s first memory was of a rocky beach (later to be identified as the one behind our Vineyard cottage), and a long strand of brown seaweed he held up to the sun. Harrison’s first memory was of Jürgen the dog, growling at him. Sally’s first memory was of her brother Harrison grabbing a piece of apple out of her brother Lewyn’s grubby hand. What was the first shared memory? Settling on even that trifling common denominator would have required conversation and the acknowledgment of a shared history, and that was not to be, at least not while they were still children. Harrison, who did most things first, would opt out before the other two, but Sally wasn’t far behind. Lewyn, poor Lewyn, held on longer than would be reasonable to anyone else. In fact, he wouldn’t give up entirely until his sister dismissed him at the start of their shared freshman year at their mutual alma mater. But without the cooperation of the others, did it ever matter what Lewyn wanted? Only days before their arrival, the house in Brooklyn Heights had been cavernous and still, classically proportioned rooms full of air, with only an immobile woman upstairs in the bedroom and a lazy dachshund

think?

The girls gasp. Billie grins proudly.

great,

The sun glinted on Max's buttons and buckles; his boots shone like chestnuts. A revolver in a holster. Brown eyes and a handsome face. The son and heir. The sun and air. I look at him, and I thought, Aha!

Finding Nemo

smaller

Kelly and I saw a future (otherwise known as the sixth grade) in which we would remain invisible and unchanged while around us other girls suddenly bloomed. In Kelly's version, the girls burst, blousy peonies after the first hot summer night. In mine, after seven days and seven nights of rain, these girls became dandelions while we remained green clumps of crabgrass. Kelly and I knew what we needed. Lips that looked pink, wet, and just licked. Sally Campbell's lips had started to look that way at the beginning of fifth grade. Sally was pretty, and pretty girls were always ahead of the rest of us. Sally's lips and also her mouth smelled of strawberry bubblegum. Kelly and I were jealous of both the shine and the scent. In order to make us feel better, I told Kelly that the word "Sally" tasted of pumpkins, without the brown sugar or the cinnamon. Just a squash. Sally, nonetheless, set the example for us. Lips that could be seen from across the classroom we understood were desirable, and gloss for them has to be our first acquisition. Kelly begged her mother, Beth Anne, and then resorted to a promise of future weight loss for a shade of pink called Flamingo Paradise, which Beth Anne picked out for her. Beth Anne, at the time, didn't pay attention to Kelly. Beth Anne completely ignored the fact that her only daughter had asked her for lip gloss, strawberry-bubblegum-flavored. Flamingo Paradise was lipstick, the kind that my grandmother Iris wore. It went on creamy but soon became cracked and dry. The only flavor it gave to our lips was something that also belonged to Iris: talcum powder mixed with a crushed vanilla cream wafer.

Solitude is independence. —HERMANN HESSE Independence is happiness. —SUSAN B. ANTHONY Happiness is having your own library card. —SALLY BROWN, PEANUTS

things.