Sandra Oh Quotes

Well I'm not dancing," Will said through gritted teeth. "I don't know how." Oh yes you are," Alyss told him. "Let's hope you're a fast learner." He glanced at her and saw no prospect of escape. "Well,at least I won't be the only one," he said. "Halt will be terrible too." But nobody in the assembly knew tat for the past ten days, Halt had been taking dance lessons from Lady Sandra.

Oh, please, spare me the male ego. I'm not repulsed by sex, and I can reach an orgasm as well as any woman. After all, there are fifty-seven erotic points on a woman's body. If a man can't find one of them, he needs a flashlight and a sex manual.

Sandra always refers to her husband of the last ten years as Mr. Right, to distinguish him from the oh-so-wrong first husband.

While we try to find out what happened to her, there’s something you should keep in mind.” Jess arched a brow. “Oh?” “If Hayes Bannock has your wife, you probably top his shit list. Be afraid.

Likes to fight, does he?" Sandra said thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah. He says there are only two reasons to fight." "Which are?" "Joy and death." Her mother's brows went up. "Joy in death?" "No, no... For joy, to stretch yourself with a friend; or death, to kill as quickly as you can. Nothing in between.

I’m missing my baby’s first swim lesson. If I am at my daughter’s debut in her school musical, I am missing Sandra Oh’s last scene ever being filmed at Grey’s Anatomy. If I am succeeding at one, I am inevitably failing at the other. That is the trade-off. That is the Faustian bargain one makes with the devil that comes with being a powerful working woman who is also a powerful mother. You never feel 100 percent okay, you never get your sea legs, you are always a little nauseous. Something is always lost. Something is always missing. And yet. I want my daughters to see me and know me as a woman who works. I want that example set for them.

Sandra nodded. “Agreed. A…oh, God, let’s not call it a United Nations, shall we? That would doom things from the start.

Oh, shit! Sandra! Is that the Madelintosh Aran limited dye lot yarn you just stuffed into that asshole’s mouth? You know I can’t replace that!

The intensity of his expression caused her to tentatively ask, “What?” “I’ve never been a big fan of the missionary position.” Not quite sure how to respond to that, she said simply, “Oh.” “I preferred making it any other way.” “Why?” “Because it didn’t have anything to do with getting off.” “What didn’t?” “Looking into the woman’s face.” He murmured the statement as though puzzled by it. Her throat grew tight. She reached up and stroked his cheek. “You wanted to look into mine?

Five minutes later, a young man walking rapidly in the opposite direction pulled up short and stopped in front of Sandra. He exclaimed blithely: “I say, what luck! I wondered if I’d ever see you again.” His tone was so delighted that she blushed just a little. He stooped to the dog. “What a jolly little fellow. What’s his name?” “MacTavish.” “Oh, very Scotch.

From what I know of you already, you have quite a reputation for providing customer satisfaction." Julie's cheeks burned. For Kate's benefit she said, "I try." "Oh, I'm certain you do more than try. You go all out." He paused for several beats. Then, "I've driven past the gallery thousands of times and always admired the works displayed in the windows. But I haven't had a reason to stop." "And now you did?" "Now I did." She drew herself up. "Well, I'm sure Katherine will find the perfect piece for you. She's very knowledgeable." "He came to see you." "That's right, Ms. Rutledge. Not that Ms. Fields isn't perfectly charming and, I'm sure, knowledgeable." He shot Kate a smile over his shoulder, which she returned before he came back around to Julie. "But I'm placing myself in your very capable hands.

The mainland of Greece was dark; and somewhere off Euboea a cloud must have touched the waves and spattered them—the dolphins circling deeper and deeper into the sea. Violent was the wind now rushing down the Sea of Marmara between Greece and the plains of Troy. In Greece and the uplands of Albania and Turkey, the wind scours the sand and the dust, and sows itself thick with dry particles. And then it pelts the smooth domes of the mosques, and makes the cypresses, standing stiff by the turbaned tombstones of Mohammedans, creak and bristle. Sandra’s veils were swirled about her. “I will give you my copy,” said Jacob. “Here. Will you keep it?” (The book was the poems of Donne.) Now the agitation of the air uncovered a racing star. Now it was dark. Now one after another lights were extinguished. Now great towns—Paris—Constantinople—London—were black as strewn rocks. Waterways might be distinguished. In England the trees were heavy in leaf. Here perhaps in some southern wood an old man lit dry ferns and the birds were startled. The sheep coughed; one flower bent slightly towards another. The English sky is softer, milkier than the Eastern. Something gentle has passed into it from the grass–rounded hills, something damp. The salt gale blew in at Betty Flanders’s bedroom window, and the widow lady, raising herself slightly on her elbow, sighed like one who realizes, but would fain ward off a little longer—oh, a little longer!—the oppression of eternity. But to return to Jacob and Sandra. They had vanished. There was the Acropolis; but had they reached it? The columns and the Temple remain; the emotion of the living breaks fresh on them year after year; and of that what remains?

You should buy a potted plant.” I laugh at that as I sit on the wooden picnic table at the park in the dark, listening to Jack ramble through the speakerphone beside me. “A plant.” “Seriously, hear me out—you get a plant. You nurture it, keep it alive, and wham-bam, that’s how you know you’re ready for this whole thing.” “That’s stupid.” “No, it’s not. It’s a real thing. I saw it in that movie 28 Days.” “The zombie one?” “Nah, man, the Sandra Bullock one. You’re thinking about 28 Days Later.” “You steal your advice from Sandra Bullock movies?” “Oh, don’t you fucking judge me. It’s a hell of a lot better than that shit you keep making. And besides, it’s good advice.” “Buy a plant.” “Yes.” “Did you buy one?” “What?” “A plant,” I say. “Did you buy yourself a plant to prove you’re ready for a relationship?” “No,” he says. “Why not?” “Because I don’t need a plant to tell me what I already know,” he says. “I’m wearing a pair of emoji boxers and eating hot Cheetos in my basement apartment. Pretty sure the signs are all there.” “Emoji boxers?” I laugh. “Talk about a stereotypical internet troll.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says. “This isn’t about me, though. We’re talking about you.” “I’m tired of talking about me.” “Holy shit, seriously? Didn’t think that was possible!” “Funny.” “Remember that interview you did on The Late Show two years ago?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “You were stoned out of your mind, kept referring to yourself in third person.” “Fuck off.” “Pretty sure that guy would never be tired of talking about himself.” “You’re an asshole.” He laughs. “True.” “You get on my nerves.” “You’re welcome.” Sighing, I shake my head. “Thank you.” “Now go buy yourself a plant,” he says. “I was in the middle of a game of Call of Duty when you called, so I’m going to get back to it.” “Yeah, okay.” “Oh, and Cunning? I’m glad you haven’t drowned yourself in a bottle of whiskey.” “Why? Would you miss me?” “More like your fangirls might murder me if I let you destroy yourself,” he says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re crazy. Have you seen some of their fan art? It’s insane.” “Goodbye, Jack,” I say, pressing the button on my phone to end the call

Something I can help you find?” he asks. Because to be fair, I’m digging through his drawer. “Nope,” I tell him. “Found it.” “Everly, what in the hell are you doing?” He’s finished buttoning his shirt and is staring at me, hands on hips, the corners of his eyes creased as he frowns. “I’m putting on your underwear,” I tell him, stepping into a pair of his briefs. I was digging around for a black pair. Why the hell do they even sell them in white? Just, no. “Why?” He still looks bewildered, but he’s stopped staring at me to tuck in his shirt. “You got me all worked up and horny in there.” I point a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “I gave you an orgasm.” He seems confused by my accusation. I snort. “Right. Which you know only makes me want your dick more.” I glance over at the clothing I brought, contemplating what will work with this underwear. I’ve been chatting with his assistant Sandra all week about what people wear to this party. Sawyer was zero help on that front. “Wear whatever you want,” he’d said. As if I can pick an outfit with that kind of direction. “I hope you’re wearing your new cufflinks with that shirt,” I tell him, eyeing his outfit of black slacks and grey dress shirt. He holds up the cat cufflinks I gave him at Christmas and fastens his left sleeve. “I still don’t understand what my underwear has to do with anything.” “Oh!” I pull a solid black sleeveless dress with a full skirt and a wide waistband off the hanger and step into it. “Because you’re obviously planning on having your way with me at this party. Probably gonna shove me into a coat closet and fuck me with your hand over my mouth so no one hears us. And if anyone’s panties are getting left behind at this party, it’s gonna be yours.” He nods slowly and fastens his right sleeve. “Do women your age still use the phrase ‘having your way with me?’” “I just did. Anyway, yours are more absorbent. Can you zip me?” I turn my back to him and swipe my hair over one shoulder, waiting. I feel his fingers on the zipper, the fabric gathering slowly up my back. He finishes and rests his thumbs on the back of my neck, rubbing small circles into my skin as he kisses the nape of my neck. I shudder, feeling his touch all the way to the black briefs. “That’s a pretty elaborate plan I came up with,” he murmurs. I turn and nod, sadly. “I know. You’re kind of a menace.” “It’s good of you to put up with me.” I shrug. “Someone’s got to.” “I’m not going to be able to rip those underwear off of you.” “Haha!” I point at him with one hand and slip a heel on with my other. “I knew it!

Oh Jesus!” George W. Bush said. “It buakkaked on the door!

Nah, hoe, she is gonna be too busy tossing my salad. You can say your prayers girl when I’m sitting on your face … cause you know …” another woman said and then began to sing, “My neck, my back, lick pussy and my crack, oh shit, my neck back, that white bitch is gonna lick my ass.

Don’t move boy. Lord Jesus … this ain’t right. Oh my Lord. You’re a damn faggot whacking it to a man of God. Blasphemy! And he is a friend of mine. Good man too, that Kirk Cameron. Brought me to the Lord … holy hell … you got your sperm on Jesus and Mr. Cameron … you’re of the devil!

. . man he made and for him built Magnificent this world, and earth his seat, Him lord pronounced; and, Oh indignity! Subjected to his service angel-wings, And flaming ministers to watch and tend Their earthly charge: Of these the vigilance I dread; and, to elude, thus wrapped in mist Of midnight vapor glide obscure, and pry In every bush and brake, where hap may find The serpent sleeping; in whose mazy folds To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. —PARADISE LOST, JOHN MILTON

Ayúdame, Señor, para que la voz de mi Ego Superior pueda llegar a mi mente. Ayúdame, señor a comprender mis palabras y mis actos, ayúdame a comprender los de los demás, pon en mí la fuerza de decisión necesaria para romper con los hábitos perversos y así poder ser la base de un nuevo universo. Inspírame, Señor, la palabra justa, el gesto apropiado, el tono que crea en el cielo lo que las manos humanas cimentan en la tierra. Ayúdame, ¡Oh CHAVAKIAH! A encontrar el espacio físico apropiado para la creación de este nuevo universo. Yo seré el material firme, la cal y el cemento de tu Obra, y te ofrezco mi cuerpo y mis vehículos para que edifiques con ellos el nuevo Edén. En tus manos pongo a (aquí dices el nombre de la persona) para que el universo de la alegría y reconciliación de Dios se manifieste entre nosotros. Gracias, hecho está.

Ashley says to give you her best.” “Oh, that’s sweet. How’s she doing these days?” Ashley Winston was one of Elizabeth and Sandra’s good friends who used to work at the hospital as a nurse practitioner.

Surrender? Oh, Lord! First need. Now surrender. She swatted his hand away, but not before his knuckles grazed a nipple and ignited a wildfire of sensual

As Sandra would say, all I felt was Zen. But not Quinn. Quinn was not Zen. He was the opposite of Zen. I’d made a mental note to look up what the opposite of the word Zen was, thinking it should be something like “zook” or “z-oh-shit!” Or maybe it was “zinn.

You’re harshing my mellow, Liv.

Oh God, another Sandra Bullock film, another Willis. If I see Helen Hunt squinting at me from a hazy airline screen one more time, I’m opening the emergency door. Being sucked into thin air has got to be preferable to that.

Oh, yes. You betrayed me. I remember. They told me about it so many times.’ ‘I did. I should like to have saved you, but I had no choice.’ ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘That’s the horrid thing. One has no choice, and yet one must live through it exactly as if one had.

How have you been?' 'Drunk.' 'Oh.' 'But only on bad days,' 'On good days how are you?' 'Drunker.

That was the moment I realized that I had messed up. I'd left the lock picking kit on the floor in Hoffman’s room. Oh no. Now what?

While we sat at the bar, Dave told me the most important advice about talking to women I had ever received, and that was to be as relaxed as possible and not fear rejection. Dave then began hooking up with some girl who looked like a hybrid of Rosie O’Donnell and Miss Piggy, leaving me alone to ponder his words.” “When I was in 8th grade, there was this girl named Sandra who I used to ride the school bus with. Sandra was about 5’2, 120 lbs, and looked like the Hamburglar. She was the prettiest girl in my class.” “In my mind I was the life of the party and felt as though I could do no wrong when it came to interacting with the opposite sex. That was until Marissa caught me red handed hooking up with some girl who looked like a combination of John Madden and Andre the Giant, tapping me on the shoulder and kicking me square in the nuts.” “I was starting to feel bad about how I treated women. Oh wait, no I wasn’t. The girls at Binghamton were nothing more than a bunch of dumb sluts that just wanted to get drunk and suck dick, and besides, they were all going to make a lot more money than me in the future. So I may as well catch brains while these bitches were dumb enough to blow me.” “Out of all the people I could’ve stumbled into blackout drunk, why did it have to be THE MOOSE? As son as she saw me her 300 lb frame waddled over, and she jammed her tongue down my throat, devouring me as though I were a Big Mac. This was embarrassing. Here I was making out with some girl who looked like Eric Cartman in a dress, and everybody was watching. My life was effectively over.” “After annihilating Ruben’s toilet, I looked over my shoulder for some much-needed toilet paper, when to my shock and dismay there was not a single sheet of paper in sight. There’s no way in hell I was rejoining the party covered in poop and I would have wiped my ass with anything. That’s when I noticed his New York Yankees bath towel.” “I spent the rest of my week off getting completely shitfaced with Chris, and that’s when I realized I might be developing a drinking problem. At Bar None, hooking up with some girl who looked like the Loch Ness Monster; this shit had to stop. Alcohol was turning me into a drunken mess, and I vowed right then and there to quit drinking and start smoking more weed immediately.” “I got a new roommate. His name was Erick and he was an ex-marine. Erick and I didn’t know each other, but he knew Kevin, and he also knew that I didn’t shower and that last semester I left a used condom on the floor for two weeks without throwing it away. Eric therefore did not want to live with me.” “Believe it or not, I got another job working with the disabled. See, Manny was nice enough to hook me up with a position as a job coach at the Lavelle School for the Blind. The kid’s name was Fred and he was blind with cerebral palsy. Fred loved dogs and I loved smoking week. Bad combination, and I was fired with 3 days left in the program after allowing Fred to run across the street into oncoming traffic, because I had smoked a bowl an hour earlier. Manny and I never spoke again.” “My life was a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. Here I was living this carefree existence, getting drunk, boning bitches, and playing Sega Genesis in between. Oh wait, what am I talking about? My life was awesome. It’s the rest of my life that’s going to suck.

As Sandra would say, all I felt was Zen. But not Quinn. Quinn was not Zen. He was the opposite of Zen. I’d made a mental note to look up what the opposite of the word Zen was, thinking it should be something like ‘Zook’ or ‘Z-oh-shit!’ Or maybe it was Zinn.

ready to go?” “Oh, of course! Sorry!” Mary ran to scoop up her little

You’re so much smarter than I am, Caleb. So much stronger and so much more persuasive. If I married you, I wouldn’t be myself for very long. I’d soon become the person you want me to be.” He sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “I wouldn’t change you for the world,” he protested quietly. “Yes, you would,” Lily insisted. “You’d make me into a china doll, overseeing tea parties and embroidering samplers and gazing at you in worshipful adoration. And eventually you’d get tired of me, Caleb, and take a mistress.” He glowered at her, as though insulted. “I would never betray you.” “Oh, no? What about when I’m pregnant, Caleb—all fat, with swollen ankles and a chronic case of the weeps. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t turn to another woman for the comforts you so obviously need?” “I’d find you more attractive than ever,” Caleb answered with annoyed certainty. Lily picked up her spoon, then set it down again. Her hands knotted into fists in her lap. “You weren’t faithful to Sandra. Why should I fare any better?” “Because I love you, for one thing. And I explained before—I didn’t sleep with Sandra.” “I might not feel like sleeping with you, either—if I happened to get pregnant, that is. What would you do then, Caleb?” “Wait,” he answered. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “And do my damnedest to seduce you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good at that.” Lily flushed and squirmed a little, remembering. There was no denying his assertion: Caleb could practically tumble her onto her back with a look or a touch. The fact tormented her, for she couldn’t discern whether it was because of some special skill on his part or because she was basically a loose woman like her mother. “I’ve noticed,” she admitted. Caleb gazed at her for a long time, then went back to eating his stew.

He’s not interested in the new blonde, look at him,” Chloe observes. “Of course he’s not, but Sandra’s gonna bolt in less than a minute. Just watch.” A throat clears behind us and we both straighten and turn, finding Sawyer directly behind us. He looks pretty comfortable, hands in pockets, standing inches away. I’m guessing he’s been here a minute. He cocks an eyebrow at me before moving his gaze to Chloe. “Everly’s roommate, Chloe, I presume?” he asks, reaching out and shaking her hand. “Sawyer, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Chloe is positively beaming. “I’m a fan of anyone who can give this one”—she nudges me in the ribs—“a run for her money.” Sawyer rubs his chin in a play of delight. “Oh, I bet you have stories. We should have lunch sometime.” “Ha, ha, you two. Ha, ha. You can exchange numbers later. We need to focus right now.” “Yeah, what have you done to my assistant?” Sawyer frowns, the corners of his eyes creasing as he takes in Sandra’s appearance. “What happened to her pants?” “She looks hot, right? You can admit it, I won’t be jealous. Damn, her legs in that skirt. I wish my legs were that long.” I say wistfully. “Are we calling that a skirt? It looks like a headband.” “Don’t be old, it’s a skirt,” I assure him. “Gabe liked it,” I add. “He definitely liked it,” Chloe agrees while I nod smugly. “But now that meddling tramp is horning in on all my hard work,” I say, waving at the unknown blonde who joined Gabe and Sandra. And then Chloe and I groan in unison. Because Sandra has just given up and left Gabe and the new blonde. She’s wandered over by the balcony, looking miserable. “Go keep her company while I strategize,” I tell Chloe, and now Sawyer is the one groaning.

Chloe pushes the elevator call button while Sandra covers the formal introductions. If Gabe thinks it’s weird that I was calling his name across the lobby when I’ve not technically been introduced to him, he doesn’t show it, likely because he’s a little distracted with Sandra. “So you came alone?” I ask as the four of us step onto the next elevator. Sandra and Chloe shoot me simultaneous looks of ire, clearly unimpressed with my segue from introductions to fact-finding. Gabe glances in my direction, then back at Sandra. “I did.” I nod to Chloe with a discreet tilt of my head and widen my eyes, as if to say, See, I was right. Chloe tilts her head back and shrugs. She knows I’m right, but it’ll kill her to admit it. I hope Gabe and Sandra have a big wedding so I can bring Chloe as my plus one. “See you later!” I call out as we all step off the elevator on the second floor, grabbing Chloe’s arm in the process. “I’m going to find Sawyer so I can introduce him to Chloe,” I explain, and then I make a run for it. I imagine it’s much the same way a mother feels when she drops her child at kindergarten for the first time. I stop the moment I find a hiding place so I can peek back and make sure Sandra’s stayed put where I left her, with Gabe. “He’s totally into her. You see it, right?” “Yeah, fine. He’s into her,” Chloe admits, begrudgingly. “They’re so cute they’re going to need a couple nickname. Sabra! Sabra’s perfect. Coined it!” I do a little raise-the-roof motion with my hands to celebrate my brilliance. “Sabra is a brand of hummus.” Oh. Maybe not so brilliant then. I drop my hands and frown.

Everly, what exactly are you working on?” he asks as we head out. The party is being held in the Ritz-Carlton ballroom, so it’s a short walk to the party. Sawyer clasps my hand in his, this thumb rubbing over the back of my hand as we stroll. “Getting Gabe and Sandra together,” I respond, matter-of-factly. He tilts his head in my direction. “Gabe and… Sandra?” “Yeah, obviously. Why do you keep repeating everything I’m saying? Gabe and Sandra. It’s so obvious.” “My assistant and my Finance VP are not a thing, Everly.” “Yet.” I shake my head. “You are really short-sighted for an almost-billionaire.” “And you’re a human resources nightmare.” We’re on the elevator and he rubs a hand over his jaw and closes his eyes. “Wait, Gabe is your head of finance? I really had him pegged for a tech nerd.” “Because that matters right now?” He opens his eyes, looking bewildered. “Oh, he’s like one of the bosses! This just gets yummier and yummier.” I bounce on my toes and clap my hands in delight.

It was what Julia had been thinking for weeks, but now she said, You mustn't think that. It was they who made you — 'Oh, rubbish! Who's they? I'm at Central Committee. Youre Thought Police. We're they! That's just why we've got to get out.