Sheriff Of Nottingham Quotes

It was Alan Rickman and I was terrified, not because of the menace he exuded as Severus Snape, but because I loved the film Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and was obsessed with Alan’s performance as the dastardly Sheriff of Nottingham. To be in the same room as the Sheriff himself was enough to penetrate even my veneer of schoolboy cockiness.

Kidnapping a Reluctant Bride:  Traditional Meet-Cute or First-Degree Felony Abduction? You decide in our insta-poll!

Mostly Robin is in that ‘ex-boyfriend space,’ where you forget he exists for months at a time and then suddenly you remember and you’re embarrassed all over again that you ever liked him, in the first place.

The Sherwood Forest Chronicles . 1. If Robin Hood steals from the rich, doesn't that make them poor? Does he give them their money back? I mean, what the point of robbing to begin with if your mission statement is logically flawed? 2. If the Sheriff of Nottingham is such an asshole, why isn’t he the Prime Minister of Nottingham? 3. Why don’t I see elves here? Did all the elves of Sherwood Forest migrate to New Zealand to become extras on the Peter Jackson’s Hobbit films? 4. Does Little John even know what an oxymoron is? 5. If Smokey the Bear came to Sherwood Forest to make a public service announcement about preventing forest fires, would he leave with arrows in his ass or would the Merry Men feast on bear meat for several days? And what makes the Merry Men merry in the first place? 6. What do you think? Does Robin Hood shop at Walmart or Target?

Robin of Loxley, Robin of Loxley, England’s most treasured man. He takes delight, in leading the fight, To save good Nottingham. “Unlike the sheriff, Robin is cherished, His heart is pure and true. Loved by the ladies, they want his babies, And love his merry crew. “The sheriff grows scared as Robin prepares, To end Prince John’s regime. If you want freedom, a better kingdom, Then sing this merry theme! “Robin of Loxley, Robin of Loxley, ’Tis no one greater than, Robin of Loxley, Robin of Loxley, England’s most treasured man!

When we entered the library we were surprised to see two other people.  They were friends of Joan who would also be guests here for a part of the holiday.  Their first names were Helen and John and after that the only thing I heard was that she was the Justice of the Peace in Sherwood Forest and he was the Sheriff of Nottingham.      I looked at Tim first who was straight faced as usual, then at Marguerite and we both managed to suppress a grin or a laugh.  I almost said, “Ok, Ok, this shit has gone on long enough, SO we’re not gonna ask if Robin Hood will be here as well.”  Thank heavens I didn’t, because they were deadly serious and it was all true.

Are you serious right now? Have you not seen Alan Rickman’s transcendent turn as the Sheriff of Nottingham in the 1991 classic Robin Hood Prince of Thieves?

Ah-ha-ha-ha!” Robin Hood threw back his head and laughed heartily. “No, it means Marian scared him off with her sword.” “And I wouldst do it again,” said Marian. “For the scoundrel was sent here by that vile villain the Sheriff of Nottingham.” “Aye,” said Robin, squinting at the shadowy trees. “Methinks there shalt be others eager to earn the price the sheriff hath placed upon my head.” “Well, maybe, I don’t know, you two should go hide in Sherwood Forest or something.” “Forsooth, I like thy notion. Come. Sherwood is over yonder.

Now come I, forsooth, from good Banbury Town," said the jolly Tinker, "and no one nigh Nottingham--nor Sherwood either, an that be the mark-- can hold cudgel with my grip. Why, lads, did I not meet that mad wag Simon of Ely, even at the famous fair at Hertford Town, and beat him in the ring at that place before Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady? This same Robin Hood, of whom, I wot, I never heard before, is a right merry blade, but gin he be strong, am not I stronger? And gin he be sly, am not I slyer? Now by the bright eyes of Nan o' the Mill, and by mine own name and that's Wat o' the Crabstaff, and by mine own mother's son, and that's myself, will I, even I, Wat o' the Crabstaff, meet this same sturdy rogue, and gin he mind not the seal of our glorious sovereign King Harry, and the warrant of the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I will so bruise, beat, and bemaul his pate that he shall never move finger or toe again! Hear ye that, bully boys?

love bug.

poodle-scone.

And she’d been “unhealthily fixated” on the man ever since, according to her prison therapist.  Marion didn’t feel like she was fixated.  She just thought about Nicholas eighty million times a day.

Win against who?  Hood?”  Once you got him talking, Nicholas was filled with snarky, suspicious questions about everything.  So was Marion.  It was good they shared interests.

Team Creative Villainy.

She shrugged.  “I also stalk you a lot.  You may have noticed that part.  And I’ll probably steal other stuff.  And there may be some video surveillance.

It’s a hopeful sign, you being here.”  Cragg went on.  “For all the rest of us, I mean.  If the commander can find a mate, maybe we can, too.” “I’m pretty sure I found him.”  Marion wasn’t about to let Nicholas take the credit, when she was the one who’d traveled through frigging time.

Marion heard his internal conflict.  “If you offer me money, I’ll be pissed, pudding-fish.” His mouth twitched at the reassurance that she welcomed his touch and at the ridiculous endearment.

But I hated that you chose him.  That you trusted him.  That you never saw me…”  He paused for a beat, his gaze roaming over her face and his tone became softer.  “And all I ever saw was you, Marion.” “You barely know me.”  She whispered. “I know you better than anyone.”  He gestured towards all the letters she’d written.  All the secrets she’d shared.  “I know you inside and out.  I know that we fit.  We always have.  It was always supposed to be me.

He always tried to read the same books she did.  The past few weeks, she’d been fascinated with pottery, which wasn’t so bad.  For several months last year she’d been very into quilting, though.  Jesus, that had been a tough time.  Literally, no one on the planet could write an interesting article on quilting.  Nicholas had been struggling to stay awake, as he learned the difference between a four-patch star block and a pinwheel flower pattern. Being an obsessed stalker was hard work, at times.

pookie-pooh.

squishy-boo.

Yes, orange peel?

She was pissed at her former boyfriend.  Beyond pissed.  Her ex was in for a rude awakening when she got out of her bindings and beat the living crap out of him. Only one man was allowed to abduct Marion and it sure wasn’t Robin.

treasure squirrel.

You think you’re going to follow me around, spying on me?” “Oh, I know I am.” She’d shadow his cutie-patootie all over Nottingham.  Her “unhealthy fixation” was positively swooning over the delightful stalking possibilities.

He’d also taken the opportunity to examine her underwear.  If he was going to be an obsessed bastard, he might as well do it full throttle.  So he had a very clear picture of what silky bits of fabric separated her succulent curves from the pilfered clothes. He wondered if it was the black panties with the lace. Christ, he hoped so.

love monkey.

sweetie-nugget?

jellybean.

snickerdoodle.

cookie-crumb.

sugar-bean.

doodle-puppy.

turtledove.

Sweet cheeks?”  She suggested instead.  “Fluffy-muffy?  Feel free to tell me when we get to one you like.  I’m open to feedback here.

Prince Handsome Pants,’ maybe?

nummy-muffin.

honey-bunny.

Her hair might be longer and her face rounder, but inside she was still a thirty-six year old felon.

You turned and super-calmly asked how I wanted to die. I responded," she cleared her throat, because it wasn't her maidly-est moment, "in bed, fucking your mother." Trevelyan made a considering face. "Mother would have liked that" "Last time you said father" "Both are true.

Please keep writing. You're all that keeps me alive.

also found a new passion in genealogy. I’d received a rush of letters from Ballards all over the country who wondered if they were related to me. After giving a lecture in North Carolina, I dug into the archives at Guilford College in Greensboro. It turns out that eight generations of Ballards had been Quakers there—and most of them had signed their names with X’s—before my great-grandfather had moved to Wichita. I was amazed that someone like me, who had invested so much of his life in military service, had come from a family of Quakers. Indeed, although I was able to trace the whole, long Ballard family saga back to the sheriff of Nottingham in 1325, I could find only one ancestor who wore a military uniform, Col. Thomas Ballard, a member of the British colonial militia in Virginia.

I will always be on your side, Marion.  No matter what.  I will always back you, over anybody else.  Even when I have no damn idea what you’re up to.

I fuck-up a lot, yes.  Like I did just now and I’m sorry.  I am.  I’m not great with words or emotions.” Nicholas ran a hand through his hair.  “But, I’m trying.  I want you badly enough to risk everything, Marion.  I’ve bet my heart and soul on you.  So, I’m all in.

He cut her off.  “Something’s going to go wrong with this wedding.” “It better not go wrong.  I have it all planned.  Things will be perfect or heads will roll.  Literally.  Cragg has an axe.

He continued to watch her, his gaze growing more and more intense.  That determined, rock-hard core of him had switched on.  “Get on the bed.”  He commanded. “What?” “Get on the bed.  Unless you want me to take you on the floor.  I’m not waiting anymore for what’s already mine.

The problem with waiting so long to have sex was expectations and insecurities built simultaneously.  She always assumed she’d be a badass at sex.  What if she let him down?

There is nothing standing between us.  If there was, I would knock it down to reach you.  I already did.

Even when she recognized what was happening, she felt vulnerable to it.

You really are the worst possible person, Trev.” “But, I’m the very best at magic and isn’t that what you’re after?” “Fine.  I’ll trade you for the spell.  I have six gold pieces or a stick of gum.  Choose.” “How about a kiss?” “How about you eat shit and die?” “I’ll take the gum.

He insulted you.  I’ll break the jaw of anyone who does that.” Marion’s pupils literally dilated.  “I have never been more attracted to you than I am right now.”  She swallowed hard.  “Let’s go home and make babies.  Right now.

Witnessing two decapitations in one day seemed excessive.

Americans used to extol good-hearted Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor, and now we’ve stepped into the shoes of the Sheriff of Nottingham. When as a society we shrug at 30 million children living in low-income families in America, slashing their benefits while urging them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, we need to look in the mirror and have a good talk with ourselves.

The walls were draped with banners covered with cabalistic signs, an abundance of owls of all kinds, scarabs and ibises, and Oriental divinities of uncertain origin. Near the rear wall was a dais, a proscenium of burning torches held up by rough logs, and in the background an altar with a triangular altarpiece and statuettes of Isis and Osiris. The room was ringed by an amphitheater of figures of Anubis, and there was a portrait of Cagliostro (it could hardly have been of anyone else, could it?), a gilded mummy in Cheops format, two five-armed candelabra, a gong suspended from two rampant snakes, on a podium a lectern covered by calico printed with hieroglyphics, and two crowns, two tripods, a little portable sarcophagus, a throne, a fake seventeenth-century fauteuil, four unmatched chairs suitable for a banquet with the sheriff of Nottingham, and candles, tapers, votive lights, all flickering very spiritually.