Sturgis Quotes

If you ask me, psychopaths are more talented than the rest of us... but they're still fucking psychopaths.

Sturgis had now become involved in a long story of his early manhood, and even had Soapy been less distrait he might have found it difficult to enjoy it to the full. It was about an acquaintance of his who had kept rabbits, and it suffered in lucidity from his unfortunate habit of pronouncing rabbits 'roberts', combined with the fact that by a singular coincidence the acquaintance had been a Mr. Roberts. Roberts, it seemed, had been deeply attached to roberts. In fact, his practice of keeping roberts in his bedroom had led to trouble with Mrs. Roberts, and in the end Mrs. Roberts had drowned the roberts in the pond and Roberts, who thought the world of his roberts and not quite so highly of Mrs. Roberts, had never forgiven her.

Pessimism is not good for the soul." "I sold my soul years ago." "To whom?" "The bitch goddess Success. She cut town before paying off.

I slept and dreamed that life was beauty. I awoke - and found that life was duty.

Too many cases thrown out of court, too much pop-psycho crap, satanic bullshit... if you FEEL you've been abused, you HAVE been!

In Calla Bryn Sturgis (as in most other places), men in a state of sobriety did not much like to talk about their hearts.

Mr. Noble and Mr. Romney have a bet going as to who can kill the most rabbits. It all started at the rabbit drive last Monday over to Sturgis

You have permission to succeed!

Love is always partly a misunderstanding’;

I wasn’t ready for a fight. But as I drew even with Oberon and put a calming hand on the back of his neck, the blood drained from my face when I saw a lone figure limping toward us across the dry red rock. It looked like a little old lady, and she could not have been more out of place; it was like watching Elmo ride in to the Sturgis biker rally in South Dakota. Granuaile

When standing and talking – [he] bent the head forward condescendingly to his listener (a trick inherited from his mother), was easily audible in any drawing-room through the buzz of conversation and filled and permeated a room with his presence… Attitude when seated and talking – Leant forward from his waist towards his listener; fixed his eyes full upon him; made much play with his right arm and hand, moving the arm freely from the shoulder, and letting the large hand with its full and fleshy palm move freely on the wrist. When he made a point… would throw himself back in the chair and look at his auditor as much as to say: ‘What can you find to say to that?

Do I think you're a sucker for her? I'd term it emotionally susceptible and yeah, you sure are.

If I wanted change in my life there was no time to hesitate. Time was passing, and that passing time was all I had.

When the American novelist Howard Sturgis lay on his deathbed he was cared for so solicitously by his life partner that at one point Sturgis had to remind him, "A watched pot never boils"—surely one of the wittiest comments ever made while dying, unless you consider what the socialite Drue Heinz said when nearing the end—"They won't even let you take a book"—or the emperor Vespasian, who remarked on his deathbed, "I think I am turning into a god.

Speed showering. Speed shaving. Speed dressing. Then it hit me. What a waste of energy. It was all for nothing. I was going to miss that meeting no matter what I did. I could be on the platform right now, waiting for the PATH train, and it would still be a no-go. I could be on the train, heading out of the station, and it still wouldn’t work. So I took a minute for four or five gulps of too-hot coffee, which had already brewed on a timer. I wanted to call Sturgis and tell him I’d be late and I was sorry. But by then it was almost 8:35 a.m., and I thought it would be worse to interrupt his meeting. Crap. Crap. Crap. This was the worst. The absolute worst. The worst possible thing that could have happened to me. The job meant more to me than anything, than my own life, than the world. Why did I keep screwing up like this?

North Dakota State Motto Liberty and union, now and forever: one and inseparable. If you take away our Sturgis Rally we're just another shithole like South Dakota.

Frank Fiorini, better known as Frank Sturgis, had an interesting career that started when he quit high school during his senior year to join the United States Marine Corps as an enlisted man. During World War II he served in the Pacific Theater of Operations with Edson’s Raiders, of the First Marine Raiders Battalion under Colonel “Red Mike.” In 1945 at the end of World War II, he received an honorable discharge and the following year joined the Norfolk, Virginia Police Department. Getting involved in an altercation with his sergeant, he resigned and found employment as the manager of the local Havana-Madrid Tavern, known to have had a clientele consisting primarily of Cuban seamen. In 1947 while still working at the tavern, he joined the U.S. Navy’s Flight Program. A year later, he received an honorable discharge and joined the U.S. Army as an Intelligence Officer. Again, in 1949, he received an honorable discharge, this time from the U.S. Army. Then in 1957, he moved to Miami where he met former Cuban President Carlos Prío, following which he joined a Cuban group opposing the Cuban dictator Batista. After this, Frank Sturgis went to Cuba and set up a training camp in the Sierra Maestra Mountains, teaching guerrilla warfare to Castro’s forces. He was appointed a Captain in Castro’s M 26 7 Brigade, and as such, he made use of some CIA connections that he apparently had cultivated, to supply Castro with weapons and ammunition. After they entered Havana as victors of the revolution, Sturgis was appointed to a high security, intelligence position within the reorganized Cuban air force. Strangely, Frank Sturgis returned to the United States after the Cuban Revolution, and mysteriously turned up as one of the Watergate burglars who were caught installing listening devices in the National Democratic Campaign offices. In 1973 Frank A. Sturgis, E. Howard Hunt, Eugenio R. Martínez, G. Gordon Liddy, Virgilio R. “Villo” González, Bernard L. Barker and James W. McCord, Jr. were convicted of conspiracy. While in prison, Sturgis feared for his life if anything he had done, regarding his associations and contacts, became public knowledge. In 1975, Sturgis admitted to being a spy, stating that he was involved in assassinations and plots to overthrow undisclosed foreign governments. However, at the Rockefeller Commission hearings in 1975, their concluding report stated that he was never a part of the CIA…. Go figure! In 1979, Sturgis surfaced in Angola where he trained and helped the rebels fight the Cuban-supported communists. Following this, he went to Honduras to train the Contras in their fight against the communist-supported Sandinista government. He also met with Yasser Arafat in Tunis, following which he was debriefed by the CIA. Furthermore, it is documented that he met and talked to the Venezuelan terrorist Ilich Ramírez Sánchez, or Carlos the Jackal, who is now serving a life sentence for murdering two French counter intelligence agents. On December 4, 1993, Sturgis suddenly died of lung cancer at the Veterans Hospital in Miami, Florida. He was buried in an unmarked grave south of Miami…. Or was he? In this murky underworld, anything is possible.

the concierge and asked him to find a flower shop who’d deliver a dozen red roses. In

went in. The doctor’s questions had started him thinking along several lines. Losing to a superior opponent was always a possibility, but one he acknowledged only in an academic sense.

Psychologists have a fancy name for it, diffusion of responsibility, but it comes down to this: people always assume the other guy is doing what needs to be done. That’s rarely the case.

Edward Sturgis Crawford at this time was about twenty-seven years old, a man of medium height, a decided blond, with large blue eyes, and of a rather effeminate type. He went scrupulously dressed, had white hands with carefully manicured nails, parted his hair in the middle, and altogether was somewhat of a dandy.

and her friends played when they were little. The epiphany didn’t

on him?” Jack asked. “He worked for Southern States Medical. Their business card is in my desk. Would you like it?” “Please,” Jack said. Pappas used his cell phone to call and reached Southern States’ office manager.

checking the people going in and out of Pell’s cell on Mayfield’s security videos and wanted to do some follow-up.

than candid. Cheating was the word. But trust was at the core of what she and Jack had together.

My great-grandmother once told me that "being young ain't shit; everybody gets a chance to do that. What you should be trying to do is get old, like me.

Bryant, Sturgis, & Co.

Alex Delaware drives a Seville.” “Pardon?” “You know, the psychologist in the books. He works with that policeman . . . what’s his name.” A pause. “Milo Sturgis. They work together solving crimes. You don’t read mysteries? You should. Damn good novels.

She ran away from home at age seventeen and hooked up with three outlaw bikers who gang-raped her on the way to Sturgis. She had an abortion in Memphis and spent three months in jail for soliciting at a truck stop on I-40. The next two stops were Big D and New Orleans and runway gigs with a G-string and pasties, then Acapulco and Vegas with oilmen who could buy Third World countries with their credit cards. Miami was even more lucrative. She went to work for a former CIA agent turned political operative who set up cameras in hotel rooms and blackmailed corporate executives and Washington insiders. She helped destroy careers and lives and woke up one morning next to the corpse of a married man who died from an overdose in his sleep and whose family she had to face at the police station. One week later, she swallowed half a bottle of downers, turned on the gas in the oven, and stuck her head in. Three weeks later, she slashed her wrists. One month after that, she helped a pimp roll a blind man. It’s not the kind of personal history you forget.

Even among men of science, facts were never allowed to dominate diversion. Dr William Stokes, William Wilde’s great friend and mentor (who lived in the square at No. 5), pronounced it as ‘the golden rule of conversation, to know nothing accurately’.

Seyyah Türkiye’deki macerasında Bodrum’da başlar. Türkiye’deki bir cinayeti araştıran FBI ajanı olarak geldiği ülkeye yıllar önce bir operasyon için gelmiştir ve anıları canlanır. Buradaki cinayeti araştırırken polis müdürü Leyla Cumalı ve Down sendromlu oğlu ile tanışır. Leyla Cumalı aslında Serazenin kızkardeşi ve çocuğun gerçek babasıdır. Leyla El Nusari Zekeriya El Nusari yani Serazen. Zaman azdır, çiçek virüsü Almaya üzerinden Amerikaya yola çıkmıştır bile. Seyyah’ı kurduğu bir tuzak ile kendine çeker. Seyyah avladığını zannederken av olmuştur. Büyük Amir yaptığı plan ile serazeni avlar ve virüs dağılmadan toplanır. Serazen intihar eder. Seyyah ağır yaralanmıştır. İlk görev yıllarında Bodrum’da görev sırasında yaralanan arkadaşını tedavi için götürdüğü Avusturyalı doktora gider. İyileşme sürecini orada tamamlar iyileştikten sonra aldığı bir gemi ile Türkiye’den ayrılır. “Bebelplatz, Doğu Berlin. 1933 Mayısında bir gece Naziler meydana meşalelerle saldırmış ve meydanın hemen yanındaki Friedrich-Wilhelm Üniversitesinin kütüphanesini yağmalamışlar. Kırk bin kişi, Yahudi yazarlara ait yirmi binden fazla kitabı tezahüratlarla yakmış. Uzun yıllar sonra, olayın anısına kitapların yakıldığı noktaya cam bir panel yerleştirilmiş. Bu bir pencere ve üzerine doğru eğildiğinde, aşağıdaki bir odaya bakabiliyorsun. Oda bembeyaz ve baştan aşağı boş raflarla kaplı. Boş bir kütüphane, fanatikler kazanmış olsaydı yaşayacağımız dünyanın bir tasviri.” “Ölüm korkunçtu ama acı çekmek çok daha fenaydı.” “Günümüzde paranın esiri olmuş insan, sevgiden nasibini almamıştır.” “Şansla ilgili sorun, bir noktada onu tüketeceğindir.” “İstediğimiz işgücüydü, karşımıza insanlar geldi. Kimsenin öngörmediği şey, gelen işçilerin camilerini, kutsal kitaplarını ve kendi kültürel çevrelerini de yanlarında getirmeleriydi.” “Bir köpekbalığı avlanır, ama bir timsah sazların arasında sessizce uzanır ve avının kendisine gelmesini bekler.” “Sevgi zayıf değildi, sevgi güçlüydü.” “Uyudum ve gördüm rüyamda hayatın güzel olduğunu; Uyandım ve anladım hayatın görev olduğunu” -Ellen Sturgis Hooper

The best authors are the ones that write for the love of what they do... not for what they can gain.

Arriving at the crest of South Mountain at Fox’s Gap, Sturgis’s men were greeted with the ghastly aftermath of a terrible, savage battle.

When Martino was released, he wrote a book titled I Was Castro’s Prisoner, published in August, 1963. His collaborator on the book was Nathaniel Weyl, author of Red Star Over Cuba, who worked with Frank Sturgis after the Kennedy assassination pushing stories about Oswald in Miami. Weyl was also a member of the Citizens Committee to Free Cuba.

A woman must be good,” he said reflectively. “Only a plain woman,” said I. “Who has been behaving ill now?” “I was generalizing; or, to be frank, I was thinking of Bella Sturgis.” “So am I. You surely don’t expect her to possess all the virtues, and that face?” “To be sure, the face is enough,” answered he; and sat staring full at me, but thinking, as I knew, of Bella Sturgis. “Does she amuse you?” I asked. “Amuse me?” said Gerald. “I’m sure I can’t say. One doesn’t think about being amused when one is with her.” “She just exists, and that’s enough,” I suggested.

He’s

Expand your mind and explore every possibility. Use your pen as your voice and express your heart through the words on your paper.

Make some sacrifice for your art and you will be repaid – but ask of art to sacrifice herself for you and a bitter disappointment may come to you.’ oscar wilde

In another attempt to help children understand about prayer, Mister Rogers once took his television neighbors along for a visit to the Sturgis Pretzel House, founded by Julius Sturgis, in Pennsylvania’s Lancaster County. The baker explained to Mister Rogers and the viewers (my then–three-year-old son and I were watching that day) how monks long ago gave pretzels as treats to children who had remembered their prayers. The dough was rolled into strips and crossed, to represent a child’s arms folded in prayer (pretzel means “little arms”), and the three holes in the pretzel represented the Trinity.

Marita Lorenz, was born on August 18, 1939, in Bremen, Germany. In January of 1960 Marita, described as an attractive “curvy, black-haired young lady was named American’s “Mata Hari” by New York Daily News reporter Paul Meskil. Having had an affair with Fidel Castro that turned sour, she now returned to Havana where she attempted to take part in an assassination attempt, supposedly orchestrated by the Mafia and the CIA. Marita brought along poison pills in her cold cream jar, which predictably melted in the tropical heat. Besides, she later said that she really did not have the stomach for killing her former lover. Apparently Castro aware of why she returned to Cuba, handed her his pistol with a dare for her to use it. Even after knowing the truth regarding her visit, he allowed her to safely leave Cuba. Returning to Miami, Marita said that Frank Sturgis, presumably a CIA operative, was involved in this attempt, however it was his close associate, Alex Rorke, who was responsible for orchestrating the plan to poison Castro. Sturgis was extremely angry when she returned and rebuked her for putting the pills into the warm cold cream, calling her stupid, over and over again. For a few years after leaving the island, Marita was looked after and protected by a mobster named Ed Levi. It was his job to protect her from, what was considered, a likely attempt on her life by “Cuban Intelligence Operatives.” In 1961, Marita met Marcos Pérez Jiménez, the former President of Venezuela, in Miami. Marcos told her that he was anxious to meet her because he knew she was “Fidel's girl." He successfully pursued Marita, and when she gave in, they had an affair that resulted in the birth of a daughter.

And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt” — he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed — “Elphias Doge” — the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded — “Dedalus Diggle —” “We’ve met before,” squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his top hat. “— Emmeline Vance” — a stately looking witch in an emerald-green shawl inclined her head — “Sturgis Podmore” — a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair winked — “and Hestia Jones.” A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.