Turtles Forever Quotes

Your now is not your forever.

That's right!" she said. "Die, you little monster plants. May your roots always be thirsty, and your seeds meet a fiery death until you're extinct forever! I HATE you." "Yowch." Turtle said. "You don't ever have mild feelings, do you?

You have to be like a turtle, she thought; you have to figure out how to bring your home along with you.

You now is not you forever." p. 93

I am forever astonished at the longevity of childhood. How it never ends. How we are what we were. How turtles and engines and stolen kisses leave their jet trail across our gaping lives.

Qibli was expecting Turtle to do something, and Turtle had a bad feeling that “something” wasn’t “Turtle flying all the way back to the Kingdom of the Sea, finding a deep trench, and staying there forever.

The spiral tightens, like that, forever.

How strange it must be, thought Tortoise looking out to sea, to have no edge to one's world. We have a beach; we know the shape of our island and just how far we can go. But Turtle can swim away in any direction and keep going -- her world has no limits, no ending. She can, if she chooses, swim on forever and ever and ever.

You're. The. One. You're the one that I choose. The one I'll never lose. You're my forever. My stars. My sky. My air. It's you.

Now keep in mind that the typical Greek myth goes something like this: innocent shepherd boy is minding his own business, an overflying god spies him and gets a hard-on, swoops down and rapes him silly; while the victim is still staggering around in a daze, that god’s wife or lover, in a jealous rage, turns him–the helpless, innocent victim, that is–into let’s say an immortal turtle and e.g. power-staples him to a sheet of plywood with a dish of turtle food just out of his reach and leaves him out in the sun forever to be repeatedly disemboweled by army ants and stung by hornets or something. So if Arachne had dissed anyone else in the Pantheon, she would have been just a smoking hole in the ground before she knew what hit her.

When I was a child I had a fishless aquarium. My father set it up for me with gravel and plants and pebbles before he'd got the fish and I asked him to leave it as it was for a while. The pump kept up a charming burble, the green-gold light was wondrous when the room was dark. I put in a china mermaid and a tin horseman who maintained a relationship like that of the figures on Keat's Grecian urn except that the horseman grew rusty. Eventually fish were pressed upon me and they seemed an intrusion, I gave them to a friend. All that aquarium wanted was the sound of the pump, the gently waving plants, the mysterious pebbles and the silent horseman forever galloping to the mermaid smiling in the green-gold light. I used to sit and look at them for hours. The mermaid and the horseman were from my father. I have them in a box somewhere here, I'm not yet ready to take them out and look at them again.

I remember that night as a scent, smoke first , then Montana sagebrush, that distant but forever threat of autumn in the air, and a passion caught in that scent, just a feeling that still wells up in me when I smell anything remotely like it, all of us purely alive and it up by the fire like fresh devils in the dark.

You might think that now, but you won't think that forever." "But it's not forever," he said. "It's now.

Battles can be lost but Wars are forever in History Books

But every so often the government remembered about Indians and when they did they always tried to solve Indians, thought Thomas. They solve us by getting rid of us. And do they tell us when they plan to get rid of us? Hah. And hah. He had received no word from the government. By reading the Minot Daily News, he'd found out something was up. Then Moses had to pry the papers out of his contact down in Aberdeen. It had taken precious time to even get confirmation, or see the actual House Resolution stating, as its author said, that the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa was targeted by the United States Congress for emancipation. Emancipation. Emancipation. Emancipation. This word would not stop banging around in his head. Emancipated. But they were not enslaved. Freed from being Indians was the idea. Emancipated from their land. Freed from the treaties that Thomas's father and grandfather had signed and that were promised to last forever. So, as usual, by getting rid of us the Indian problem would be solved. Overnight, the tribal chairman job had turned into a struggle to remain a problem to not be solved.

House Resolution stating, as its author said, that the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa was targeted by the United States Congress for emancipation. E-man-ci-pation. Eman-cipation. This word would not stop banging around in his head. Emancipated. But they were not enslaved. Freed from being Indians was the idea. Emancipated from their land. Freed from the treaties that Thomas’s father and grandfather had signed and that were promised to last forever. So as usual, by getting rid of us, the Indian problem would be solved.

the typical Greek myth goes something like this: innocent shepherd boy is minding his own business, an overflying god spies him and gets a hard-on, swoops down and rapes him silly; while the victim is still staggering around in a daze, that god’s wife or lover, in a jealous rage, turns him—the helpless, innocent victim, that is—into let’s say an immortal turtle and e.g. power-staples him to a sheet of plywood with a dish of turtle food just out of his reach and leaves him out in the sun forever to be repeatedly disemboweled by army ants and stung by hornets or something.

A morning later, Nancy described her first dream, the first remembered dream of her life. She and Judy Thorne were on a screened porch, catching ladybugs. Judy caught one with one spot on its back and showed it to Nancy. Nancy caught one with two spots and showed it to Judy. Then Judy caught one with three spots and Nancy one with four. Because (the child explained) the dots showed how old the ladybugs were. She told this dream to her mother, who had her repeat it to her father at breakfast. Piet was moved, beholding his daughter launched intoanother dimension of life. Like school. He was touched by her tiny stock of imagery the screened porch (neither they nor the Thornes had one; who?), the ladybugs (with turtles the most toylike of creatures), the mysterious power of numbers, that generates space and time. Piet saw down a long amplifying corridor of her dreams, and wanted to hear her tell them, to grow older with her, to shelter her forever.” John Updike, Couples, 1968.

You know how cats are. They'll heal themselves if you keep them locked up. In a couple of months his bones mended. But the fear didn't; it stayed in that cat's bones. He wasn't cocky no more. Now he jumps when I go by him with the wheelbarrow. Fear like that stays inside you forever if you don't find a way to get rid of it.

Fear like that stays inside you forever if you don't find a way to get rid of it.

He steps closer, dangling a delicate, gold chain from his fingers. “Happy birthday,” he says, dropping it in my outstretched palm. I glance down and run my finger across the cool metal of the attached charm—golden birds nestled, side by side. “I love it.” “They’re turtle doves. My mom used to tell me the story of the two turtle doves when I was a kid.” He reaches in and separates the charm, holding one of the doves in his hand. “Legend says, they’re a symbol of friendship. As long as you have one, and I have the other, then we’ll be friends forever. No matter what your father does.

a maybe-prophecy?” Qibli went on. “I don’t think they’ll do that. Besides, Winter’s problem is urgent. We have to find his brother before Scarlet kills him, so I vote we do that now and deal with the impending apocalypse afterward.” “Me too,” Moon said. What in the world made these dragons think his problem was their problem? Finding Hailstorm was urgent to Winter, but it made no sense for any NOT-IceWings to get involved at all. Winter narrowed his eyes at Turtle, dripping forlornly into the puddles around his claws. It was easy to forget that the SeaWing was a royal prince as well — the son of Queen Coral. He never acted like royalty. Instead Turtle behaved as though he didn’t want to be noticed at all — mumbly, sticking to the background, agreeing to anything. Was he afraid of something? Or just boring? If an IceWing acted the way Turtle does, he’d be stuck in the Seventh Circle forever. Which meant Winter could get rid of him by applying the right pressure. “You should go back,” he said, making Turtle jump. “You don’t want to tramp around Pyrrhia looking for my deadly sister, who will kill you on sight, or my brother, who might do the same because, by the way, killing SeaWings was a specialty of his. Go keep an eye on Jade Mountain instead.” Turtle’s glow-in-the-dark scales flickered, illuminating his anxious face with pale greenish light. “But what if the mountain falls on me? Is it dangerous?” “Not as dangerous as following me,” Winter hissed. “It’s not going to fall on you, because we’re going to stop it,” Kinkajou said. “But don’t you want to stay with us?” “I can’t decide what sounds worse,” Turtle admitted.

Turtles move slowly so they live forever.

How you must hate us for what we did to you.” Behind her, she heard Sedric give a small gasp of dismay. She ignored him. “Hate you?” Paragon slowly digested her words before he spoke again. He did not turn to look at her, but kept his eyes focused on the river ahead of him as the ship moved steadily against the current. “Why would I waste my time with hate? What was done to me was unforgivable, of course. Completely unforgivable. Those who did it are no longer alive to be punished or to apologize. Even if they were and did, it would not undo what they did. The torments I endured cannot be undone. The stolen future cannot be given back to me. The companionship of my own kind, the chance to hunt and kill, to fight and mate, to live a life in which I am neither servant or master—all those things are forever lost to me.” He did glance back at her now; the blue of his eyes paled to an icy gray. “Can you think of anything that anyone could do to make up for it? Any sacrifice that could be offered that would be adequate reparation?” Her heart was beating so hard that there was a ringing in her ears. Was that why he had rolled so many times and taken so many human lives? Did he think that enough humans had died in expiation for the sin against him, or would he demand more? She hadn’t answered his questions. His voice was a bit more penetrating as he nudged her with, “Well? What sacrifice would be adequate?” “None that I can think of,” she replied softly. She tightened her grip on the railing, wondering if he would immediately turn turtle and drown then all. “Neither can I,” he replied. “No vengeance could resolve it. No sacrifice would make reparations for it.” He returned his gaze to the river. “And so I have decided to move beyond it. To be what I am now, in this incarnation, as no other is available to me. To have what life I may for as long as the wood of this body lasts me.” She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Then you have forgiven us?” Paragon gave a quiet snort. “Wrong on two points. I haven’t forgiven anything. And I don’t believe in the ‘us’ you think I might take vengeance on. You didn’t do this to me. But even if you had, killing you would not undo it.” Behind her, Sedric suddenly spoke. “That is not the attitude I would have expected from a dragon.” Paragon have a snort, half contempt, half amusement. “I told you. I am not a dragon. And neither are those creatures that you intend to visit and study. That’s why I called you forward. To tell you that. To tell you that there’s no point to your journey. Studying those pathetic wretches will not teach you anything about dragons. No more than studying me would.” “How can they not be dragons?” “In a world where dragons lived, they would not have survived.” “Other dragons would have killed them?” “Other dragons would have ignored them. They would have died and been eaten. Their memories and knowledge would have been preserved by those who fed upon them.” “It seems cruel.” “Would it have been crueler than enabling them to exist as they are now?” She took a breath and then tried to speak boldly. “You have chosen to continue as you are. Should not they be given that choice?” The muscles in his back tightened, and she felt a gout of fear. But when he turned back to her, there was a spark of respect in his blue eyes that had not been there before. He gave her a slow nod. “A point.

Around that time, Steve managed to secure a piece of posterity in a way he never expected. While shooting a film called Hidden River, he and I were rowing past the camera to get a particular shot. Steve suddenly leaped to his feet and flung himself out of the boat. He vanished beneath the water. By this time I was used to Steve bolting off for no apparent reason. I turned around to look for him, and after what seemed like a great deal of time had passed, he surfaced with something. It was big and round, like a dinner plate. “What have you got?” He hoisted a large, pale turtle to the surface and hauled it into the boat. It had a light-colored head, an almost pink nose, and beautiful, delicate coloring. Its watery, saucer-shaped eyes craned up and looked at Steve. Now you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me? “Crikey, I’ve only ever seen this species once before, with my dad,” Steve marveled. As it turned out, he had discovered a new species of turtle right there in the middle of the river. We photographed his find, filmed it, measured it, and weighed it. The Queensland Museum verified that it was an undescribed species that would be called Irwin’s turtle--Elseya irwini, forever named after Steve.

The Queensland Museum verified that it was an undescribed species that would be called Irwin’s turtle--Elseya irwini, forever named after Steve.

Henny started to check things over—cables, speedometer, tire pressure, mirror adjustment—and then he sprayed the chain with WD40. He always does this, even if he’s going two blocks to the grocery. “Almost ready,” he said, when I thought he was all done. “I’m going to fill the water bottle and throw a bag of dried fruit into the seat pack.” Then he made one more trip for a bandage, just in case. When we finally got going, it was the hottest part of the day. I didn’t want to know how hot it was, but I knew Henny was going to tell me. “Did you check the thermometer?” he called up to me at the first intersection. “A hundred and five in the shade. It’s hot enough to uncurl your hair. We’ll die of heat exhaustion out here on the high-way. Can’t we go in something air-conditioned?” Henny never does anything without a few complaints. He has terrible things to say about trumpet lessons but he likes to play the trumpet. And then there are book reports. Henny reads the long, nonfiction books, the Yellow Pages, everything. Just don’t ask him to write up a report, because he will complain about it forever, and then turn in thirty pages.

In facing a serious problem—controlling superior numbers—Sparta reacted like an animal that develops a shell to protect itself from the environment. But like a turtle, the Spartans sacrificed mobility for safety. They managed to preserve stability for three hundred years, but at what cost? They had no culture beyond warfare, no arts to relieve the tension, a constant anxiety about the status quo. While their neighbors took to the sea, learning to adapt to a world of constant motion, the Spartans entombed themselves in their own system. Victory would mean new lands to govern, which they did not want; defeat would mean the end of their military machine, which they did not want, either. Only stasis allowed them to survive. But nothing in the world can remain stable forever, and the shell or system you evolve for your protection will someday prove your undoing. In the case of Sparta, it was not the armies of Athens that defeated it, but the Athenian money. Money flows everywhere it has the opportunity to go; it cannot be controlled, or made to fit a prescribed pattern. It is inherently chaotic. And in the long run, money made Athens the conqueror, by infiltrating the Spartan system and corroding its protective armor. In the battle between the two systems, Athens was fluid and creative enough to take new forms, while Sparta could grow only more rigid until it cracked.

I think that allowing ourselves the ability to really change how we see things is how we’re going to change things.

The ex acid-heads from the cities Converted to Guru or Swami, Do penance with shiny Dopey eyes, and quit eating meat. In the forests of North America, The land of Coyote and Eagle, They dream of India, of forever blissful sexless highs. And sleep in oil-heated Geodesic domes, that Were stuck like warts In the woods. And the Coyote singing is shut away for they fear the call of the wild. And they sold their virgin cedar trees, the tallest trees in miles, To a logger Who told them, “Trees are full of bugs.

Turtles all the way up, all the way down. What deconstruction puts into question is the desire to find a final resting place, in either wholeness or partness or anything in between. Every time somebody finds a final interpretation or a foundational interpretation of a text (or life or history or Kosmos), deconstruction is on hand to say that the total context—or Wholistic interpretation—does not exist, because it is also unendingly a part of yet another text forever. As Culler puts it, “Total context [final Wholism] is unmasterable, both in principle and in practice. Meaning is context bound, but context is boundless.”8 Transfinite turtles.

We thought we’d live forever. Old beer in new bottles. Old jokes in new people. I told young John Hickenlooper a joke his dad taught me. It worked like this: His dad would say to me, no matter where we were, “Are you a member of the Turtle Club?” I had no choice but to bellow at the top of my lungs, “YOU BET YOUR ASS I AM!” I could do the same thing to his dad. On some particularly solemn and sacred occasion, such as the swearing in of new fraternity brothers, I might whisper to him, “Are you a member of the Turtle Club?” He would have no choice but to bellow at the top of his lungs, “YOU BET YOUR ASS I AM!

forever and I knew Ash didn't move that fast.  "Pi-Pika?" I moved a little closer toward where the sounds and colors came from. A few streaks of lightning snaked from my toes.  "Squirt!" The colorful streak was suddenly there again and then knocked me over.  "Hey dude! I haven't seen you in so long! The whole crew has been asking for you, even Salamander and you know he's a hothead most of the time." Turtle crawled off of me, popping back onto his feet and smiling. He was always the nicest out of my friends. He wasn't as sunny as Bulba but he was cool, sometimes a little too wet for my liking though. I jumped to return his hug, seemed to shock him a bit.  "I've missed you, Squirt! I have so much to tell you. Where are the rest of the guys? Have you been caught? What are you doing this far away from home?

Ash is alright, I guess.  Like, we've been together for a while now, ever since he trapped me in this weird ball prison, I have been forgiving. The day he caught me, I was minding my own business, hanging out with Bulba, Salamander and the others. When all of a sudden I was inside of some round cage. I tried to get out with a few shock zaps here and there but the thing wouldn't budge. So, I waited. And waited. And waited. I just miss my friends.  But something cool happened today. I saw Squirt the wimpy Turtle.  I haven't seen him in forever, at least it had felt like that. Ash had let me out to stretch my legs and grab a couple of berries for a snack and naturally, I wondered off a bit. Sudden rustling behind me was immediately followed by a streak of sky blue and green.  "Pika?" I was super nervous.

No other animal was permitted in the house, with the exception of the land turtle who had reappeared in the kitchen after three or four years, when everyone thought he was lost forever. He, however, was not considered a living being but rather a mineral good luck charm whose location one could never be certain of.

... like a turtle, the Spartans sacrificed mobility for safety. They managed to preserve stability for three hundred years, but at what cost? They had no culture beyond warfare, ... While their neighbors took to the sea, learning to adapt to a world of constant motion, the Spartans entombed themselves in their own system.... Only stasis allowed them to survive. But nothing in the world can remain stable forever, and the shell or system you evolve for your protection will someday prove your undoing.

No other animal was permitted in the house, with the exception of the land turtle who had reappeared in the kitchen after three or four years, when everyone thought he was lost forever.