Watson And Mary Quotes

Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked, after we had sat some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective." He gave a most dismal groan.

There would be consequences, I knew that. There were always consequences, usually teeny tiny consequences that you hardly noticed. But the small things added up over time, until eventually they formed one big thing that could crush you beneath its weight.

We were always told: when something repeats, it gains significance. This is how a pattern is formed. And it felt like something was forming around me. Like I was being woven into something and couldn't work my way out.

We stood there, the weight of the last months between us. Both of us hurt, and the bruises and brokenness on the outside only the barest indication of the damage beneath.

And do you? Trust me?” Reckless, Wren. “Of course not,” he said. But as he walked through the door he added, “Except perhaps at night. Beneath the trees.

I know. I know you trained as a killer. That you mean to be Raker. And I know who you'll end up hurting.” I couldn't hide the tremor in my voice. “Here's your chance. You have the enemy in your bedroom. Do your worst.

Your tattoo,” I said without thinking. “Does it mean anything?” “Don't most tattoos?” he said. “I kind of want something to have significance if it's in permanent ink. On my skin.” “What does it mean?” “It's a warning,” he said. Right. “Do you have others?” I couldn't see any, despite his short sleeves. “I mean, under your clothes?” What was wrong with me? Was it inappropriate hour or something? “One more.” He was trying not to smile. “But I need to know you a little better first.

I guess we bring out our darkness when it's necessary. It doesn't mean it should define us.

Don't let fear dictate your choices. Sometimes the thing that breaks you is what makes you.” Yeah, put that on a greeting card. Or make a fucking meme with cute kittens.

Child, you are so much more than your anger. It is a tool, sometimes necessary. Your anger does not define you.

Nothing in life is to be feared; it is only to be understood. Marie Curie

What does RV stand for, anyway?” Mary Anne asked. “Ridiculous Vehicle,” Watson said,

Do you have one?” He smiled, keeping his eyes on mine. “What, you'll show me yours if I show you mine?” I really needed to shut it. Tarc laughed. It was so easy to be with him. Except that it wasn't. “No tattoos,” I said.

I stood in the living room, still rooted to the worn rug. The room exactly as it was before, yet something had changed. Something unnameable. It felt almost like Tarc's sweet kiss was the opposite of a kill mark. A promise of something. But with the same power to destroy.

Looking at Wren is like looking into the heart of some ancient thing. Her skin makes me think of tree bark and her eyes remind me of the green at the very top of the trees in the woods. Her hair falls down her shoulders in ropes and I think of tree roots jostling for space around an ancient oak.

Watson, there are those rare people who elicit behaviour from us that others may not. Let me suggest that you were one man on the battlefield, another with your patients, a third altogether with Mary and perhaps a fourth in my company, for example?' 'No, Holmes. I am always myself. Well, perhaps I smoke less around Mary.' He smiled at this. 'But whatever the situation, I try always to be the best man I can be.

These last weeks, since Christmas, have been odd ones. I have begun to doubt that I knew you as well as I thought. I have even wondered if you wished to keep some part of yourself hidden from me in order to preserve your privacy and your autonomy. I will understand if you refuse to give me an answer tonight, and although I freely admit I will be hurt by such a refusal, you must not allow my feelings to influence your answer." I looked up into his face. "The question I have for you, then is this: How are the fairies in your garden?" By the yellow streetlights, I saw the trepidation that had been building up in face give way to a flash of relief, then to the familiar signs of outrage: the bulging eyes, the purpling skin, the thin lips. He cleared his throat. "I am not a man much given to violence," he began, calmly enough, "but I declare that if that man Doyle came before me today, I should be hard-pressed to avoid trouncing him." The image was a pleasing one, two gentlemen on the far side of middle age, one built like a bulldog and the other like a bulldong, engaging in fisticuffs. "It is difficult enough to surmount Watson's apparently endless blather in order to have my voice heard as a scientist, but now, when people hear my name, all they will think of is that disgusting dreamy-eyed little girl and her preposterous paper cutouts. I knew the man was limited, but I did not even suspect that he was insane!" "Oh, well, Holmes," I drawled into his climbing voice. "Look on the bright side. You've complained for years how tedious it is to have everyone with a stray puppy or a stolen pencil box push through your hedges and tread on the flowers; now the British Public will assume that Sherlock Homes is as much a fairy tale as those photographs and will stop plaguing you. I'd say the man's done you a great service." I smiled brightly. For a long minute, it was uncertain whether he was going to strike me dead for my impertinence or drop dead himself of apoplexy, but then, as I had hoped, he threw back his head and laughed long and hard.

​​​CHAPTER I.​​ Civilizing Huck.—Miss Watson.—Tom Sawyer Waits. YOU don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter.  That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.  There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth.  That is nothing.  I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary.  Aunt Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before. Now

Mike Romano slipped into the confessional. The screen behind the lattice grill slid open. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” “For the love of God, Romano, not again.” “Will you hear my confession, Father?” “No.” “What do you mean?” “I mean you haven’t sinned. You didn’t sin yesterday or the day before, last week or last month, and you haven’t sinned today.” “How do you know? “I’m playing the odds.” “I need absolution.” “No, you don’t. You need some fun. Go have a beer, see a movie, take in a comedy show. Do some damn thing that’ll make you laugh.” “It’s your job. You have to do it.” “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I absolve you from your imaginary sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Get lost.” “That’s not right. It’s not the whole thing.” The priest slammed the sliding screen shut.

Christopher struggled for years, as a writer, before making a breakthrough with The Watsons Go to Birmingham, which was a Newbery Honor. He even wrote during his breaks, while working on an assembly line in a Detroit auto factory. “Now, that's persistence,” I told them.

You can't change someone, you know.” “I know, Mom,” I say, “I know.” But people can change themselves. Not for anyone else, but because they want to be better.

You showed the Eye to someone who wanted to see it?” My brother is a big walking headache. “Who?” “A girl?” “A girl?” I spit the words out. If Oisin lost the Eye trying to impress some girl he likes, I'm going to kill him. And Mamo and Dad will bring him back to life so they can kill him again. There must be some dark, ancient ritual for that.

But then his hands were in my hair and his lips were fierce against mine. All those things we hadn't said to each other suddenly didn't matter. He was telling me so much more, with his hands, his legs, his lips. The way his body curved over mine. And in those minutes, for the first time in months, I felt right.

Ms. Hackett prepared to lead a discussion on The Watsons go to Birmingham-1963. The boys had read the entire book and were surprised to learn that I had, too. I told them that the author, Christopher Paul Curtis, was a big man with dreadlocks, or at least he had dreadlocks several years ago.

you had that…that…problem with Mary Ann

What if they're wrong? What if her magic became more because of how she'd suffered? What if her magic was bigger and stronger, better, for the scars she bore? If the Sisters hadn't been so close-minded, if they'd accepted who she was, let her explore how her rage added to her power instead of condemning her, then maybe things would have turned out differently.

Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas Caritat, marquis de Condorcet (1743–1794), who thought that the French Revolution was the dividing line between the past and a ‘glorious future’, believed there were three outstanding issues in history – the destruction of inequality between nations, the progress of equality within one and the same nation, and the perfecting of mankind.

Besides, after decades together, I know you better than I know myself. I know everything you’re about to say, how you’re feeling, your worries, your dreams…you’re my heart, Mary Jane Watson, you’re my jackpot.

Exactly," he answers again, with that patronizing smile. Watson's approach to science contains such a vital flaw it nearly takes my breath away. How can one call oneself a scientist and begin one's investigation with a conclusion instead of building to one only after exhaustive research?

The complaint of God that hearts drift far away from Him, must be addressed by each and every man, woman, and child in every age and generation. The people in exile refused to repent and give their hearts entirely to God. Lip service to God, adherence to the commandments out of fear, and rote knowledge of spiritual things didn't work in Isaiah's time. Neither did it work in Jesus' time. And it won't work today either. God wants your heart. Only you can five your heart to Him. He has given each human being free will. He won't force anyone to love Him. He only asks and invites. He gives everything and waits for each person's individual response. Mary said yes to God, even when she didn't fully understand His plan. Jesus said yes to the Father, knowing the cost He would pay to purchase our salvation. What should you do?

sleeping. What seems to be the matter?" she asked with a gentle voice.