Westfield Quotes

Don’t listen to her,” Jazz said, squeezing his arm. “That’s stereotyping. You can be however you want to be, so long as it doesn’t involve you jumping into the Westfield River again. I still have nightmares about the way you smelled.

Leone, P., M. Poshka, and V. E. Norton Jr. Around Chautauqua Lake: 50 Years of Photographs 1875–1925. Westfield, NY: Chautauqua Region Press, 1997.

Patience," he said, his eyes intent on his project. "Patience is no' a virtue I have, Dash. I'm very sorry ta tell ye, but ye would have found out soon enough anyway.

Within moments she stood naked before him,aside from her garters and stockings. "Why is it that ye always strip me bare but leave these things on?" she asked absently as he stepped back to work at his own clothing. "To give you something to complain about?" he said with a big grin.

I had always imagined, Westfield said, that one could either die tragically, cut short with much still to be done, or that one could die old and full of years, as the Bible has it, after having put one's house in order. I had never considered that there is a third alternative, in which one went on living and yet found no order in one's life, in which everything at the end was as confused and unfinished as it had always been.

Everyone feared what it could mean. The mood was one of dread and expectancy that they were yet to see the true dimension of the coming shadow of a cataclysm. Some people seemed to think such violence would soon swoop in to visit even the little town of Westfield. Everyone feared what would happen next.

È una di quelle notti, di luna nuova, quando il buio è spesso come un muro, e non si riesce a scorgere le proprie dita nemmeno a un palmo dagli occhi. La notte giusta per sguinzagliare il mio Shinigami. La notte giusta per morire.

Are you Hilary Westfield?” She sounded like she hoped it wasn’t the case. Hilary nodded. “Oh. Well, I’m Philomena. I have to show you to your room.” Hilary looked wildly at Miss Greyson. “I’m Miss Westfield’s governess,” Miss Greyson said, to Hilary’s relief. Maybe talking politely to people like Philomena was something you learned at Miss Pimm’s, or maybe getting past Philomena was a sort of entrance exam. “Is there any chance we could see Miss Pimm? We’re old acquaintances. I used to go to school here, you see.” Miss Greyson smiled for the second time that day—the world was getting stranger and stranger by the minute—but Philomena didn’t smile back. “I’m terribly sorry,” said Philomena, “but Miss Pimm doesn’t receive visitors. You can leave Miss Westfield with me, and the porter will collect Miss Westfield’s bags.” She raised her eyebrows as the carriage driver deposited the golden traveling trunk on the doorstep. “I hope you have another pair of stockings in there.” “I do.” Hilary met Philomena’s stare. “I have nineteen pairs, in fact. And a sword.” Miss Greyson groaned and put her hand to her forehead. “Excuse me?” said Philomena. “I’m afraid Miss Westfield is prone to fits of imagination,” Miss Greyson said quickly. Philomena’s eyebrows retreated. “I understand completely,” she said. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. Miss Pimm’s will cure her of that nasty habit soon enough. Now, Miss Westfield, please come along with me.” Hilary and Miss Greyson started to follow Philomena inside. “Only students and instructors are permitted inside the school building,” said Philomena to Miss Greyson. “With all the thefts breaking out in the kingdom these days, one really can’t be too careful. But you’re perfectly welcome to say your good-byes outside.” Miss Greyson agreed and knelt down in front of Hilary. “A sword?” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Miss Greyson.” “All I ask is that you take care not to carve up your classmates. If I were not a governess, however, I might mention that the lovely Philomena is in need of a haircut.” Hilary nearly laughed, but she suspected it might be against the rules to laugh on the grounds of Miss Pimm’s, so she gave Miss Greyson her most solemn nod instead. “Now,” said Miss Greyson, “you must promise to write. You must keep up with the news of the day and tell me all about it in your letters. And you’ll come and visit me in my bookshop at the end of the term, won’t you?” “Of course.” Hilary’s stomach was starting to feel very strange, and she didn’t trust herself to say more than a few words at a time. This couldn’t be right; pirates were hardly ever sentimental. Then again, neither was Miss Greyson. Yet here she was, leaning forward to hug Hilary, and Hilary found herself hugging Miss Greyson back. “Please don’t tell me to be a good little girl,” she said. Miss Greyson sniffed and stood up. “My dear,” she said, “I would never dream of it.” She gave Hilary’s canvas bag an affectionate pat, nodded politely to Philomena, and walked down the steps and through the gate, back to the waiting carriage. “Come along,” said Philomena, picking up the lightest of Hilary’s bags. “And please don’t dawdle. I have lessons to finish.” HILARY FOLLOWED PHILOMENA through a maze of dark stone walls and high archways. From the inside, the building seemed more like a fortress

This was a lot to process. So the cars had all suddenly stopped working? Right in the middle of driving? Jessica had never heard anything like that happening. She had heard stories before of things going wrong in the electronics of newer cars. But those stories had been different. And they’d never involved all the cars on a single street having the same effect. They were all made by different manufacturers. It didn’t make sense. Jessica didn’t know what to make of it. But it increased her resolve to get home back to her apartment. She lived not far from here. Only about five blocks away. Her apartment was a small one bedroom unit situated above a pizza shop. She liked it there. The pizza shop wasn’t popular, so it was quiet. And most importantly, it was her own space.

out of the sixty odd people living in Westfield, only 26 survived the fire.

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There was nothing in the modern world to excite a man, or a woman, nothing except constant and mindless entertainment.

intriguing, not standard Hollywood stuff. He was not a street kid who’d had to claw his way to respectability. His reasonably well-to-do family’s roots traced back to George Washington’s mother, and he was always proud of the fact that he was distantly related to “one of the founders of our country.” Bill was Irish-English-German, “mixed in an American shaker,” as he liked to say. His maternal grandfather was a cousin of Warren G. Harding, twenty-ninth president of the United States. Bill had been born William Franklin Beedle Jr. in O’Fallon, Illinois, on April 17, 1918. When he was three, the family moved to Pasadena, California. His father, William, was an industrial chemist; his mother, Mary, a teacher. He had two younger brothers, Robert (Bob) Westfield Beedle, and Richard (Dick Porter) Beedle.

Even if he survived the Sorcerer, there would always be another Sorcerer, bigger and more dangerous than the last. It was just a matter of time until he died the kind of gruesome death that was the very reason people had paralyzing phobias of heights.

As they kissed, the valley and the surrounding cliffs spun and toppled upside down. The saturated greens of the grasses, the stark white of the waterfall, and the warm grays of the cliffs merged and streamed past them in ethereal ribbons, like barely blended paint. Then the blinding blue sky bobbed back into place overhead, and the world was open and free, bursting with sublime majesty.

she said aloud, “my darling; my love.  In just a moment, you will break that glass.  I want you to know that my heart had been broken as well, and it lay in sharp and fragile shards that neither time nor well-intentioned advice had ever removed.               “For that to happen; for the splinters of the past to be brushed away, I needed a miracle; I needed someone strong enough both in himself and in his God to take the pieces of my life and, loving me, to make them whole.  That was the miracle that God has given me…in you.               “And now, my past begins the moment I met you; my present is the time I hold your hand; my future is whatever and wherever and however Our Lord may grant, knowing all the time that your love has made me whole.  My love is wholly with you now, and beyond the edge of time.               “You are my husband; you are my friend; you are my love…”               Jerry Westfield took one step closer to the wrapped glass and to Ruth.               “Ruth,” he said, his eyes boring deeply into hers, “I was alive and functioned in this world, but I saw weakly; I felt weakly; I knew weakly all its joys and all the fullness that it had to offer.  I needed someone who would help me see; someone who could point the path ahead; someone who could give the meaning and the wealth to all that would come by.  I needed someone special I could hold who would hold on to me; whose feet would walk my path.  I needed someone who could share my heart and know my God and take my life upon her to share it well beyond the edge of time, who would share it well beyond the gates of forever; straight into the everlasting, loving mind of God.               “That one is you.  Without knowing your name, I have loved you all my life.  In all my blindness born of hurt and rage, it was you and you alone I sought.  It was my God who pointed me to you…to you and you alone…               “You are my wife; you are my friend; you are my love…

Brooke Westfield. You just told me you are ‘indifferent’ to your cheating ex. It’s obvious that flames of passion are waiting around the corner to be ignited.

following social events.Florence expected Imogene to appear agreeable and carefully avoid potentially embarrassingly private issues. Sometimes,

didn’t like it, I can tell you that.

There was honor and purpose in describing injuries to others so that they could help you. But there was nothing but dishonor in complaining.

Point and pull the trigger,” said John. “And hope for the best.

If a large percentage of the population dies from the virus, then there isn't going to be anyone left to work the power plants or manage the electrical grid.

Richard Feynman said, there are no paradoxes in reality. There is only what you believe reality to be, and what reality really is. There’s a mismatch between belief and reality, but none between reality and reality.

hands.