A Quote by Brian Marwood

That's twice he (Terry Phelan) has got between himself and the goal. — © Brian Marwood
That's twice he (Terry Phelan) has got between himself and the goal.
He just got his body between himself and the goal.
Twice we stood beside each other at the altar, Rosie. Twice. And twice we got it wrong. I needed you to be there for my wedding day but I was too stupid to see that I needed you to be the reason for my wedding day. But we got it all wrong.
I use By Terry lip gloss religiously - and I always have Elizabeth Arden 8 Hour Cream with me just in case. Between the two of them, I've got everything covered, from chapped lips to stray marks to doing a simple glossy eye.
Everybody wants to have a goal - I gotta get to that goal, I gotta get to that goal, I gotta get to that goal. I can finally get to that goal. Then you get to that goal, and then you gotta get to another goal. But in between goals is a thing called life, that has to be lived and enjoyed - and if you don't, you're a fool.
As a kid, Terry Bradshaw didn't amaze me. My hero was Steelers backup Terry Hanratty, who nabbed two Super Bowl rings while completing three passes.
Terry Gross. I would rush home from high school to listen to Terry Gross.
One curve I'll always remember was when I was pitching for Pittsburgh. Terry Kennedy was a young player with St. Louis. I threw him an 0-2 curve and it snapped. Terry's reaction was to swing straight down, like he was chopping the plate with an axe. It was the last out of the inning. After I ran off the mound, I looked over at the St. Louis dugout. There were players rolling around on the floor, laughing. Poor Terry. I'll have to admit that was a hell of a curveball.
I think that was kind of always my goal: get people to come back and see a show twice and then see it a third time. And now I've got people who have been to 30, 40 shows.
You've got a goal in life. I've got a goal. Now all we need is a football team.
He was, like everyone of a strongly erotic disposition, twice as good, twice as much himself when he knew that women liked him, just as many actors find their most ardent vein when they sense that they have cast their spell over the audience, the breathing mass of spectators before them.
The missing link between animals and a truly humane mankind is man himself, who does not yet see himself as a part of the world, claiming it instead for himself.
There are no words to express the abyss between isolation and having one ally. It may be conceded to the mathematician that four is twice two. But two is not twice one; two is two thousand times one.
Terry was beside himself. Not literally. This story would be that much more painful if there were two Terrys, able to stand next to each other and simultaneously curse Leven.
It is a curious fact that no man likes to call himself a glutton, and yet each of us has in him a trace of gluttony, potential or actual. I cannot believe that there exists a single coherent human being who will not confess, at least to himself, that once or twice he has stuffed himself to bursting point on anything from quail financiere to flapjacks, for no other reason than the beastlike satisfaction of his belly.
I don't like John Terry and I never have. He's got funny eyes and he's a cry baby. He's also a Cockney.
He (Bill Terry) once hit a ball between my legs so hard that my center-fielder caught it on the fly backing up against the wall.
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