A Quote by Jim Butcher

Jump into an open grave? What kind of idiot are you?" Butters replied. "I might as well put on a red shirt and volunteer for the away team. There's snow and ice and slippery mud down there. That's like asking for an ironically broken neck.
I always believe you give your all for whoever you're playing for, whatever shirt you put on. You play for that team and you want to win for that team - whether I'm wearing a Liverpool shirt or an England shirt.
The landscape was snow and green ice on broken mountains. These weren't old mountains, worn down by time and weather and full of gentle ski slopes, but young, sulky, adolescent mountains. They held secret ravines and merciless crevices. One yodel out of place would attract, not the jolly echo of a lonely goatherd, but fifty tons of express-delivery snow.
My personal dressing is inspired by my mood and mindset. I can jump from a girl-next-door to runway queen. I'm a T-shirt-and-jeans kind of a woman. But I also enjoy the red carpet look.
You only get one life so you might as well make it a happy one, and that's why I tend to just jump into things. I'm sort of a fearless idiot that way.
The road conditions are so variable here, there is ice, snow and everything in between. But a podium finish is a definite possibility if we stay smooth and adjust to the slippery conditions.
Ice will ruin the tea. Waters it down. You can always get ice, or carry your ice in an ice container. You don't want to put it in your tea, it'll water it down.
There was a young man of Quebec Who was frozen in snow to his neck, When asked, 'Are you Friz?' He replied, 'Yes I is, But we don't call this cold in Quebec.'
Sure, the first light snowfall may be a chance to dance giddily, leaving squeaky footprints through the neighborhood, marking the runner's right to the domain. But later drubbings of snow merely complicate running. Snow turns to ice, to slush, to ice again. Tire ruts twist ankles. New snow hides the hazards.
It was a dream for me to play in the red shirt - I will keep this shirt with me always. I hope this is the start of a lot of games for United, It wasn't only me in this game though, I think the whole team enjoyed the game and did well. It's the first match and we have done good things. It's a good step and we're very happy.
He was wearing a plain white oxford unbuttoned over a T-shirt, but something about the way they fit made him look put together, like an Abercrombie model (well, like an Abercrombie model who had remembered to put on a shirt that morning).
I put the storyboard down and came back to it like two weeks later and saw that I had written 'Butt-Head' next to the picture, and it kind of made me laugh and I thought, Well, might as well go for every laugh you can get.
We are not going to die." Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. "We're not?" No. And do you know why?" He shook his head. "Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I'm too stubborn to die." I hauled on the shirt even harder. "And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die.
At 8 o'clock in the morning a dense throng of workers - almost 10,000 - assembled in the square, which the police had already occupied well ahead of time. Karl Liebknecht's voice then rang out: 'Down with the War! Down with the Government!' The police immediately rushed at him. For the first time since the beginning of the war open resistance to it had appeared on the streets of the capital. The ice was broken.
I kind of look at what's on the T-shirts and I see another solution, which also worries me. I see "Just do it." "No fear." - this kind of suppressive response to the treacle that the culture tries to define for us as a meaningful life also blows up on you. "No fear" is not something that you should put on your shirt. How about "I can hold my fear and still connect with you"? Put that on your shirt. "It's okay to be me, with all of my history." Put that on your shirt.
Man was not put on this planet to toil in the mud. Or the god who put us on this planet to toil in the mud is no god I want to have any part of. It's some kind of gnostic demon. It's some kind of cannibalistic demiurge that should be thoroughly renounced and rejected.
Here today we huddle tight As the darkest heathens might The snow falls chilly on our skin The snow is forcing its way in. Hush, snow, come in with us to dwell: We were thrown out by Heaven as well.
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