A Quote by Laurell K. Hamilton

You should hit him in the face with frying pans more often," Said Rhys "he seems to like it — © Laurell K. Hamilton
You should hit him in the face with frying pans more often," Said Rhys "he seems to like it
My mother never met a gadget she didn't like. There were tube pans for baking the angel food cakes my father could have after his first heart attack, and Bundt pans and loaf pans and baking pans and grilling pans.
The most important thing, my father told me, which I have never forgotten, and which I have often put unto practice was: If you get into a quarrel with anybody, hit him first. "If you hit first, the battle is half-won," my father always said "Don't let him hit first. You hit him first." "What's more," he never forgot to say, too "Usually one blow is all you need." I found this to be true.
Frying pans! Who knew, right?
History is an alternating series of frying pans and fires.
What happened?” she breathed, staring at me. “I got hit in the face with a pie,” I said. Mags stopped, blinking. “You got...hit in the face with a pie,” she repeated. “I...what? I’m sorry, but I’ve been in charge of this Library for a long time. I’ve seen a lot of really ridiculous things. I lived in Wales. And there is no way being hit with a pie should have turned you human.” “It was a really evil pie,” I said.
Opening my door to Dillon Ruddick, my bulding super. I handed him a cup of coffee. "Sorry about the blood." "What was it this time?" No one reported gunfire." "I hit a guy in the face with a hair dryer." "Whoa." Dillon said. "It wasn't my fault," I told him. "Maybe we should lay down some linoleum here. It would make things easier for clean up.
Everyone seems to ask me the same 10 questions, and high on the list is, 'What pans should I be cooking with and why?'
Deep-frying properly requires you to keep the oil at a precise temperature range depending on the food. If you're frying in more than an inch of oil you really should invest in a deep-fat thermometer so you can monitor the temperature and know when to adjust the heat.
I often laugh at Satan, and there is nothing that makes him so angry as when I attack him to his face, and tell him that through God I am more than a match for him
Tri-ply pans try to split this difference by sandwiching a layer of aluminum in between two layers of steel. They heat evenly and store plenty of energy. Tri-ply pans are also more sturdily constructed than disk-bottom pans, which have aluminum disks attached only to their bottoms.
When I talked to him earlier, he said he had to work tonight,” Peter explained, “but that we should go ahead and draw for him.” “Draw?” I asked uneasily. “Oh Lord. Tell me it’s not Pictionary night too.” Peter sighed wearily. “Draw for secret Santas. Do you even read the e-mails I send?” “Secret Santas? Seems like we just did that,” I said. “Yeah, a year ago,” said Peter. “Just like we do very Christmas.
Your face will freeze like that, you know, Kat," Raffin said helpfully to Katsa. "Maybe I should rearrange your face, Raff," said Katsa. "I should like smaller ears," Raffin offered. "Prince Raffin has nice, handsome ears," Helda said, not looking up from her knitting. "As will his children. Your children will have no ears at all, My Lady," she said sternly to Katsa. Katsa stared back at her, flabbergasted. "I believe it's more that her ears won't have children," began Raffin, "which, you'll agree, sounds much less—
I had no more need of God than He had of me, and if there were one, I often said to myself, I would meet Him calmly and spit in His face.
I was talking to Jackson Browne on the phone. He said, 'I'm the slowest writer in the world.' I said, 'No, no, no. You're the second slowest. It seems the older you get the slower they come. I wonder if it is like that for everybody?' He said, 'It ain't with Don Henley. He seems to be writing more than ever.'"
Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.” Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. “I forgot,” he said. “Lucky you,” said Ginny coolly. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he meant it.
Face your fears, Halt had always thought him, and more often than not they fade like mist in the sunshine
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