A Quote by Brandon Mull

Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name. “Does your mother call you Pigeon?” “No.” “Then to me you are Paul.” ... “Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read. “My mother never calls me Nathan.” “Is it Nate?” “She calls me Honeylips.
Nathan Sutter," the teacher read. Here. My mother never calls me Nathan." Is it Nate?" She calls me Honeylips.
My mother's very proud of the name she gave me. She thought it sounded rhythmically better. It doesn't really make a difference to me what people call me, but since my mother calls me Holly Marie when she's angry, I prefer just my first name.
She calls me Aquaman, which is kind of embarrassing, having your daughter call you the name of a canceled show. When she's being a little smarty-pants, she calls me Justin.
My music teacher who I was really close with, she helped me out a lot being away from home and going to school in Rhode Island. She was like a mother to me on campus. But she was the theater teacher and she didn't have anyone to play Aladdin, so she asked me if I would.
When the Irish nun said to me, "Speak your name loud and clear so that all the boys and girls can hear you," she was asking me to use language publicly, with strangers. That's the appropriate instruction for a teacher to give. If she were to say to me, "We are going to speak now in Spanish, just like you do at home. You can whisper anything you want to me, and I am going to call you by a nickname, just like your mother does," that would be inappropriate. Intimacy is not what classrooms are about.
Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie, but the fellows call me Bill!.
I'm one of 10 children, and all my brothers call me Jim. And all my sisters... well, they call me something even more affectionate. My mother calls me James, and I do what my mother tells me.
When I was in school, in eighth grade, someone recognized something in me. She was an English teacher, and we read a play out loud in class, and she asked me to read one of the roles. I'd never done anything like that before, but something just lit up.
My daughter refuses to call me mother in public; my little grandson calls me Spongeslob Squarebottom, and nobody else ever calls me at all.
I was not yet three years old when my mother determined to send one of my elder sisters to learn to read at a school for girls we call the Amigas. Affection, and mischief, caused me to follow her, and when I observed how she was being taught her lessons I was so inflamed with the desire to know how to read, that deceiving - for so I knew it to be - the mistress, I told her that my mother had meant for me to have lessons too. ... I learned so quickly that before my mother knew of it I could already read.
Whenever I score for Manchester City, my mother calls me. As soon as the ball hits the back of the net, the phone rings. It doesn't matter if she's back home in Brazil or if she's in the stadium watching me. She calls me every time. So I run to the corner flag, and I put my hand to my ear, and I say, 'Alo Mae!'
...fact was she knew more about them than she knew about herself, having never had the map to discover what she was like. Could she sing? (Was it nice to hear when she did?) Was she pretty? Was she a good friend? Could she have been a loving mother? A faithful wife? Have I got a sister and does she favor me? If my mother knew me would she like me? (140)
I studied piano from the age of three. My grandmother taught piano. I stayed at her house during the day while my parents worked. I obviously wanted to learn to play. And so she asked if she could teach me, and my mother said don't you think she's too young. My grandmother apparently said no. So I could read music before I could read, and I really don't remember learning to read music. So for me it's like a native language. When I look at a sheet of music, it just makes sense.
My education was seeing and touching the world. I would read about the history of a castle with my mother - who was a teacher, so she home-schooled me - and then she would take me to the castle, and we would climb on it, and then I'd write creatively about it that night.
My mother was a librarian, and she worked at the Black Resource Center in South Central Los Angeles and would call me to tell me stories that she read about that were interesting to her.
My mum's really the only person who still calls me Helen, and that's not often. She tends to call me 'love,' so when she does say 'Helen' it can take me a while to respond.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!