I'm so wrapped up in my work that it's often impossible to consider other things in my life. My marriage ended in divorce because of this, my relationship with Holly has suffered by this.
Can we please focus? We are supposed to be professionals." Holly said. "Not me!" said Orion cheerily, "I'm just a Teenager with hormones running wild and may I say, young fairy lady, they're running wild in your direction.
Holly winked. 'Do I look like a fly boy to you, Fowl?' Artemis had to admit that she didn't. Captain Short was extremely pretty in a dangerous sort of way. Black-widow pretty. Artemis was expecting puberty to hit in approximately eight months, and he suspected that at that point he would look at Holly in a different light. It was probably just as well that she was eighty years old.
Kim: "What, a coffee? Hollie, I have some bad news. I hate you, okay?" Hollie: "You hate everyone, Kim." Kim: "You're one of everyone.
Holly is living proof that C.S. Lewis was right when he said that a good atheist can't be too careful of her reading. A lover of the word, she discovered through it the love of the Logos, whose beauty fills all of creation. She found the courage to follow the spilled drops of human imagination back to the One who ‘reflects the glory of God and bears the very stamp of his nature, upholding the universe by his word of power' (Heb 1:3).
I am not exuding anything," said Holly through gritted teeth. Orion tapped her shoulder. "I beg to differ. You're exuding right now, a wonderful aura. It's pastel blue with little dolphins.
Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot". ~Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's, 1958, spoken by the character Holly Golightly
Holly: Seriously, you don't like unicorns? What kind person doesn't like unicorns? Justine: What kind of a person doesn't like zombies? What have zombies ever done to you? Holly: Zombies shamble. I disapprove of shambling. And they have bits that fall off. You never see a unicorn behaving that way. Justine: I shamble. Bits fall off me all the time: hair, skin cells. Are you saying you disapprove of me?
Quickly, Holly," said Artemis urgently. "Follow those bubbles." Holly opened the throttle. "Now there's an order I never thought I'd hear from you.
He turned to shut and lock the door, then came close, his gaze touching her features. “I missed you, Holly.” Her heart caught painfully. The poor organ seemed to be getting quite the workout lately.
He threw his head back and sang, "'I am a centaur, yes, a centaur is what I am.' It's not like you to wax, Artemis" "Foaly is singing," said Holly. "Surely that's illegal?
The holly green, the ivy green The prettiest picture you've ever seen Is Christmas in Killarney With all of the folks at home.
All green was anished sae of pine and yew, That still displayed their melancholy hue; Sae the green holly with its berries red, And the green moss that o'er the grael spread.
The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.
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.
I told my agents that I love Holly Hunter and Frances McDormand and all of these women who are good at doing comedies, as well as dramas.
Don't Look Down” is her official debut as Skylar Grey, the singer, born Holly Brook Hafermann and raised in Mazomanie, Wis., has been making albums since she was a tween. Grey and her mother sang as a folk duo under the name Generations; they released three indie discs. “I learned a lot about professionalism, how the show must go on even though I feel like [expletive] sometimes,” Grey remembers. “I have a lot of experience in the studio, performing onstage, talking to an audience. I learned most of that stuff when I was performing with my mom.
Sing hey! Sing hey! For Christmas Day; Twine mistletoe and holly. For a friendship glows In winter snows, And so let's all be jolly! At Christmas play and make good cheer, For Christmas comes but once a year
Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs Arching high over A cool green house: Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: We spread no snare; Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be.
Holly Black is the Real Thing: a gifted writer with a solid grounding in what matters. Her stories are dark and splendid blooms rising from roots sunk deep in myth and tradition.
Money is made at Christmas out of holly and mistletoe, but who save the vendors would greatly care if no green branch were procurable?
There is a remarkable breakdown of taste and intelligence at Christmastime. Mature, responsible grown men wear neckties made of holly leaves and drink alcoholic beverages with raw egg yolks and cottage cheese in them.
Most friendship is faining, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly. This life is most jolly.
O Reader! hast thou eer stood to see The Holly-tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceies Its glossy leaes Ordered by an Intelligence so wise As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaes a sober hue display Less bright than they, But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?
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