Ace Quotes (displaying: 1 - 30 of 42 quotes )
A pair of aces," Daniel said with a fierce look in his eye. Justin set his cards down quietly and faceup. "Two pair. Jacks and sevens." He sat back as Caine swore in disgust."You son of-" In frustration, Daniel broke off, shifting his eyes from his daughter to Shelby. "The devil take you, Justin Blade."You're sending him off prematurely," Shelby commented, spreading her cards. "A straight, from the five to the nine."Alan walked over to look at her cards. "I'll be damned, she drew the six and seven."No one but a bloody witch draws an inside straight," Daniel boomed, glaring at her."Or a bloody Campbell," Shelby said easily. His eyes narrowed. "Deal the cards."Justin grinned at her as Shelby scooped in chips. "Welcome aboard," he said quietly and began to shuffle.
Every man carries within him through life a mirror, as unique and impossible to get rid of as his shadow.A parlor game for a wet afternoon? imaging the mirrors of on?s friends. A has a huge pier glass, gilded and baroque, B a discreet little pocket mirror in a pigskin case with his initials stamped on the back; whenever one looks at C, he is in the act of throwing his mirror away but, if one looks in his pocket or up his sleeve, one always finds another, like an extra ace.
Mama, you don’t understand. It’s all a matter of ideas, and God is just one idea I don’t acept. It’s not important. I an not going out and commit crimes or be immoral because I don’t believe in God. I don’t even think about it. It’s just that I get so tired of Him getting credit for all the things the human race achieves through its own stubborn effort. There simply is no God! There is only Man, and it’s he who makes miracles!
Dear Diary, Today I tried not to think about Mr. Knightly. I tried not to think about him when I discussed the menu with Cook... I tried not to think about him in the garden where I thrice plucked the petals off a daisy to acertain his feelings for Harriet. I don't think we should keep daisies in the garden, they really are a drab little flower. And I tried not to think about him when I went to bed, but something had to be done.
The door opened and Gideon walked in. I held his gaze when I said, "If Gideon's dick touched anything but his hand or me, we'd be over."His brows rose. "Well, then."I smiled sweetly and winked. "Hi, ace."Angel." He looked at Cary. "How are you feeling this morning?"Cary's lips twisted wryly. "Like I got hit by a bus. . . or a bat."We're working on getting you set up at home. It looks like we can make that happen by Wednesday."Big tits, please," Cary said. "Or bulging muscles. Either will do."Gideon looked at me. I grinned. "The private nurse."Ah."If it's a woman," Cary went on, "can you get her to wear one of those white nurse dresses with the zipper down the front."I can only imagine the media frenzy over that sexual-harassment lawsuit," Gideon said dryly. "How about a collection of naughty-nurse porn instead?"Dude." Cary smiled wide and looked, for a moment, like his old self. "You're the man."Chapter 12, pg 214
so evenly was strained their war and battle,till the moment when Zeus gave the greater renown to Hector, son ofPriam, who was the first to leap within the wall of the Achaians. In apiercing voice he cried aloud to the Trojans: "Rise, ye horse-tamingTrojans, break the wall of the Argives, and cast among the ships fierceblazing fire."So spake he, spurring them on, and they all heard him with their ears,and in one mass rushed straight against the wall, and with sharp spearsin their hands climbed upon the machicolations of the towers. AndHector seized and carried a stone that lay in front of the gates, thickin the hinder part, but sharp at point: a stone that not the two bestmen of the people, such as mortals now are, could lightly lift from theground on to a wain, but easily he wielded it alone, for the son ofcrooked-counselling Kronos made it light for him. And as when a shepherdlightly beareth the fleece of a ram, taking it in one hand, and littledoth it burden him, so Hector lifted the stone, and bare it straightagainst the doors that closely guarded the stubborn-set portals, doublegates and tall, and two cross bars held them within, and one boltfastened them. And he came, and stood hard by, and firmly plantedhimself, and smote them in the midst, setting his legs well apart, thathis cast might lack no strength. And he brake both the hinges, and thestone fell within by reason of its weight, and the gates rang loudaround, and the bars held not, and the doors burst this way and thatbeneath the rush of the stone. Then glorious Hector leaped in, with facelike the sudden night, shining in wondrous mail that was clad about hisbody, and with two spears in his hands. No man that met him could haveheld him back when once he leaped within the gates: none but the gods,and his eyes shone with fire. Turning towards the throng he cried to theTrojans to overleap the wall, and they obeyed his summons, and speedilysome overleaped the wall, and some poured into the fair-wroughtgateways, and the Danaans fled in fear among the hollow ships, and aceaseless clamour arose.
America hadn't really been suited for its long and tiresome role as the Last Superpower, the World's Policeman. As a patriotic American, Oscar was quite content to watch other people's military coming home in boxes for a while. The American national character wasn't suited for global police duties. It never had been. Tidy and meticulous people such as the Swiss and the Swedes were the types who made good cops. America was far better suited to be the World's Movie Star. The world's tequila-addled pro-league bowler. The world's acerbic, bipolar stand-up comedian. Anything but a somber and tedious nation of socially responsible centurions.
Hammett was the ace performer... He is said to have lacked heart; yet the story he himself thought the most of [The Glass Key] is the record of a man's devotion to a friend. He was spare, frugal, hard-boiled, but he did over and over again what only the best writers can ever do at all. He wrote scenes that seemed never to have been written before.
I was crazy about goal keeping. In Russia and the Latin countries, that gallant art had been always surrounded with a halo of singular glamour. Aloof, solitary, impassive, the crack goalie is followed in the streets by entranced small boys. He vies with the matador and the flying ace as an object of thrilled adulation. His sweater, his peaked cap, his kneeguards, the gloves protruding from the hip pocket of his shorts, set him apart from the rest of the team. He is the lone eagle, the man of mystery, the last defender. Photographers, reverently bending one knee, snap him in the act of making a spectacular dive across the goal mouth to deflect with his fingertips a low, lightning-like shot, and the stadium roars in approval as he remains for a moment or two lying full length where he fell, his goal still intact.
This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.
Beginning with a critique of my own limbs, which she said, justly enough, were nothing to write home about, this girl went on to dissect my manners, morals, intellect, general physique, and method of eating asparagus with such acerbity that by the time she had finished the best you could say of Bertram was that, so far as was known, he had never actually committed murder or set fire to an orphan asylum.
Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me, and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-labourers' hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally, as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill humour or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.