Holiday Quotes

Quotes tagged as "holiday" Showing 1-30 of 178
Kenneth Grahame
“After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.”
Kenneth Grahame (Wind in the Willows), The Wind in the Willows

C.C. Hunter
“The stupid vamp just asked me to marry him. Here, now? As if looking like I just died is how I wanted to be proposed to."
Joy did a lap around Kylie's heart. "And you said?"
Holiday took a sip of water. "I asked him if we couldn't just live together in sin."
"He told me it wouldn't be a good example to our students. So...I agreed to marry him." She pushed a hand against her forehead. "Dear God, what am I getting myself into?”
C.C. Hunter, Whispers at Moonrise

C.C. Hunter
“Go out with me tomorow night," Perry went on. "Let me prove to you that I'm the guy you want."
"I...I guess I coul go out tomorrow night," Miranda sounded shocked and a little swept off her feet.
Then, from the corner of her eyes. Kylie saw something move at the office window. When she looked back, she spotted Burnett and Holiday standing there high-fiving each other. No doubt Burnett was listening to the coversation and sharing the details with Holiday.
Perry nodded, stepped closer, and then pressed a quick kiss on Miranda's cheek. It had to be the most romantic thing Kylie had ever seen.
..."What?" Miranda asked. "You're happy my date [with Todd] wasn't exciting?"
"No," Kylie said. "Let's just say we're more excited about tomorrow night's date."
A bright smile lit up Miranda's face. "Me too. Can you believ Perry did that? I mean, he was so..."
"Romantic," Kylie said.
"Hot," Della added.
"Sweet," Miranda whispered. "I couldn't stop thinkibng about him all night."
And that was the best news Kylie had gotten all day.”
C.C. Hunter, Taken at Dusk

C.C. Hunter
“Holiday leaned her elbows on her desk. "You can't find one thing that points to his guilt."
"He slept with your sister!" Burnett roared.
"Guilty of murder, not of being a piece of shit.”
C.C. Hunter, Whispers at Moonrise

C.C. Hunter
“Boy trouble, huh?"
"Boy catastrophe is more like it. I'm not sure I can do this."
"Do what?" Concern sounded in Holiday's voice.
"Do Lucas," Kylie said.
Holiday made a funny face and raised one eyebrow.”
C.C. Hunter, Whispers at Moonrise

Vera Nazarian
“Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream.

Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks.

There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers.

There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart.

There is mystery unfolding.”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Mokokoma Mokhonoana
“There is more to life than making a living. Do not work more than you live.”
Mokokoma Mokhonoana

Vera Nazarian
“Once upon a time, the Reindeer took a running leap and jumped over the Northern Lights.

But he jumped too low, and the long fur of his beautiful flowing tail got singed by the rainbow fires of the aurora.

To this day the reindeer has no tail to speak of. But he is too busy pulling the Important Sleigh to notice what is lost. And he certainly doesn’t complain.

What's your excuse?”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Vera Nazarian
“The nutcracker sits under the holiday tree, a guardian of childhood stories. Feed him walnuts and he will crack open a tale...”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Vera Nazarian
“Colored lights blink on and off, racing across the green boughs. Their reflections dance across exquisite glass globes and splinter into shards against tinsel thread and garlands of metallic filaments that disappear underneath the other ornaments and finery.

Shadows follow, joyful, laughing sprites.

The tree is rich with potential wonder.

All it needs is a glance from you to come alive.”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Maud Hart Lovelace
“One strain could call up the quivering expectancy of Christmas Eve, childhood, joy and sadness, the lonely wonder of a star”
Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy Was a Junior

Tom Robbins
“Ultimately, the roast turkey must be regarded as a monument to Boomer's love.

Look at it now, plump and glossy, floating across Idaho as if it were a mammoth, mutated seed pod. Hear how it backfires as it passes the silver mines, perhaps in tribute to the origin of the knives and forks of splendid sterling that a roast turkey and a roast turkey alone possesses the charisma to draw forth into festivity from dark cupboards.

See how it glides through the potato fields, familiarly at home among potatoes but with an air of expectation, as if waiting for the flood of gravy.

The roast turkey carries with it, in its chubby hold, a sizable portion of our primitive and pagan luggage.

Primitive and pagan? Us? We of the laser, we of the microchip, we of the Union Theological Seminary and Time magazine? Of course. At least twice a year, do not millions upon millions of us cybernetic Christians and fax machine Jews participate in a ritual, a highly stylized ceremony that takes place around a large dead bird?

And is not this animal sacrificed, as in days of yore, to catch the attention of a divine spirit, to show gratitude for blessings bestowed, and to petition for blessings coveted?

The turkey, slain, slowly cooked over our gas or electric fires, is the central figure at our holy feast. It is the totem animal that brings our tribe together.

And because it is an awkward, intractable creature, the serving of it establishes and reinforces the tribal hierarchy. There are but two legs, two wings, a certain amount of white meat, a given quantity of dark. Who gets which piece; who, in fact, slices the bird and distributes its limbs and organs, underscores quite emphatically the rank of each member in the gathering.

Consider that the legs of this bird are called 'drumsticks,' after the ritual objects employed to extract the music from the most aboriginal and sacred of instruments. Our ancestors, kept their drums in public, but the sticks, being more actively magical, usually were stored in places known only to the shaman, the medicine man, the high priest, of the Wise Old Woman. The wing of the fowl gives symbolic flight to the soul, but with the drumstick is evoked the best of the pulse of the heart of the universe.

Few of us nowadays participate in the actual hunting and killing of the turkey, but almost all of us watch, frequently with deep emotion, the reenactment of those events. We watch it on TV sets immediately before the communal meal. For what are footballs if not metaphorical turkeys, flying up and down a meadow? And what is a touchdown if not a kill, achieved by one or the other of two opposing tribes? To our applause, great young hungers from Alabama or Notre Dame slay the bird. Then, the Wise Old Woman, in the guise of Grandma, calls us to the table, where we, pretending to be no longer primitive, systematically rip the bird asunder.

Was Boomer Petaway aware of the totemic implications when, to impress his beloved, he fabricated an outsize Thanksgiving centerpiece? No, not consciously. If and when the last veil dropped, he might comprehend what he had wrought. For the present, however, he was as ignorant as Can o' Beans, Spoon, and Dirty Sock were, before Painted Stick and Conch Shell drew their attention to similar affairs.

Nevertheless, it was Boomer who piloted the gobble-stilled butterball across Idaho, who negotiated it through the natural carving knives of the Sawtooth Mountains, who once or twice parked it in wilderness rest stops, causing adjacent flora to assume the appearance of parsley.”
Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All

Vera Nazarian
“The Gingerbread House has four walls, a roof, a door, a window, and a chimney. It is decorated with many sweet culinary delights on the outside.

But on the inside there is nothing—only the bare gingerbread walls.

It is not a real house—not until you decide to add a Gingerbread Room.

That’s when the stories can move in.

They will stay in residence for as long as you abstain from taking the first gingerbread bite.”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Criss Jami
“As individuals die every moment, how insensitive and fabricated a love it is to set aside a day from selfish routine in prideful, patriotic commemoration of tragedy. Just as God is provoked by those who tithe simply because they feel that they must tithe, I am provoked by those who commemorate simply because they feel that they must commemorate.”
Criss Jami, Killosophy

Dean Hughes
“This boy turkied my Thanksgiving, but I won't let him Grinch my Christmas. -Dean Hughes (Midway to Heaven)”
Dean Hughes

Bruce Robinson
“We've gone on holiday by mistake”
Bruce Robinson, Withnail and I: the Original Screenplay

Barbara Pym
“Sitting aimlessly in bedrooms- often on the bed itself- is another characteristic feature of the English holidays. The meal was over and it was only twenty five past seven. 'The evening stretches before us,' Viola said gloomily.”
Barbara Pym, No Fond Return of Love

Serena Valentino
“Christmastime was always my favorite time of year. It did something to me. It made me softer. More kindhearted. Not an affliction I fall prey to lately. But back then I loved the days leading up to Christmas almost as much as I loved the day itself.”
Serena Valentino, Evil Thing

Jenny Holiday
“Girls need love, not braids.”
Jenny Holiday, A Princess for Christmas

Friedrich Hölderlin
“But now day breaks! I waited and saw it come,
And what I saw, the hallowed, my word shall convey,
For she, she herself, who is older than the ages
And higher than the gods of Orient and Occident,
Nature has now awoken amid the clang of arms,
And from high Aether down to the low abyss,
According to fixed law, begotten, as in the past, on holy Chaos,
Delight, the all-creative,
Delights in self-renewal.”
Friedrich Hölderlin, Selected Poems and Fragments

Mokokoma Mokhonoana
“A restless mind makes a problem of a resting body.”
Mokokoma Mokhonoana

Michael Bassey Johnson
“The true beauty of Christmas is revealed when we adore the season, not like some weary adult, but like a bubbly little child.”
Michael Bassey Johnson, The Book of Maxims, Poems and Anecdotes

Augusten Burroughs
“Not the random, seemingly drunken hand of Mother Nature herself. That crazy old bitch gave us the California Redwoods - true, but right along with it she whipped up some naked mole rat.”
Augusten Burroughs, You Better Not Cry: Stories for Christmas

G.K. Chesterton
“There is no more dangerous or disgusting habit than that of celebrating Christmas before it comes.”
G.K. Chesterton

Fannie Flagg
“Nothing had come easy to him. School, sports, or girls... it seemed to Oswald that everyone else had come into this world with a set of instructions but him. From the beginning he had always felt like a pair of white socks and brown shoes in a roomful of tuxedos. He had never really gotten a break in life, and now it was all over.”
Fannie Flagg, A Redbird Christmas

“During the holiday season, in fact all year long, wrap yourself around another's presence, not presents.”
Christine E. Szymanski

Ruth Ann Oskolkoff
“New Year’s Eve at the Witches’ Ball, with all the wiccans, druids, and pagans in their incredible costumes, was the best time of the year. Easily Zin’s favorite holiday, because the night was for everyone of all traditions, religions, and countries. Celebrated by anyone, anywhere, on that hour. It represented the boundary between years, this in-between time. Plus, that evening was about the moment. It was here now. Indisputably immediate.”
Ruth Ann Oskolkoff, Zin

“My Sunday is a leisure day in which I encourage myself to forget the responsibilities of my workdays and engage honestly with my friends and loved ones. ”
Srinivas Mishra

Enid Blyton
“I've got such a lovely feeling," said Lucy-Ann, looking the picture of happiness. "You know - that feeling you get at the very beginning of a lovely holiday - when all the days spread out before you, sunny & lazy & sort of enchanted."
"You'll end up by being a poet if you don't look out," said Philip, from the wheel.
"Well, if a poet feels like I feel just exactly at this moment, I wouldn't mind being one for the rest of my life, even if it meant having to write poetry," said Lucy-Ann.”
Enid Blyton, The Sea of Adventure

F. Paul Wilson
“April 19 King Kong Day”
F. Paul Wilson, Interlude at Duane's

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