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“Well-behaved women seldom make history.”
― Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History
― Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History
“I've got a theory, it could be bunnies...
I've got a theor-
Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes
They've got them hoppy legs and twitchy little noses.
And what's with all the carrots-?
What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?
Bunnies, bunnies it must be bunnies!
...or maybe midgets...”
―
I've got a theor-
Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes
They've got them hoppy legs and twitchy little noses.
And what's with all the carrots-?
What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?
Bunnies, bunnies it must be bunnies!
...or maybe midgets...”
―
“Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.”
―
―
“I'm working! What are you doing? Besides being...
Being what?
Wait a minute...
Sarcastic? Unfeeling? British?
It's an animal.
Where?
No, the word!
Still you have to admit, I am... very British. I don't say hard R's.
You know what I like? Brown sauce. What's it made of? Science doesn't know!
It's made of brown.
Brown. Mined from the earth by the hardscrabble brown miners of North Brownderton.
Oh, my God. I find lentils completely incomprehensible. What the sun-dappled hell is Echo doing at Fremont?
That's got nothing to do with the drug, which means our problems are huge and indomitable.
Ooh. I could eat that word. Or a crisp. Do you have any crisps?
You haven't seen my drawer of inappropriate starches? C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!
Oh my god, I'm having such a terrible day.”
―
Being what?
Wait a minute...
Sarcastic? Unfeeling? British?
It's an animal.
Where?
No, the word!
Still you have to admit, I am... very British. I don't say hard R's.
You know what I like? Brown sauce. What's it made of? Science doesn't know!
It's made of brown.
Brown. Mined from the earth by the hardscrabble brown miners of North Brownderton.
Oh, my God. I find lentils completely incomprehensible. What the sun-dappled hell is Echo doing at Fremont?
That's got nothing to do with the drug, which means our problems are huge and indomitable.
Ooh. I could eat that word. Or a crisp. Do you have any crisps?
You haven't seen my drawer of inappropriate starches? C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!
Oh my god, I'm having such a terrible day.”
―
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