dJack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack forgot to check if the ice was thick. Emma was still, Emma was late, Emma's brother is now part of the lake. Time has passed, Time has gone, Time brought Jack back wrong. He was solemn, He was brave, He left his coat on Emma's grave. Emma was sad, Emma was scared, But she knew inside that Jack really cared. Jack was lost, Jack had forgot, That he had a story before the plot. Jack had wondered, Jack had fought, Jack had remembered what he had forgot. I hope you dream. I hope you wonder. I hope you have fun because this is done. Keep believing everyone. Jack be fearless, Jack be bold, Jack drowned when he was 17 years old.
Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O, Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting - more lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, her neck! O, Jack, Jack!
Richard Brinsley Sheridan
As a Middle Eastern male, I know there's certain things I'm not supposed to say on an airplane in the U.S., right? I'm not supposed to be walking down the aisle, and be like, 'Hi, Jack.' That's not cool. Even if I'm there with my friend named Jack, I say, 'Greetings, Jack. Salutations, Jack.' Never 'Hi, Jack.'
ROSE: I love you, Jack. JACK: No... don't say your goodbyes, Rose. Don't you give up. Don't do it. ROSE: I'm so cold. JACK: You're going to get out of this... you're going to go on and you're going to make babies and watch them grow and you're going to die an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here... Not this night. Do you understand me? ROSE: I can't feel my body. JACK: Rose, listen to me. Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me. It brought me to you. And I'm thankful, Rose. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... not matter what happens... no matter how hopeless... promise me now, and never let go of that promise. ROSE: I promise. JACK: Never let go. ROSE: I promise. I will never let go, Jack. I'll never let go.
What the hell?' I muttered. Then I realized it was Jack Quinn's car. Jack was a Hound and Bea's boyfriend. The left blinker flashed on for just a second, and then Jack drove at speed again. 'Zayvion, I'm sorry to tell you I think I have a crush on another man.' 'Who is this unfortunate and soon-to-be-dead fool?' he asked. 'Jack. That's his car. He must have been waiting for us, or maybe he followed us.' 'Jack Quinn has been following us?' Shame said. 'And now he's taking us to Collins, I think.' 'Or a trap, ' Shame said. 'He's a Hound, Shame.' 'My statement stands.' 'You still don't get it, do you?' I turned left, following the car. 'Hounds are loyal. Jack and Bea told me they'd help me if they could. They're not going to turn against me while I'm in trouble.' 'What happens when you're not in trouble?' Shame asked. 'Don't know. It's never happened.
Jack stares at me blankly. 'A what?' he asks. I choke back the laugh. 'A boy. You know? A Y-chromosome holder? You don't seem to notice them as much as you do the X-carriers.' 'What are you talking about?' Jack asks, 'A boy? She's just a kid.' I hesitate, wondering how Jack is only just doing the maths on this one now. 'She's seventeen. She's not a kid anymore.' Jack looks like he's about to go all Incredible Hulk and burst out of his clothes before rampaging through the bar. He jumps off the stool. 'If any boy ever lays a finger on my sister, I'm going to kill him, ' he says. Again I stare at him in silence, thinking of all the girls Jack has laid fingers and much more of his anatomy on besides. Poor Lila. If she ever wants to have a shot at a normal life, as in one that doesn't require a vow of celibacy, she needs to stay in London.
D snorted. 'Gotta be prepared.' He looked up at Jack's face, frowning. 'What?' Jack shrugged. 'It's just... ' He sighed. 'I'm starting to see words like 'accessory' and 'accomplice' floating around my head.' D barely reacted. 'How about 'dead on arrival'? Ya like that better?' Jack nodded, pressing his lips together. 'Get more ammo. Ammo is good.
Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations . . . I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John. She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment's solitude. The only really safe name is Ernest.
The heavy eyelids snapped open. Jack froze. A huge gold-and-amber eye, as big as a dinner plater, stared at him. The dark pupil shrank, focusing. Jack stood very still. The colossal head turned, the scaled lip only three feet from Jack. The golden eyes gazed at him, wirling with fiery color. Jack breathed in tiny, shallow breaths. Dont blink. Don't blink... Two gusts of wind erutped from the wyvern's nostrils Jack jumped straight up, bounced off the ground into another jump, and scrambled up the nearest tree. In the clearing, Gaston bent over, guffawing like an idiot. 'It's not funny!
Jack: Atticus, you've never laid a hand on her. Atticus: I admit that. So far I've been able to get by with threats. Jack, she minds me as well as she can. Doesn't come up to scratch half the time, but she tries. Jack: That's not the answer. Atticus: No, the answer is she knows I know she tries. That's what makes the difference.
Do Engineers have stories, Jack?" he asked. "What?" Jack said, without moving. "Stories. Myths. Things to keep the boredom out on a long shift." "I think they play cards, mostly, " Jack answered. It was a lie, but he told it with surprising deftness; not a waver in his voice or a hesitation in his words. Only the tightening of his shoulders told Ellis he was lying.
It pleased Aliena that they were all together: she and Jack and their children, and Jack's mother, and Aliena's brother, and Martha. It was quite like an ordinary family, and Aliena could almost forget that her father had died in a dungeon, and she was legally married to Jack's stepbrother, and Ellen was an outlaw, and- She shook her head. It was no use pretending this was a normal family.
Something's up, ' I say, handing the phone back. 'Not necessarily, ' Jack says. 'You think this is the first time Lila's been hot-headed? Seriously, dude, you do remember my sister, right? Short, blonde, impulsive as shock therapy? Stubborn as a mule who won't take no for an answer?' Does Jack ever listen to himself? Does he appreciate the irony of this statement? I shake my head at him in wonder. 'Hey, I'm not short or blond, ' Jack protests as he catches the look on my face.
Are you really a doctor?' I asked. 'Some people say that.' 'Why?' 'Because I went to medical school.' 'Did you not finish?' I asked hesitantly. 'I finished.' 'So... ?' 'So sometimes I work as a doctor.' 'So doesn't that make you a doctor?' 'I guess, but I also worked as a baker, construction worker, and a bunch of other things. Either way I just prefer being known as Jack. I mean Dr. Baker Jack Hammer Jack, would be entertaining, but I think also a little weird.
Michael Brent Jones
We saw Uncle Jack every Christmas, and every Christmas he yelled across the street for Miss Maudie to come marry him. Miss Mauide would yell back, "Call a little louder, Jack Finch, and they'll hear you the post office, I haven't heard you yet!" Jem and I thought this a strange way to ask for a lady's hand in marriage, but then again Uncle Jack was rather strange.
Jack must have looked confused, and Sienna leaned closer to him as she explained. Her perfume was sharp and floral, and he took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh fragrance after a day on the road smelling dust and tar. 'When we were in high school, Uncle Renzo brought us down here to the pier at Monterey for a birthday dinner, and he spun Georgie a story about his grandmother going to sleep at the table when he was a little boy, and drowning in her chowder.' Jack grinned as Sienna continued the story. 'He had her sucked in, hook line and sinker, for the whole night until she started to cry, and then he took pity on her.' Sienna smiled as she looked at Jack. Her long, delicate neck arched gracefully as her head turned slowly from side to side, and Jack got another whiff of her perfume. Her eyes were hooded and Jack sensed she was waiting for something.
No one ever bugged Jack Nicholson. When we made 'Witches,' and people were standing around to see him, he'd just come out and say, 'Hi everybody!' I was lucky enough to go with him to a Lakers game, too, and he was always friendly. No one bothers Jack, because he makes himself so accessible.
Jack sprung to his feet out of reach. "I'd prefer to finish this intact. " "My apologies, ' Cabal said, grinning viciously. "l keep forgetting, you're only human." His smile softened to full amusement as Jack raised his sword in challenge. "Human or not, " Jack said as he slowly approached him. "I carry the advantage of unworldly knowledge. " " Is that what you're doing?" Cabal laughed; "Something unworldly?" "I have a vast library of knowledge inside my head from my homeland." "What knowledge could your world offer that would be useful here?" "How about a toilet?" Jack winked at Nicole. 'Perhaps you should build one and leave us all in awe.' Cabal declared. 'People could call them 'Jacks' for short.' Nicole added to the conversation.
JACK. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left. ALGERNON. We have. JACK. I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk about? ALGERNON. The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course. JACK. What fools!
Ahmity reached out and created a ball of light in his hand sending it down past Jack and into the cave. He called out to Jack, 'It will move as you command.' Jack frowned feeling a bit ridiculous talking to a ball of light and said, 'Go three feet inside the cave and hover.' The ball floated quickly to the cave entrance and past the rushing water to hover just inside the cave entrance. 'Move further in another 5 feet.' There was a large shadow to the right. 'Move right 10 feet.' Jack commanded and the ball floated into a side tunnel and disappeared. Jack said, 'Return to Ahmity.' The ball slowly accompanied Jack back up the cliff. When he reached the top Ahmity helped him up over the edge and waited for his report. Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, 'I could see a tunnel in the side of the cave about 10 feet inside the entrance. It's large enough for the trolls pass through.' Ahmity shook his head and said, 'If the trolls traveled back to the Netherworld from here then it's possible the beasts escaped the same way.' Jack sighed and glanced back at the school then said, 'Well there's no way to know for sure unless we take a short trip down a black hole.' Coming soon-Vengeance's Fire
There was the Jack Osbourne my parents knew, the Jack Osbourne my friends knew, and the Jack Osbourne the public knew. The one my parents knew was the funny, facetious, nice, loving son my parents know, who is truly caring. With my friends it was a crazy, insane, drinking, using, party animal who knew how to have a good time. And with the public, it was the one they wanted to vote out of the house.
But when the wizard is onstage as the main character, you have to adopt what I call the Jack Vance Rule. I call it this because Jack Vance is the first author successfully and adroitly to have applied this rule in his The Dying Earth. The Jack Vance Rule is: (1) The wizard has to be able to do something unusual, or else he is not a wizard, (2) he cannot do everything, or else there is no drama; therefore (3) the story teller has to communicate to the reader whatever the dividing line is that separates what the wizard can do from what he cannot do, so that the reader can have a reasonable expectation of knowing what the wizard can and cannot do.
John C. Wright
She nodded... and was about to turn away. Then, as if she thought better of it, she reached out and grabbed his arm. "Jack." "Yes?" "I. . ." she faltered. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. It turned out she didn't have to. Jack put a hand to his heart and nodded. "I feel the same way about you.
Melissa de la Cruz
Yeah, well, get Jack a GPS or something. He's a step above faeries, but only just. At least they never dropped me straight into a river. Don't give me any assignments near cliffs, okay? I shudder to think where Jack might toss me out." "Next time let him step out first." I laughed, shaking my head. "Good idea.
Celeste committed the cardinal sin of leaning across Jack's arm. "You will excuse me, Madam, but I have something most particular to say to Monsieur Trestain." "That was rude, " jack said, though he was smiling. "No doubt you thought her very beautiful." "No doubt that is what you think I thought.
[Jack Nicklaus] was the first to bring in course management. He could go to a course and tell you within one stroke what was going to win. He used to set his sights on that because he could shoot it. He was the only player I know who, if he decided he wanted to win a tournament, could go out and do it. No one will ever be as popular as Arnold Palmer and no one will ever come close to Jack as a player.
I'm still trying to decide how I feel about the fact that you knew about this before I did." "Don't be disappointed, " Jack said. "The fact that I've been ridiculously proud of you for days doesn't change how excited you should be about this. Besides, I pretty much know everything. You should probably just start getting used to it." "And on that note, I'm hanging up, " Cameron said. "Rushing me off so you can call Collin next?" Jack teased. "No" she said emphatically. Damn, he really did know everything.
The two keys to success as a sportswriter are: 1) A blind willingness to believe anything you're told by the coaches, flacks, hustlers and other "official spokesmen" for the team-owners who provide the free booze... and: 2) A Roget's Thesaurus, in order to avoid using the same verbs and adjectives twice in the same paragraph. Even a sports editor, for instance, might notice something wrong with a lead that said: "The precision-jack-hammer attack of the Miami Dolphins stomped the balls off the Washington Redskins today by stomping and hammering with one precise jack-thrust after another up the middle, mixed with pinpoint-precision passes into the flat and numerous hammer-jack stomps around both ends...
Hunter S. Thompson
Jack gave her a fierce look. 'Your mother gave up the best thing she had in her life. I know you miss her, I know you're confused and have all sorts of questions for her. But you're better than her, Lola, you're better than all of this. 'She wronged you, not the other way around. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't deserve what happened to you. She's the one that needs to feel bad, not you. 'Sometimes there are no answers. You have to accept that. Maybe you'll never know what you think you need to know, but do you really need to know all the details, really? You know she wasn't there when you needed her, she still isn't here when you need her, but look around, Lola.' Jack opened his arms wide. 'You got me. You got your aunt. Jared. Sebastian. Rachel. Even Isabelle. 'You need to realize that and move on, as best you can. I had to realize that myself. When you let go of the pain and hurt and unanswered questions, Lola, then you'll be okay. You're safe now.' Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead. 'You're safe now. Remember that. Believe that.
Some artists, such as Jack Kirby, need no plot at all. I mean I'll just say to Jack, "Let's let the next villain be Dr. Doom" ... or I may not even say that. He may tell me. And then he goes home and does it. He's so good at plots, I'm sure he's a thousand times better than I. He just makes up the plots for these stories. All I do is a little editing ... I may tell him that he's gone too far in one direction or another. Of course, occasionally I'll give him a plot, but we're practically both the writers on the things.
Well, Jack, we have taken the Macedonian, and your share of the prize, if we get her in safely, may be two hundred dollars; what will you do with it?' Stephen Decatur, commanding the frigate United States, North Atlantic, near the Azores Islands, 1812. 'One hundred will go to my mother, sir, and the other I shall spend on schooling.' Jack Creamer, aged ten.
As with Jack, the discriminating milieu of loneliness moved Hugh to raise the stakes of solitude, not from a wish to spare himself the sapping drudgery of a conventional, passionless marriage, but rather to gamble on the existence of a just goddess. Like Jack's, his core being was attuned solely to the enrapturing company of a scintillating paragon, to a woman who was indivisibly and alluringly noble.
The real key to Jack's [Nicklaus] success was his fantastic ability to score. His drives sometimes went into the rough, but he could plow the ball out of the tallest grass and get it on the green; bad lies simply didn't affect him as they did the others. Jack also got tremendous height with his one-iron and two-iron, which meant that he could stop them better than his rivals.
While writing 'Cold Mountain,' I held maps of two geographies, two worlds, in my mind as I wrote. One was an early map of North Carolina. Overlaying it, though, was an imagined map of the landscape Jack travels in the southern Appalachian folktales. He's much the same Jack who climbs the beanstalk, vulnerable and clever and opportunistic.
Charles is going to be fine, " said Annie. "Yep, " said Jack with a smile. "He never even knew that it was us who helped him." "That's the best way to help someone, I think, " said Annie. "Why?" asked Jack. "Then you know you're not helping them just to get a lot of credit, " said Annie. "You're helping because it's the right thing to do.
Mary Pope Osborne
said Jack matter-of-factly. "I'm a man. We're made to think more quickly." ...Aven swung her fist and clocked Jack square on the chin, knocking him backward into the balloon, which was still under repair. ...Aven rubbed her knuckles and looked at the others. "Sorry about that. I might have stopped myself from hitting him, but I didn't think of it quickly enough.
James A. Owen
said Jack matter-of-factly. "I'm a man. We're made to think more quickly."... Aven swung her fist and clocked Jack square on the chin, knocking him backward into the balloon, which was still under repair... Aven rubbed her knuckles and looked at the others. "Sorry about that. I might have stopped myself from hitting him, but I didn't think of it quickly enough.
James A. Owen
Daleks: [simultaneously] Exterminate! Exterminate! [They fire their weapons, none of which so much as touch the Doctor] The Doctor: Is that it? Useless! Nul points! [to Rose and Jack] It's all right, you can come out; that forcefield can hold back anything! Jack Harkness: Almost anything. [pause] The Doctor: Yes, but I wasn't going to tell them that. Thanks.
Russell T. Davies
I learned a good deal about economics, and about America, from the author of the Reagan tax reforms - the great Jack Kemp. What gave Jack that incredible enthusiasm was his belief in the possibilities of free people, in the power of free enterprise and strong communities to overcome poverty and despair. We need that same optimism right now.
It's dark out, Jack, the stations out there don't identify themselves, we're in it raw-blind like burned rats, it's running out all around us, the footprints of the beast, one nobody has any notion of. The white and vacant eyes of something above there, something that doesn't know we exist. I smell heartbreak up there, Jack, a heartbreak at the center of things, and in which we don't figure at all.
She drank in the sight of him, sure that anything so perfect had to be a dream. He seemed bigger with just a towel wrapped around his waist. It was amazing what wonders clothing could hide. Over six feet of long muscled male. Bronzed skin, lightly dusted with hair seemed to glow as he walked towards her. He moved like an athlete. Strong, confident strides that ate up the distance between them in no time. Her hands wanted to touch him, anywhere, everywhere. His impossibly flat, firm stomach seemed to call out for her mouth to trace the ridges; her tongue eagerly memorizing every smooth, muscled inch. 'Lose the towel.' She wasn't asking, she was pleading. Jack let the cloth fall to the floor. Eyes wide Rose gasped. Mother Nature had been very kind to Jack Winston, and she was about to be a very grateful beneficiary. 'Rose, sweetheart, ' Jack stepped back when she would have touched him. 'Oh, come on, Jack, ' she groaned in frustration. 'I've been a very good girl. Now it's time for my reward.
Mary J. Williams
With every character you play, as these guys will tell you, there's a part of you goes into that in terms of the ingredients of making this stew. There's most definitely a part of me in Captain Jack and now, fortunately or unfortunately, there's a great part of Captain Jack in me as well. Basically, I can't shake him. He won't leave me alone. He just sort of keeps showing up at odd times.
Jack explained. 'Daisy, you were meant for me. Dane destroyed that. You're lucky I don't set you on fire right this minute. It's either you or him. Pick.' Jack chewed on a toothpick, took it out of his mouth and pointed it at her and then Dane. 'Pick, pick, pick, ' he said, pointing back and forth.
But the pain, the tearing blackness, the white heat of his uncontrollable fury, the terror that made him run from himself, the sweats and the shakes, and the dull ache in his head, they were all too real. ~~~~ She kissed him to stop the words babbling out. She was in love. 'Jack, ' she said, because it was all she could trust herself to say. 'Jack.' She loved him. She kissed his eyelids. She loved him.
As Jack began to climb the stairs, Fiona looked up at her new home. Five stories of stately mansion rose above her head. Heavy molding around the large windows and doors bespoke a quality and craftsmanship that was obvious even in the dim night. "Good God! It's massive!" Jack paused with his foot on the last step. "I do wish you'd keep those comments until we are in bed, love. I would appreciate them all the more there.
In Jack Dempsey's early days he had a fight contract, which paid him two dollars per fight for the fights he won. He received nothing for the fights he lost. Jack Dempsey said that in his early days he was knocked down a lot of times and he usually was tempted to stay down because he knew that no one would hit him again until he started to get up. But Jack was a hungry fighter and he knew that if he was going to eat, he must get up in order to get the two dollars. He tells of one occasion when he was knocked down 11 times in one fight, and 11 times he got up in order to win the $2.
Sterling W Sill
D'you ever wonder what it would be like if our positions were reversed?' I ask. At Jack's puzzled look I continue. 'If we whites were in charge instead of you Crosses?' 'Can't say it's ever crossed my mind,' Jack shrugs. 'I used to think about it a lot,' I sigh. 'Dreams of living in a world with no more discrimination, no more prejudice, a fair police force, an equal justice system, equality of education, equality of life, a level playing field...
Jack explained. 'Daisy, you were meant for me. Dane destroyed that. You're lucky I don't set you on fire right this minute. It's either you or him. Pick.' Jack chewed on a tooth pick, took it out of his mouth and pointed it at her and then Dane. 'Pick, pick, pick, ' he said, pointing back and forth.
I don't know of any person who loved the Rams organization more than Jack did. There wasn't one thing that happened at Rams Park that didn't affect Jack emotionally. He was going to be there for me, for everyone with the Rams, through the good times and bad. Everyone's a pal when you win. But if we lost and I was feeling down, he understood. Because if something hurt me or the Rams, he would hurt, too.
It's Mari, Jack," Ken whispered, needing to say it aloud. "What?" Jack jerked around, staring at the sniper as the eyes fluttered closed. "Are you certain?" Ken pulled the woman's belt loose and buckled it around her leg. "Either that or your wife is playing sniper for the other team. It has to be Mari. She looks exactly like Briony.
The rose fell into his lap, and he looked up, startled. Mimi grinned. "Hey handsom" Mimi sent. "What's up?" Jack replied, without speaking. "Just thinking of you." Jack's smile deepened, and he threw the rose back at her so that it landed in her lap. Mimi tucked it behind her ear and fluttered her eyelashes appreciatively.
Melissa de la Cruz