My Grand Baby Quotes & Sayings

The whole universe is a complex of rhythms," mused Amanda. "We each of us feel a need to identify our bodily rhythms with those of the cosmos. The sea is the grand agency of rhythm. The grain-tops in the wind, the atoms that orbit are rhythmic. The uterus, which is a strong muscular organ, contracts with the birth of a baby - the rhythmic contractions, in fact, are the important motivations for the baby to emerge into the world. Rhythm is how it all begins. — Tom Robbins

Nobody is quite so blase and sophisticated as a boy of nineteen who is just recovering from a baby grand passion — Helen Rowland

Admittedly, it's a little crazy. Grand, infinite God taking on the squalling form of a human baby boy. It's what some of the old-timers call a scandal, the scandal of the Gospel. But it is also the whole point. — Lauren F. Winner

My grand baby is growing so fast, I can't believe she's already celebrating her first birthday in this month of October 2016. Happy Birthday Norah Grace, grandma loves you. — Euginia Herlihy

What we don't often realize is that the rebirth and collapse of grand things do not begin with grand things at all, like the things we see, but with the small, like the things we are - in the things we do - in the things we say. — A.J. Darkholme

They have a baby grand piano, but no one in the family plays. They have shelves of books they've never read, and the tension between the couples was so thick it nearly choked us. — Ruta Sepetys

If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle. — Vincent Van Gogh

I want a cigarette. I want a cigarette. I want to kill the woman my husband loves. This is all her fault. I got pregnant to secure the man that I had already married. A woman shouldn't have to do that. She should feel safe in her marriage. That's why you got married - to feel safe from all the men who were trying to siphon your soul. I'd yielded my soul to Caleb willingly. Offered it up like a sacrificial lamb. Now, I was not only going to have to compete with the memory of another woman, but a shriveled up baby. He was already staring into her eyes like he could see the Grand Canyon tucked away in her irises. I — Tarryn Fisher

So, I see we meet again." He offered a smile. Although he could clearly see from her rounded abdomen that she was expecting a baby, he couldn't keep from noticing once again that she was a lovely woman. "I have to say, we didn't officially meet," he continued, trying to put her at ease. "Unless of course you go by the title Frau Maple Syrup." "I'm Frau Werner. Annalisa Werner." "And I'm Carl Richards." He put his arm to his waist and bowed as if he were the grand duke and she a duchess. "I'm Gretchen." Annalisa's daughter let go of her oma and turned to him. "Ah, I was expecting something like Raindrop." He turned to the little girl and bowed to her. "But I like Gretchen much better. It's a lovely name for a princess. — Jody Hedlund

Sex is the strongest force in the universe. Forget about the Grand Unifying Theory, Stephen Hawking, I'll tell you what it is: women. Aren't women the strongest sex? What force is more magnetic than that? It's not just pussy. We're attracted to women for their energy. We're attracted to their fluidness, their ability to nurture a baby without even knowing how, to be able to put up with screaming and crying and colic and shitty diapers where men would go, "I'm fucking outta here! I'm gonna go kill me a saber-toothed woolly mammoth an'bring it on home to eat tonight. Wa-haaaaaa!" We don't have tits; we couldn't nourish a gnat. — Steven Tyler

I'm an Aristos. I don't think you want to tangle with me. (Angelia)
Like I give a shit. I'm a god, baby, so in the grand scheme of things, if I wanted to rip your head off and use it for a bowling ball, there's not many who could stop me and most of those who could would be too afraid of me to even try. (Zarek) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Pull yourself together, Detective. You're embarrassing yourself, and more imprtant, you're embarrassing me."
"They're going to do it outside. In public."
"So the fuck what?"
"Public," Peabody said, head still between her knees.
"You're being honored by this department and this city for having the integrity, the courage, and the skill to take out a blight on this department and this city. Dirty, murdering, greedy, treacherous cops are sitting in cages right now because you had that integrity, courage, and skill. I don't care if they do this damn thing in Grand Central, you will get on your feet. You will not puke, pass out, cry like a baby, or squeal like a girl. That's a goddamn order."
"I had more of a 'Relax, Peabody, this is a proud moment' sort of speech in mind," McNab murmured to Roarke.
Roarke shook his head, grinned. "Did you now? You've a bit to learn yet, haven't you? — J.D. Robb

I hold that the beginning of modern Irish drama was in the winter of 1898, at a school feast at Coole, when Douglas Hyde and Miss Norma Borthwick acted in Irish in a Punch and Judy show; and the delighted children went back to tell their parents what grand curses 'An Craoibhin' had put on the baby and the policeman. — Lady Gregory

Jo, they have a baby grand piano, but no one in the family plays. They have shelves of books they've never read, and the tension between the couples was so thick it nearly choked us."
"Let me tell you something 'bout those rich Uptown folk," said Cokie. "They got everything that money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain't happy. They ain't ever gone be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can't fix that, no sir. My friend Bix was poor. Lord, he had to blow that trumpet ten hours a day just to put a little taste in the pot. Died poor, too. You saw him, Jo, with that plate on his chest. But that man wasn't soul broke. — Ruta Sepetys

LONDON. TRINITY TERM one week old. Implacable June weather. Fiona Maye, a High Court judge, at home on Sunday evening, supine on a chaise longue, staring past her stockinged feet toward the end of the room, toward a partial view of recessed bookshelves by the fireplace and, to one side, by a tall window, a tiny Renoir lithograph of a bather, bought by her thirty years ago for fifty pounds. Probably a fake. Below it, centered on a round walnut table, a blue vase. No memory of how she came by it. Nor when she last put flowers in it. The fireplace not lit in a year. Blackened raindrops falling irregularly into the grate with a ticking sound against balled-up yellowing newsprint. A Bokhara rug spread on wide polished floorboards. Looming at the edge of vision, a baby grand piano bearing silver-framed family photos on its deep black shine. On the floor by the chaise longue, within her reach, the draft of a judgment. — Ian McEwan