What’s really fun is to write under different names.
It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to.
Letitia! What a name. Halfway between a salad and a sneeze.
Be still. Remember my name. It is the label that is attached to me. It is the one thread that is sewn through this entire story. Your story or my story – it is only the stitching that changes. The want is the thing that drives us. Trust me: I have a story to tell.
Most of us have nicknames—annoying, endearing, embarrassing.But what about your true name?It is not necessarily your given name. But it is the one to which you are most eager to respond when called.Ever wonder why?Your true name has the secret power to call you.
Malavika Vishwanath. Don’t try to say it you’ll just piss me off.
None were left now to unname, and yet how close I felt to them when I saw one of them swim or fly or trot or crawl across my way or over my skin, or stalk me in the night, or go along beside me for a while in the day. They seemed far closer...
Suppose we pick a name for him, eh?” Caius Pompeius stepped over and eyed the child. “He looks a little like my proconsul, Marcus. We could call him Marcus.” Josiah Worthington said, “He looks more like my head gardener, Stebbins. Not that I’m suggesting Stebbins as a name. The man drank like a fish.” “He...
On the outside of the bedroom door there was a plaque that said Valerie. On the way up, Jackson noticed that other bedrooms also had names – Eleanor, Lucy, Anna, Charlotte.Jackson wondered how you decided on a name for a room. Or a doll. Or a child, for that matter. The naming of dogs seemed...
Names.What’s in a name, really? I mean, besides a bunch ofletters or sounds strung together to make a word. Does arose by any other name really smell as sweet? Would themost famous love story in the world be as poignant if it wascalled Romeo and Gertrude? Why is what we callourselves so important?
You used,” he said, and then took a sharp breath, “to call me Augustus.
[speaking of a friend named Lavendar Lewis] ‘I think her parents gave her the only right and fitting name that could possibly be given her,’ said Anne. ‘If they had been so blind as to name her Elizabeth or Nellie or Muriel she must have been called Lavendar just the same, I think. It’s so...
Oh, it makes SUCH a difference. It LOOKS so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced can’t you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so much more distinguished. If you’ll only call me Anne spelled with an E...
A label assigned to identify you either by this institution or your departed parents is neither of interest nor value to me. If you find you are in need of a name at any point, you may choose one for yourself. For now it will not be necessary.
My son’s name will be Sonya, like his mother, whose name will be Dadya.
I like the name Lola, because it has LOL in the beginning.
We commonly speak as though a single ‘thing’ could ‘have’ some characteristic. A stone, we say, is ‘hard,’ ‘small,’ ‘heavy,’ ‘yellow,’ ‘dense,’ etc. That is how our language is made: ‘The stone is hard.’ And so on. And that way of talking is good enough for the marketplace: ‘That is a new brand.’ ‘The potatoes...
She felt as if the grave stones were whispering those names to her as she walked past… Those stones that bore no names seemed like closed mouths, sad mouths that forgotten how to speak. But perhaps the dead didn’t mind what their names had once been?
Common folk didn’t have last names in the 8th and 9th centuries.
I suppose it’s the name: there’s a deal in the name of a tune.
You named your sword Fire? Fire? What kind of a boring name is that? You might as well name your sword ‘Blazing Blade’ and be done with it. Fire indeed. Humph. Wouldn’t you rather have a sword called Sheepbiter or Chrysanthemum Cleaver or something else with imagination?
If I could remember the names of all these particles, I’d be a botanist.