Arm Robbers Quotes

There is another dangerous component to armed robberies, one that I could never understand. I noticed some time ago that with each robbery I committed there was an intense out of control anger that gripped me. It was as if I was there to get something that was inherently mine, and I came to take it by force. I've heard many stories directly from individuals about how they just burst into stores with their guns drawn. They would be shouting at people, gun butting them sometimes for no reason at all. One individual told me that he ran into a store and jump kicked a fella who just stood there. The only reason he was kicked is that he was there.
It's as if once you've overridden your conscience of going through with the act, it is replaced with anger and a level of brutality that is usually reserved for when you are fighting for your life. This, to me, is what makes armed robberies so dangerous - because the slightest provocation or any sudden movement by anyone could lead to them being shot or killed. It is always an extremely delicate and dicey situation, because the armed robber is pulling the trigger out of fear more than anything else. ~ Drexel Deal

Help me, Mikey, she wanted to say. I'm afraid. More afraid than you'd ever believe.' And he'd take her hand and they'd fly across the rooftops and up into space and sit on some planet and watch a double sunrise or maybe a star being born or some other event that no human had ever seen, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. And she'd tell him everything. ~ Jenny Downham

Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. If I stay, you'll only fall madly in love with me like so many men before you."
"It's you we have to worry about," he sighed out. "You've already been trapped in my erotic web of lust. Might as well give it up to the daddy of all cats."
Grinning, Sissy stretched out next to Mitch, her arm thrown over his waist. "You keep on dreamin' that dream, kitty."
"I will. I own ponies in that dream, too. ~ Shelly Laurenston

Sloane slipped an arm around my waist. "There are fourteen varieties of hugs," she said. "This is one of them. ~ Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Rite To Tyr:

Hail to the One-Handed God!
Hail to Him whose name is Honor
And whose Word is iron,
Who alone never shirks the thankless task
Whose reason is Lawful Necessity.
Hail to the Lord of Swords,
Who gave a weapon-bearing hand
To see that what must be done was done in truth.
Hail God of the sunset, last single ray of light,
Lord of loyal morality, whose name none takes in vain.
Now must I face loss to do what is right,
O Lord Tyr, and I do not ask for your aid
To take away that loss, that I might hope for ease of action.
As you stood forth knowing you must lose to win,
So I ask only that you keep my back straight,
My arm strong, my hand from trembling,
My voice from faltering, my words from vanishing,
My head up, and my resolve unyielding
As I reach into the challenging maw of my own future. ~ Galina Krasskova

Glass broke and metal tools clattered to the ground.
"Have you any idea what all of that is worth?" Shezler growled, lowering his arm and advancing.
"Your soul, apparently," Kelsier whispered. ~ Brandon Sanderson

We're working on disrupting an old family tradition." He accepted the glass the Justice offered.
"He means feud," Shelby explained at her mother's blank look. She sipped the liqueur,approved it, then sat on the arm of Myra's chair.
"Oh...Oh," Deborah repeated as she remembered. "The Campbells and the MacGregors were blood enemies in Scotland-though I can't quite remember why."
"They stole our land," Alan put in mildly.
"That's what you say." Shelby shot him a look as she sipped again. "We acquired MacGregor land through a royal decree.They weren't good sports about it."
Alan gave her a thoughtful smile. "I'd be interested to hear you debate that issue with my father."
"What a match," Myra said, brightening at the thought. "Herbert,can you just see our Shelby nose-to-nose with Daniel? All that red hair and stubbornness. You really should arrange it, Alan."
"I've been giving it some thought."
"Have you?" Shelby's brows lifted to disappear completely under her frizz of bangs.
"Quite a bit of thought," he said in the same even tone.
"I've been to that wonderful anachronism in Hyannis Port." Myra gave Shelby a brief pat on the thigh. "It's right up your alley,dear.She's so fond of the-well,let's say unique,shall we?"
"Yes." Deborah sent Shelby a fond smile. "I could never figure out why. But then,both of my children have always been a mystery.Perhaps it's because they're so bright and clever and restless.I'm always hoping they ~ Nora Roberts

You go back and look at things like Civil War, World War II, Vietnam, a lot of people dying in state-sponsored arm conflict ~ Juan Williams

And if
the air is chilly
she feels it - in fact, if you
put your hand on her arm
you would know she still remembers
how touching changed the weather,
how a hand skimming the wrist
was once a window
opening onto a better season
where people did better things
than be lonely, where the wind
was a river of candlelight
pushing the blue silhouettes of trees. ~ Tim Seibles

You need this arm? If so, I suggest you remove it from my girlfriend's shoulders. ~ Teodora Kostova

I've made upwards of a million bucks in the cops-and-robbers business. ~ Broderick Crawford

That's a killer accent you have. Sounds exotic."
"Just British, I'm afraid. I only know a trifling of foreign tongues."
He plopped down onto the divan next to her, his multi-colored arm stretched along the back.
"Foreign tongues - I like the sound of that."
She thought to the article she'd read in the nail salon. "I've picked up a little French and Italian,and more recently, a bit of Hindi, I believe."
"Really?" he said, leaning close. "Such as?"
"Oh, you know, Kama Sutra, and things of that nature."
Suddenly Liam was at her side. "You'll be sitting out front, Emily," he said through gritted
teeth, "right next to the stage. ~ Bella Street

Lindsey patted my arm. "Don't be embarrassed. It's about time you two made the beast with two backs."
I had to work to form words. "There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don't know where to start. ~ Chloe Neill

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.
...
We leave you a tradition with a future.
The tender loving care of human beings will never become obsolete.
People even more than things have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed and redeemed and redeemed.
Never throw out anybody.
Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands: one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.
Your "good old days" are still ahead of you, may you have many of them. ~ Sam Levenson

The summer my daughters were six and four, we were at the beach one day and went for a long walk. It was astonishingly hot, and the sun, bouncing off a clear sea and blinding sand, was relentless. Wearing bikini bottoms but no tops, my children alternated between making sandpiles and running into the sea to cool off. The beach was empty. Eventually a woman and her son appeared in the distance, moving lazily in our direction. The boy seemed to be around the same age. Eventually the children came together, playing in the water with on another but not talking. His mother and I, farther back in each direction, waved and smiled.
I thought we would just keep walking, but when we got close to the children, she said loudly, 'You really should put tops on them.' At first, I didn't understand her.
'Thanks,' I replied. 'They're covered in sunscreen.'
'They're girls,' she said. It wasn't until she was near my daughters that she'd realized this.
I was dumbfounded. She might have been equally dumbfounded if I had taken the time to explain that her statement was an overtly sexist sexualization. The four children were physically indistinguishable, physically active on a hot beach. When I made no move toward shielding her son from the girls' scary, tempting, and corrupting bodies, she pulled him out of the water by the arm. They rushed down the beach before it crossed my mind to whip off my own top. Aggression takes many forms. ~ Soraya Chemaly

The media is the right arm of anarchy. ~ Dan Brown

Pfft." Dad turned to her. "What do you know about picking
husbands? Last time you tried that, you got stuck with me."
She smiled and hit his arm.
"You two are so gross, you ruin everything." I spun and headed
toward the door. ~ Kiera Cass

Cocky much?" I muttered, hanging my arm out the window like Jesse was. I opened my hand and splayed my fingers to feel the wind rushing through them.
"Only when a pretty girl is sitting next to me and trying her hardest to pretend I'm the most irritating thing in the world," he replied, staring at the road and smiling. ~ Nicole Williams

I can feel that I'm stronger than him and stand with the left side of my body towards him, feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent. My left hand's palm faces my body, fingers slightly curled as I gather my energy. He probably expects that I'm going to slam it into him as he did me. Instead, I cast my majick out like a net and drag him towards me; the maneuver catches him by surprise and I smile as I pull my arm back to punch him in the face. He stumbles and I'm glad because it means I won't have to lose momentum by jabbing up ~ Sara Brackett

I sobbed again, and this time my father chuckled. "What's so funny?" I demanded, tilting my head when my cheek got his coat wet.
"You didn't cry when Kevin Mitchell broke your arm, or when you got stabbed in the hip the last time we were here. But boy troubles are still enough to reduce you to tears. ~ Rachel Vincent

You planned this? Why?"
"Yes." He walked over to one of the picnic tables and grabbed a backpack, which just happened to be there. He pulled a blanket from the pack and laid it down on the sand next to her.
She jumped up and away from him with her fins in her hands. She held them up like a weapon, not taking her eyes off of him. He saw her reaction and it didn't take long to figure out the thoughts running through her mind.
"Hey! No. It's not what you think." He stepped closer, but she swung her fins at him and whacked him across the arm. "Ouch!" He looked at her like she was insane.
"Stay away from me. This is so not happening. I'll hit you again, I swear. ~ S. Jackson Rivera

You really need better spatial awareness." A familiar, deep voice from behind her made her jump out of her skin.
Feeling almost numb, she turned to find Graysen West standing there - and looking way too sexy for his own good. Or for her own good. She'd thought she was completely alone in the elevator.
She blinked once. Yep, he was still there. Well over six feet of raw masculinity, bright blue eyes she could drown in, and a disapproving frown that somehow made him look sexy.
Isa felt almost possessed as she lashed out. A year of built-up anger and hurt came bursting to the surface. Her arm was moving before she'd processed what she was doing but when her fist connected with his nose, she cursed at the pain that jolted through her hand. Punching someone hurt. ~ Katie Reus

Oh, Fezzik . . . Fezzik . . ." "What . . . ?" "I had such rhymes for you . . . ." "What rhymes? . . ." Silence. The fourth coil was finished. "Inigo, what rhymes?" Silence. Snake breath. "Inigo, I want to know the rhymes before I die - Inigo, I really want to know - Inigo, tell me the rhymes," Fezzik said, and by now he was very frustrated and, more than that, he was spectacularly angry and one arm came clear of one coil and that made it a bit less of a chore to fight free of the second coil and that meant he could take that arm and bring it to the aid of the other arm and now he was yelling it out, "You're not going anywhere until I know those rhymes" and the sound of his own voice was really very impressive, deep and resonant, and who was this snake anyway, getting in the path of Fezzik when there were rhymes to learn, ~ William Goldman

Devon pushed open the bathroom door. He was fully clothed in a gray wool suit, although he wore no necktie, and his cuffs and collar had been left unfastened. His face was expressionless. "Will you help with this?" he asked, extending his arm.
Hesitantly Kathleen reached out to fasten one of his loose cuffs. The backs of her knuckles brushed the skin on the inside of his wrist, where the skin was blood-heated and smooth. Acutely aware of the measured sound of his breathing, she fastened the other cuff. Reaching up to the sides of his open shirt collar, she drew them together and proceeded to fasten them with a small gold stud that had been left dangling in the buttonhole. As she slid her fingers beneath the front of the collar, she could feel the ripple of his swallow.
"Thank you," Devon said. There was a slight rasp in his voice, as if his throat had gone dry. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Support your right to arm bears. ~ Cleveland Amory

Many foreigners have asked me how we made the Danish style. And I've answered that it ... was rather a continuous process of purification, and for me of simplification, to cut down to the simplest possible elements of four legs, a seat and combined top rail and arm rest. ~ Hans Wegner

If I keep looking at her long legs I'm gonna have an accident. "How's that sister of yours?" I ask, changing the subject.
"She's waiting to beat you again at checkers."
"Is that right? Well, tell her I was goin' easy on her. I was tryin' to impress you."
"By losing?"
I shrug. "It worked, didn't it?"
I notice her fidgeting with her dress as if she needs to fix it to impress me. Wanting to ease her anxiety, I slide my fingers down her arm before capturing her hand in mine.
"You tell Shelley I'll be back for a rematch," I say.
She turns to me, her blue eyes sparkling. "Really?"
"Absolutely."
During the drive, I try and make small talk. It doesn't work. I'm not a small talk kind of guy. It's a good thing Brittany seems content without talking. ~ Simone Elkeles

It was a stick-figure drawing. Two people holding hands. A thin man in black and a girl, half his height with short hair, and wide eyes. The stick-girl's head was cocked slightly, and a small red spot marked her arm. Three similar spots, no bigger than periods, dotted the stick-man's chest. The stick-man's mouth was nothing more than a faint grim line.

Beneath the drawing ran a single sentence: I made a friend. ~ Victoria Schwab

About Annette from?" He stood up, ditched his cigarette. "What's the difference?" "I wanna know, Chubby. Who the hell is goin' aroun' reportin' my business to the papers?" Chubby shrugged. "I ran into your friend Bobby." "Butler?" Stony stamped around the room. Chubby hooked his arm. "Hey, don't get your balls in a uproar, it just ~ Richard Price

Jacob caught my arm with a shivering hand. "Please, Bella. I'm begging."
His dark eyes were glistening with tears. A lump filled my throat.
"Jake, I have to―"
"You don't, though. You really don't. You could stay here with me. You could stay alive. For Charlie. For me."
The engine of Carlisle's Mercedes purred; the rhythm of the thrumming spiked when Alice revved it impatiently.
I shook my head, tears spattering from my eyes with the sharp motion. I pulled my arm free, and he didn't fight me.
"Don't die Bella," he choked out. "Don't go. Don't."
What if I never saw him again?
The thought pushed me past the silent tears; a sob broke out from my chest. I threw my arms around his waist and hugged for one too-short moment, burying my tear-wet face against his chest. He put his big hand on the back of my hair, as if to hold me here.
"Bye, Jake." I pulled his hand from my hair, and kissed his palm. I couldn't bear to look at his face. "Sorry," I whispered. ~ Stephenie Meyer

It's not until she sits up and wipes her eyes that I realize she's crying. My words are like knives; they cut into the people I love. It will be worse if you touch her, I think, a worse lie. But I ignore this thought, shifting down the bench to put my arm around her - my daughter - and as I do, she weeps openly, pressing her face against my damp shirt. ~ Adam Haslett

If this story was a stack of photographs - the old kind, rounded at the corners and kept in albums under the glass and lace doilies of center tables in parlors across the country - it would start with Vivek's father, Chika. The first print would be of him riding a bus to the village to visit his mother; it would show him dangling an arm out of the window, feeling the air push against his face and the breeze entering his smile. ~ Akwaeke Emezi

I know the rules. I've been living here longer than you have."
He cracks a smile then. He nudges me back. "Hardly."
"Born and raised. You're a transplant." I nudge him again, a little harder, and he laughs and tries to catch hold of my arm. I squirm away, giggling, and he stretches out to tickle my stomach. "Country bumpkin!" I squeal, as he grabs out and wrestles me back onto the blanket, laughing.
"City slicker," he says, rolling over on top of me, and then kisses me. Everything dissolves: heat, explosions of color, floating. ~ Lauren Oliver

...When she'd skillfully turned it back towards the herd, Rebecca lifted an arm to wave at Jake, her smile vis­ible even from this distance. He felt a familiar tightening in his loins. How many times had he watched her ride across the Lazy A, experienced the same stirrings, and rid­den away so she'd never know what his true feelings were? He didn't have to ride away today. He could watch her graceful movements to his heart's content. ~ Lorraine Heath

A reporter from 'The Times' wanted to arm-wrestle, and as I recall, he kept challenging me. So we went at it, and there was a pop. His arm broke. Very strange. He went into a kind of swoon. ~ Charles Portis

She doesn't have a ring on each finger, or a big diamond on each ring.
She doesn't wear a gold watch that costs as much as a fancy car.
In fact, she doesn't own a fancy car.
She doesn't carry an enormous designer bag.
But she might have a newspaper under her arm.
She might mention Sartre or Foucault in a conversation.
It's her personality that sparkles and nothing else: the signs of intellectual wealth. ~ Anne Berest

I'm sure her vagina isn't sticking out." I look at Poppy. "Jesus, it's not sticking out is it?"
"Go say something encouraging to that girl, Warren."
I pull Lilla's arm along, because I'll be damned, if there's a hideous vagina sticking out I'm not foregoing this shit alone. ~ Pella Grace

Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children: in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the arm-chair and put his feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity. ~ George Orwell

Yet when God entered time and became a man, he who was boundless became bound. Imprisoned in flesh. Restricted by weary-prone muscles and eyelids. For more than three decades, his once limitless reach would be limited to the stretch of an arm, his speed checked to the pace of human feet.
I wonder, was he ever tempted to regain his boundlessness? In the middle of a long trip, did he ever consider transporting himself to the next city? When the rain chilled his bones, was he tempted to change the weather? When the heat parched his lips, did he give thought to popping over to the Caribbean for some refreshment?
If he ever entertained such thoughts, he never gave into them. Not once. Stop and think about this. Not once did Christ use his supernatural powers for personal comfort.
With one word, he could've transformed the hard earth into a soft bed, but he didn't. With a wave of his hands, he could've boomeranged the spit of his accusers back into their faces, but he didn't. With an arch of his brow, he could've paralyzed the hand of the soldier as he braided the crown of thorns. But he didn't. ~ Max Lucado

Punch any of mine, and I'll break your arm off and beat you to death with it. ~ Ilona Andrews

Chafed the hands that held his arm. There, there, there! See ~ Charles Dickens

At General Dexterity, I was contributing to an effort to make repetitive labor obsolete. After a trainer in the Task Acquisition Center taught an arm how to do something, all the arms did it perfectly, forever,

In other words, you solved a problem once, and then you moved on to other more interesting things.

Baking, by contrast, was solving the same problem over and over again, because every time, the solution was consumed. I mean, really: chewed and digested.

Thus, the problem was ongoing.

Thus, the problem was perhaps the point. ~ Robin Sloan

What are you doi - " My words are swallowed up as his lips crash down on mine. It isn't a soft kiss - it's intense, furious, in a way I never knew a kiss could be, his lips hard and unforgiving against mine. It's a shut-up-I-hate-you kiss. A you-drive-me-crazy kiss. An if-I-don't-kiss-you-I'll-kill-you kiss. It's a battle - our mouths are opposite fronts, fighting for ground, warring for control. I shove his chest. He bites my lip. I nip his tongue. He tugs my hair. The kiss goes wild as my other arm winds around him, clutching the back of his shirt, my nails raking against the fabric. ~ Julie Johnson