Birkin Bag Quotes

A Birkin bag is a very good rain hat; just put everything else in a plastic bag. ~ Jane Birkin

It's nice to meet you, Eve. I'm glad it's you and not that bratty ho-bag. ~ Lexi Blake

He had the gift of the gab and could sell sand to Arabs. Hell, he could sell a bag of dildos to a nun – no joke ~ Matthew Bracey

I look like a real bag lady when I go to Starbucks with my dog and get my chai. ~ Shirley Maclaine

To speak a dream aloud is to cast a magic spell. ~ Alice Bag

Bawdy in thoughts, precise in words,
Ill-natured though a whore,
Her belly is a bag of turds,
And her cunt a common shore. ~ John Wilmot

Girl from the fifth floor, who feeds the birds every day, climbs up to the water tank and jumps off.
I see her body on the road below, and feel absolutely nothing. Maybe because I expect her to get up and walk off. In a story, the birds would have joined forces in a show of gratitude and broken her fall, carried her to a faraway land of safety. As it is, they just gurgle foolishly and confer about the no-show of breakfast.
I imagine myself in Pigeon girl's place - a split open bag of skin on tar. ~ Amruta Patil

Radio is a bag of mediocrity where little men with carbon minds wallow in sluice of their own making. ~ Fred Allen

When she rolled over, nestling her back into Daniel's chest so that he was cradling her with his right wing, her eyelids fluttered shut. Then they flew open.
She was face to face with Cam.
He was inches away, on his side, head propped on his hand, green eyes holding hers as if they were both in a trance. He opened his mouth as if to say something-
BOOM.
The room trembled like a leaf. For an instant, the air seemed to take on a strange transparency. Cam's body shimmered, both there and somehow not there, his very existence seeming to flicker.
"Timequake," Daniel said.
"A big mother," Cam agreed.
Luce sprang upright, gaping at her own body in the sleeping bag, at Daniel's hand on her knee, at Arriane, whose muffled voice called out," "I'wuzznt me," until Annabelle's wing slapped her awake. All of them were flickering before each other's eyes. Solidly present one moment, as insubstantial as ghosts the next.
The timequake had jarred loose a dimension in which they weren't even there.
The cave around them shuddered. Sand sifted down from the walls. But unlike those of Luce and her friends, the physical properties of the red rock remained fixed, as if to prove that only people-souls-were at risk of being erased. ~ Lauren Kate

I sat down in a booth, and the waitress shoved a menu in front of me. There wasn't anything on it that sounded good, and anyway, one look at her and my stomach turned flipflops ... Every goddamned restaurant I go to, it's always the same way ... They'll have some old bag on the payroll - I figure they keep her locked up in the mop closet until they see me coming. And they'll doll her up in the dirtiest goddamned apron they can find and smear that crappy red polish all over her fingernails, and everything about her is smeary and sloppy and smelly. And she's the dame that always waits on me. ~ Jim Thompson

I danced on light boxer's feet over to Barrons. "Punch me."
"Don't be absurd."
"Come on, punch me, Barrons."
"I'm not punching you."
"I said, punch--Ow!" He'd decked me. Bones vibrating, my head snapped back. And forward again. I shook it. No pain. I laughed. "I'm amazing! Look at me! I hardly even felt it." I danced from foot to foot, feigning punches at him. "Come on. Punch me again." My blood felt electrified, my body impervious to all injury.
Barrons was shaking his head.
I punched him in the jaw and his head snapped back.
When it came back down his expression said I suffer you to live. "Happy now?"
"Did it hurt?"
"No."
"Can I try again?"
"Buy yourself a punching bag."
"Fight me, Barrons. I need to know how strong I am."
He rubbed his jaw. "You're strong," he said dryly. ~ Karen Marie Moning

I tried to take a selfie or ten. Lame, maybe, but I hadn't posted to IG in a few days now and since I actually make money from my account for posting things like my outfits, then it's something I can't really neglect, demons or not. "What are you doing?" Jay asks, leaning across the roof of the car and watching me curiously. I chuck the duffel bag a few feet from me to get it out of the shot and try another angle, holding the iPhone far above my head. A lone scraggly-haired man in his pajamas exits his room, heading to the vending machine. He looks at me like I have a screw loose. Whatever. He probably takes dick pics so he should know all about getting the right angle. ~ Karina Halle

There are four kinds of readers. The first is like the hourglass; and their reading being as the sand, it runs in and runs out, and leaves not a vestige behind. A second is like the sponge, which imbibes everything, and returns it in nearly the same state, only a little dirtier. A third is like a jelly bag, allowing all that is pure to pass away, and retaining only the refuse and dregs. And the fourth is like the slaves in the diamond mines of Golconda, who, casting aside all that is worthless, retain only pure gems. ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge

For her, the message from Romme, the love letter's message, was: Cut off your left breast, that rustling bag of insects, because if you don't, those insects will spread their insect religion to your entire body. ~ David Cronenberg

And I'm not sensitive at all, Philip. Just
mean."
He smiled down at her. "Have you ever considered having an affair with a younger
man?"
She laughed, taking the compliment as it was meant. "You're a charmer. Since you amuse
me, I'll give you a little advice. Charm doesn't work on Addy. Patience might."
"I appreciate it," Philip said. He was watching Adrianne when she lifted a hand to her
throat and found it bare. He saw her instant of surprise and confusion, then the tightly
controlled temper as she zeroed in on him. With a smile he sent her a nod of
acknowledgment. Her necklace of faux diamonds and sapphires was resting comfortably
in his pocket.
The bastard. The low, slimy bastard. He'd stolen from her. He'd lifted the necklace right
off her throat without her feeling a thing but the pumping of her pulse. Then he'd taunted
her. He'd looked right at her and grinned.
He was going to pay for it, Adrianne thought as she tossed her gloves into her shoulder
bag. And he was going to pay for it tonight.
She knew it was reckless. ~ Nora Roberts

And anyway, the truth isn't all that great. I mean, what's the truth? Planes falling out of the sky. Buses blowing up and ripping little kids into millions of pieces. Twelve-year-olds raping people and then shooting them in the head so they can't tell. I can't watch the news anymore or look at the papers. It's like whoever sits up there in Heaven has this big bag of really crappy stuff, and once or twice a day she or he reaches in and sprinkles a little bit of it over the world and makes everything crazy, like fairy dust that's past its expiration date. ~ Michael Thomas Ford

Be a human being and you'd automatically be religious, but if you try to be a scripture-worm then you'd be neither religious, nor human – you'd be a biological bag of trash. ~ Abhijit Naskar

Yes, my bug-out bag is packed," Faith said and grimaced. "'Where's your bug-out bag?' 'Is your bug-out bag packed?' 'What's your inventory?' 'Why did I get the insane parents? ~ John Ringo

God never prefabs or mass-produces people. No slapdash shaping. "I make all things new," he declares (Rev. 21:5 NKJV). He didn't hand you your granddad's bag or your aunt's life; he personally and deliberately packed you ... ~ Max Lucado

It went on. Each lie I told required another to thicken the paste over the previous. It was useless, like when I learned to crochet and made a long string of loops. Being useless builds character, Miss Paulsen had said. Perhaps she was home now, drinking a weak Earl Grey from last night's tea bag, massaging her taffied scalp. ~ Ruta Sepetys

There's a funny fool. I have a riddle for you, Shagwell. Why do you care if she screams? Oh, wait, I know." He shouted "SAPPHIRES," as loudly as he could.
Cursing, Rorge kicked at his stump again. Jaime howled. I never knew there was such agony in the world, was the last thing he remembered thinking. It was hard to say how long he was gone, but when the pain spit him out, Urswyck was there, and Vargo Hoat himself. "Thee'th not to be touched," the goat screamed, spraying spittle all over Zollo. "Thee hath to be a maid, you foolth! Thee'th worth a bag of thapphireth!" And from then on, every night Hoat put guards on them, to protect them from his own.
Two nights passed in silence before the wench finally found the courage to whisper, "Jaime? Why did you shout out?"
"Why did I shout out 'sapphires,' you mean? Use your wits, wench. Would this lot have cared if I shouted 'rape'?"
"You did not need to shout at all."
"You're hard enough to look at with a nose. Besides, I wanted to make the goat say, 'thapphireth. ~ George R.R. Martin

After a moment the small man came in carrying his bag, and Forlesen's son placed a chair close to the coffin for him and went into the bedroom. "Well, what's it going to be," the small man asked, "or is it going to be nothing?" "I don't know," Forlesen said. He was looking at the weave of the small man's suit, the intertwining of the innumerable threads, and realizing that they constituted the universe in themselves, that they were serpents and worms and roots, the black tracks of forgotten rockets across a dark sky, the sine waves of the radiation of the cosmos. "I wish I could talk to my wife. ~ Gene Wolfe

He had a punch like a bag full of cue balls. ~ Dennis Lehane

Dear John Ambrose McClaren,

I know the exact day it all started. Fall, eighth grade. We got caught in the rain when we had to put all the softball bats away after gym. We started to run back to the building, and I couldn't run as fast as you, so you stopped and grabbed my bag too. It was even better than if you'd grabbed my hand. I still remember the way you looked--your T-shirt was stuck to your back, your hair wet like you just came out of the shower. When it started to pour, you whooped and hollered like a little kid. There was this moment--you looked back at me, and your grin was as wide as your face. You said, "Come on, LJ!"

It was right then. That's when I knew, all the way down to my soaking-wet Keds. I love you, John Ambrose McClaren. I really love you. I might have loved you for all of high school. I think you might have loved me back. If only you weren't moving away, John! It's so unfair when people move away. It's like their parents just decide something and no one else gets a say in it. Not that I even deserve a say--I'm not your girlfriend or anything. But you at least deserve a say.

I was really hoping that one day I would get to call you Johnny. Your mom came to get you after school once, and a bunch of us were hanging out on the front steps. And you didn't see her car, so she honked and called out, "Johnny!" I loved the sound of that. Johnny. One day, I bet your girlfriend will call you Johnny. She's really lucky. Maybe you alr ~ Jenny Han

When I want my men to remember something important, to really make it stick, I give it to them double dirty. It may not sound nice to some bunch of little old ladies at an afternoon tea party, but it helps my soldiers to remember. You can't run an army without profanity; and it has to be eloquent profanity. An army without profanity couldn't fight its way out of a piss-soaked paper bag ... As for the types of comments I make, sometimes I just, By God, get carried away with my own eloquence. ~ George S. Patton

For it must be remembered that at the time I knew quite nothing, naturally, concerning Milo Payne, the mysterious Cockney-talking Englishman with the checkered long-beaked Sherlockholmsian cap; nor of the latter's 'Barr-Bag,' which was as like my own bag as one Milwaukee wienerwurst is like another; nor of Legga, the Human Spider, with her four legs and her six arms; nor of Ichabod Chang, ex-convict, and son of Dong Chang; nor of the elusive poetess, Abigail Sprigge; nor of the Great Simon, with his 2,163 pearl buttons; nor of - in short, I then knew quite nothing about anything or anybody involved in the affair of which I had now become a part, unless perchance it were my Nemesis, Sophie Kratzenschneiderwümpel - or Suing Sophie! ~ Harry Stephen Keeler

The years were never an element, because my parents didn't age, they simply sickened. My father was mean and cocky like Cagney all the way to the dump. Flat on his back, his bones poking this way and that like the corpses in the camps, he still had a fiery eye, as though, but for those two coals, the grate held ash. There's no easy way out of this life, and I do not look forward to the day they put those tubes up my nose, and a catheter shows my pee the way out like some well-trained servant. I saw how my father's body broke his spirit like a match; and I saw how my mother's broken spirit took her body under the way a ship stinks after being disemboweled by an errant bag of ice. ~ William H Gass

Sunday night is my personal weekly Halloween.

I walk along slowly and drag my fingertips along the bars of chocolate. Goddamn, you sexy little squares. Dark, milk, white, I do not discriminate. I eat it all. Those fluorescent sour candies that only obnoxious little boys like. I suck candy apples clean. If an envelope seal is sweet, I'll lick it twice. Growing up, I was that kid who would easily get lured into a van with the promise of a lollipop.

Sometimes, I let the retail seduction last for twenty minutes, ignoring Marco and feeling up the merchandise, but I'm so tired of male voices.

"Five bags of marshmallows," Marco says in a resigned tone. "Wine. And a can of cat food."

"Cat food is low carb." He makes no move to scan anything, so I scan each item myself and unroll a few notes from my tips. "Your job involves selling things. Sell them. Change, please."

"I just don't know why you do this to yourself." Marco looks at the register with a moral dilemma in his eyes. "Every week you come and do this."

He hesitates and looks over his shoulder where his sugar book sits under a layer of dust. He knows not to try to slip it into my bag with my purchases.

"I don't know why you care, dude. Just serve me. I don't need your help." He's not entirely wrong about my being an addict. I would lick a line of icing sugar off this counter right now if no one were around. I would walk into a cane plantation and ~ Sally Thorne

The day had been a bag of pissed off cats, and I wasn't feeling particularly good about myself at that moment. ~ J.P. Sloan

The look on his face became like the tiny snapshot of a beloved that soldiers take with them to the battlefield, not only to remember there are good things in life and that happiness awaits them, but to remind themselves that this face might never forgive them for coming back in a body bag. ~ Andre Aciman

Mark held up his plastic bag. Inside it, a small orange fish swam around in a circle. "This is the best patrol we've ever done," he said. "I have never been awarded a fish before. ~ Cassandra Clare

I've got a sleeping bag in the car." "You're getting me to spend the night on the beach with you." "I told you. I'm very romantic." Standing, Fletch brushed the sand off his skin. "And I told you romance is dead." "That's just wishful thinking," Fletch said. "I'll get the sleeping bag. ~ Anonymous

Lula hauled herself up off the floor and put her hand to her neck. "Do I got holes? Am I bleeding? Do I look like I'm turning into a vampire?"
"No, no, and no," I told her. "He doesn't have his teeth in. He was just gumming you."
"That's disgustin'," Lula said. "I been gummed by a old vampire. I feel gross. My neck's all wet. What's on my neck?"
I squinted over at Lula. "Looks like a hickey."
"Are you shitting me? This worthless bag of bones gave me a hickey?" Lula pulled a mirror out of her purse and checked her neck out. "I'm not happy," Lula said. "First off I don't know if I got vampire cooties from this. And second, how am I gonna explain a hickey to my date tonight ~ Janet Evanovich

When I die, I want them to play The Black and Crazy Blues, I want to be cremated, put in a bag of pot and I want beautiful people to smoke me and hope they got something out of it. ~ Rahsaan Roland Kirk

If ya got a bag of twee we'll blaze it real big, boo! ~ Bone Thugz-n-harmony

She wasn't getting it. They never teased her. They never followed her around with their phones, trying to catch her in a compromising position. They never called her a ho-bag or a troll or said she danced like an elephant on crank. They never, not once, dribbled pee in her ballet bag or stuck shaved pubes in her ChapStick. They never told her she wouldn't ever be good enough to make the New York City Ballet, and that they'd wave to her from the stage, maybe, one day, if they remembered who she was when they were famous. ~ Nova Ren Suma

I didn't know. I feel sometimes like ... there are all these rules. Just to be a person. You know? You're supposed to carry a shoulder bag, not a backpack. You're supposed to wear headbands, or you're not supposed to wear headbands. It's okay to describe yourself as likeable, but it's not okay to describe yourself as eloquent. You can sit in the front of the school bus, but you can't sit in the middle. You're not supposed to be with a boy, even when he wants you to. I didn't know that. There are so many rules, and they don't make any sense, and I just can't learn them all ~ Leila Sales