Hands On Hips Quotes

Yeah," he grount out. "I nailed her."
"Where?" Luc always wanted the dirty details.
"Stockroom. Pay up."
Luc snorted and reached for his wallet. "I really got taken on this one , didn't I?" He handed over four hundreds and five twenties.
"Yeah, well, you can have the last laugh once the Sem brothers catch up with me. Seems she's their sister."
"Dude." Luc streched out the word and then whistled, low and long. "Nice knowing you. So, will it at least have been worth it? Being gutted by Shade, I mean. Was she good ?"
His body heated as though remembering. And wanting again.
"Of course I was."
Fuck. Con spun around to find Sin standing there, hands on hips and fury in her expression. Like a kid caught stealing candy, he whipped the money behind his back. She looked at him as if he was an idiot and grabbed his arm, briging it around.
"It's not what you think," he said lamely, because it was exactly what she thought.
"Really? So that big asshole behind you didn't bet you five hundred bucks that you couldn't fuck me ?"
"Ah..."
"That's what I thought. You dick. How stupid do you think I am ? Your name really fits you , Con." She snatched the money from him, took two hundreds and three twenties, and thrust the remaining two hundred and forty dollars back into his hand. Then, smiling broadly, she punched him in the shoulder. "Next time you make a bet like that, don't cheat me out of my half. I owe you a ten."
She winked ~ Larissa Ione

Excuse me, Tex, the nurse said, hands on hips. 'Would you mind reining in the voice. There are babies being born in this hospital. We wouldn't want the first sound they hear to be your painful howling. There could be lawsuits. ~ Eoin Colfer

Morelli ran after him, there was a lot of yelling and growling, and Morelli came down empty-handed. "He ate it," Morelli said. I was horrified to the point of gagging. Ranger stared down at his shoe, making a monumental effort not to laugh. And Morelli stood hands on hips, staring at the bloody splotch on his rug. ~ Janet Evanovich

Don't start. I saw Marcie climb inside your Jeep."
"She needed a ride."
I adopted a hands-on-hips pose. "What kind of ride?"
"Not that kind of ride," he said slowly. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

His mama named him Head?" Talon snorted derisively. "Damn, that's cold. And here I thought this Cabeza had it bad."
"It was a nickname. His real name was Kukulcan Verastegui."
The Cabeza in front of her broke off into a fierce round of what sounded like Mayan cursing. She had no idea what he was saying, but it was raw and explosive as he gestured furiously to punctuate his tirade.
She turned her frown to Talon. "What's he saying?"
Talon shrugged. "I'm from Britain, not Mexico. No idea."
"That pendejo is not me." Cabeza broke off into a mixture of Mayan and Spanish and then returned to English, but this time his accent was much thicker and he rolled his Rs viciously. "His name, for the record, is Chacu. Ese cabrón hijo de la gran puta, pretending to be me. I should have cut his throat for my Act of Vengeance!"
"The real question is, did you cut his throat today?"
Hands on hips, Cabeza glared at Talon for asking such a thing. "No. He got away, along with the … what's the word? Uh … Pigeon crap?"
"Chicken shit?" Talon offered.
"Si!… that was with him. They vanished before I could kill them. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Hands on hips, Jade snickered. "I'm invincible. Go ahead and give it your best shot."
"I wonder how invincible you'd be if I shoved an M-80 up your ass? ~ Jus Accardo

Martin O'Neill, standing, hands on hips, stroking his chin. ~ Mike Ingham

Horace, hands on hips, paced around the circle, frowning as he studied them. They were a scruffy bunch, he thought, and none too clean. Their hair and beards were overlong and often gathered in rough and greasy plaits, like Nils's. There were scars and broken noses and cauliflower ears in abundance, as well as the widest assortment of rough tattoos, most of which looked as if they had been carved into the skin with the point of a dagger, after which dye was rubbed into the cut. There were grinning skulls, snakes, wolf heads and strange northern runes. All of the men were burly and thickset. Most had bellies on them that suggested they might be overfond of ale. All in all they were as untidy, rank smelling and rough tongued a bunch of pirates as one could be unlucky enough to run into. Horace turned to Will and his frown faded. 'They're beautiful,' he said. ~ John Flanagan

Xander stood at the end of the bed, hands on hips, the jacket she'd helped him sew thrown open, a gold-threaded waistcoat glimmering underneath. He was the Regency hero today, but she didn't feel like being saved. ~ Danika Stone

The Ogre does what ogres can, Deeds quite impossible for Man, But one prize is beyond his reach: The Ogre cannot master speech. About a subjugated plain, Among it's desperate and slain, The Ogre stalks with hands on hips, While drivel gushes from his lips. ~ W. H. Auden

I didn't make it one goddamn block yesterday, Ruby." He swiped an impatient hand through his hair. "Look, we're both stubborn hotheads, and we're going to fight. Early and often. But I will never make it more than one block before I come back. That is my promise to you. And I don't break my promises, either." Hands on hips, he breathed deeply as if attempting to calm himself. "If I let my fear of losing you keep us apart, I get the same damn result. The only way I can fight that fear is if you fight it with me. ~ Tessa Bailey

The measuring tape and saw Michael standing alone on the small rise. The man seemed a part of the scenery as he stood, hands on hips, his hair whipped by the wind like the meadowsweet at his feet, his jaw set like the granite rocks. "He must love his job," she said to Bobby. Bobby looked up and followed her gaze to his brother, standing ~ Mary Alice Monroe

Robin Hood is often seen as the hands-on-hips, archetypal, tally-ho hero. But, realistically, the one calling the shots wouldn't be at the front shouting about it. He'd be the one you don't expect. ~ Jonas Armstrong

You want me to be honest with you?" Vigholf snapped. "You want me to tell you why I have my hungry face as you call it? Because of you. Because I'm hungry for you. If there's anything I want to eat - it's you."
Rhona stepped back, hands on hips, and accused, "You cannibalistic bastard!" ~ G.A. Aiken

Seeing a big scratch on Andy's cheek, he tried again. "You win this fight?" he
touched the little boy's cheek lightly.
Andy's eyes filled with tears. "I fallded down."
"Fell," Jordan corrected automatically.
"DADDY!! COME HERE!!" JD commanded furiously. He stomped off to
behind the sofa. Jordan rolled his eyes and followed.
Leaning down, Jordan whispered, "What?"
JD had on his 'frog face'. The one he wore when grownups have been bad.
Brows wrinkled, mouth all scrunched and frowny, hands on hips, all 33 inches
of righteous indignation, he hissed, "He be's just a baby. He dunna talk good
yet."
Jordan cocked his eyebrow at his son.
"I'm a big boy, Daddy. I know this stuff. ~ Grasshopper

I don't understand, Jenna, why you couldn't give him a ride home?" Mom struck the archetypal Mom pose-hands on hips, perplexed look on face, head tilted at that I cannot believe you came from my womb angle. "He walked home in the pouring rain. With a cold, I might add."
"I didn't know he had a cold. I was at the JCC with Steph," I said, knowing that was not going to fly. Cameron padded into the kitchen on bare feet, rubbing his hair dry with a towel.
"It's fine," he said. "I didn't have to walk that far."
Mom shook her head. "It's not fine. While you're living with us, you're part of the family, and we don't leave each other stranded in the rain. ~ Sara Zarr

Brewster Place became especially fond of its colored daughters as they milled like determined spirits among its decay, trying to make it home. Nutmeg arms leaned over windowsills, gnarled ebony legs carried groceries up double flights of steps, and saffron hands strung out wet laundry on backyard lines. Their perspiration mingled with the steam from boiling pots of smoked pork greens, and it curled on the edges of the aroma of vinegar douches and Evening in Paris cologne that drifted through the street where they stood together - hands on hips, straight-backed, round-bellied, high-behinded women who threw their heads back when they laughed and exposed strong teeth and dark gums. They cursed, badgered, worshiped, and shared their men. Their love drove them to fling dishcloths in someone else's kitchen to help him make the rent, or to fling hot lye to help him forget that bitch behind the counter at the five-and-dime. They were hard-edged, soft-centered, brutally demanding, and easily pleased, these women of Brewster Place. They came, they went, grew up, and grew old beyond their years. Like an ebony phoenix, each in her own time and with her own season had a story. ~ Gloria Naylor

What's the one thing you want more than any other, prince?""My wife."Dionysus rolled his eyes. "Okay, what's the second thing you want?""My son."This time the god expelled a long exasperated breath. "Third? And if you name another family member, I will leave you here with Apollo, so help me, Zeus."Sadly, Styxx had no other family to name and only one other thing he craved. "To die.""Ah, you can be taught. Yah! And yeah, death. You kill Acheron and you die. I get to rule the world of man and everyone's happy." Hands on hips, Dionysus arched a brow. "So what do you say?""I say get me the fuck out of here. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

I think I should have enjoyed meeting your mother. How a woman could manage to raise two domineering tyrants like you and Mikhail is beyond me."
His dark eyes laughed at her. "But we are charismatic, sexy, handsome, and always right."
Raven hooked her foot around his chair and sent him crashing to the floor. Hands on hips, she regarded him with a superior glint. "Carpathian men are vain, dear brother-in-law," she proclaimed, "but not too bright."
Jacques glared up at her with mock ferocity. "You have a mean streak in you, woman. Whatever happened to a soft, sweet, Yes, my lord, you're always right?"
"Try the Dark Ages. Your age is showing. ~ Christine Feehan

The best things about womanhood might possibly even be the conversations. The chatting. The gabbing. The whispering. The hands-on-hips eye-rolling. The yukking-it up. ~ Katherine Center

I fully expect him to do as I say. Hands on hips, I wait. After all, I am angry, and yelling - channeling my inner Professor McGonagall like a bad bitch. ~ Tarryn Fisher

He struck a dramatic pose, hands on hips. "Et tu, Judas?" Unfazed by the theatrics, Ayden said,
"I don't know what you're talking about." Blake pointed an accusing finger.
"I know you melted the wires in my engine. Think you're so smart. But you're not the only one with mechanical ability."
"You called Logan, didn't you."
"Of course I called Logan. He's my mechanical ability. But that's not the point. The point is I got it fixed and I'm here in time to pick her up. So despite your backstabbing sabotage, I'm ready to take her to school. Aurora, please get out of the," he eyed Ayden's car, "super exotic sports car and into my…practical hybrid." His face fell into misery.
"Come on, dude,

A & E Kirk (2012-01-07). Demons at Deadnight (Divinicus Nex Chronicles series Book 1) (pp. 209-210). A&E Kirk. Kindle Edition. ~ A. Kirk

With all due respect to Mick Jagger, who is one of my idols, I think it's a mistake to leap around and sing at 53. When I started, there weren't any women I looked up to. It was Mick. I never saw anybody go on a stage and have that tongue-in-cheek attitude. It was all straight, including the Beatles. I love his attitude, hands on hips and lips out. ~ Grace Slick

I always was a rebel ... but on the other hand, I wanted to be loved and accepted ... and not just be a loudmouth, lunatic, poet, musician. But I cannot be what I am not. ~ John Lennon

It doesn't sound like there was time for the word to be there. On the other hand, I didn't intentionally make an inane statement ... certainly the 'a' was intended, because that's the only way the statement makes any sense. ~ Neil Armstrong

MY BETH.

Sitting patient in the shadow
Till the blessed light shall come,
A serene and saintly presence
Sanctifies our troubled home.
Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows
Break like ripples on the strand
Of the deep and solemn river
Where her willing feet now stand.

O my sister, passing from me,
Out of human care and strife,
Leave me, as a gift, those virtues
Which have beautified your life.
Dear, bequeath me that great patience
Which has power to sustain
A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit
In its prison-house of pain.

Give me, for I need it sorely,
Of that courage, wise and sweet,
Which has made the path of duty
Green beneath your willing feet.
Give me that unselfish nature,
That with charity divine
Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake -
Meek heart, forgive me mine!

Thus our parting daily loseth
Something of its bitter pain,
And while learning this hard lesson,
My great loss becomes my gain.
For the touch of grief will render
My wild nature more serene,
Give to life new aspirations,
A new trust in the unseen.

Henceforth, safe across the river,
I shall see for evermore
A beloved, household spirit
Waiting for me on the shore.
Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,
Guardian angels shall become,
And the sister gone before me
By their hands shall lead me home. ~ Louisa May Alcott

I still get butterflies on the first tee. I still get sweaty hands, and my heart pumps a lot going down the 18th. But I know what winning is all about now, and that's a feeling that I like. ~ Annika Sorenstam

Recourse to thick narrative detail reveals that the principal hurdle in the way of a united Pakistan was not disagreement on constitutional matters but the transfer of power from military to civilian hands. More concerned with perpetuating himself in office, Yahya Khan was strikingly nonchalant about the six points. He left that to the West Pakistani politicians, in particular Bhutto, who, contrary to the impression in some quarters, was more of a fall guy for the military junta than a partner in crime. ~ Ayesha Jalal

In Latin, to bless is benedicere, which means literally: saying good things. The Father wants to say, more with his touch than with his voice, good things of his children. He has no desire to punish them. They have already been punished excessively by their own inner or outer waywardness. The Father wants simply to let them know that the love they have searched for in such distorted ways has been, is, and always will be there for them. The Father wants to say, more with his hands than with his mouth: "You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests." He is the shepherd, "feeding his flock, gathering lambs in his arms, holding them against his breast. ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen

I suppose I'm the only person who remembers one of the most exciting of his ballets-it's the fruit of an unlikely collaboration between Nijinsky on the one hand and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on the other. ~ Alan Bennett

When his mind turned to look back at the memories of a life gone off the track, everything appeared murky, like looking through a stagnant pond, covered completely with green algae, black beneath with the overabundance of bacteria and rot that made it incapable of supporting any other life besides. Through the murk he saw love, love that wasn't cultivated, love that was left to wither and die on the vine in his vain attempt to find happiness. Happiness that he didn't even know he might have had in his hands, had he done his part.
He saw missed opportunities, roads not taken, chances that asked too much of him. And his life, like a beautiful room that slowly emptied of all furnishings until it came down to only himself and the worn soiled carpet beneath him, the walls darkening to make the hell he thought would be his happiness - the hell that was his life. ~ Jason Huffman-Black

A twitch at the controls could swerve the cat', but the driver's hands could not twitch because the monster that built the tractor, the monster that sent the tractor out, had somehow got into the driver's hands, into his brain and muscle, had goggled him and muzzled him - goggled his mind, muzzled his speech, goggled his perception, muzzled his protest. He could not see the land as it was, he could not smell the land as it smelled; his feet did not stamp the clods or feel the warmth and power of the earth. He sat in an iron seat and stepped on iron pedals. He could not cheer or beat or curse or encourage the extension of his power, and because of this he could not cheer or whip or curse or encourage himself. He did not know or own or trust or beseech the land. If a seed dropped did not germinate, it was nothing. If the young thrusting plant withered in drought or drowned in a flood of rain, it was no more to the driver than to the tractor. He ~ John Steinbeck

Nay," she said stubbornly. "I have just been told that the only chance I have for freedom is in your hands and by all that is holy, you will deliver me my freedom or I shall see to it that you live out the rest of your life in merciless misery."
He gaped at her. On any other man such an expression would have looked foolish, but to credit Lord Stryder, even when taken by surprise, he still managed to carry off an air of supreme authority and handsomeness. "I beg your pardon? Have you gone completely mad?"
"Not I, but rather the king you love so well. It appears he would see us marry."
"My hairy arse."
She gave him a droll stare. "That is much more information about your person, Lord Stryder, than I care to know. ~ Kinley MacGregor

My writing method is to sit in a very small hut absolutely alone. I write in total solitude. And I write on paper, on hand, and then it gets typed. Normal for me. ~ Sally Potter

We'd never trained together, but we moved like twins, veterans of countless battles at each other's side.
She really was a master. In less than five minutes, she'd learned to work in tandem with me. When she realized I could use a free arm or leg to knock her clear of an attack, she turned and faced the next enemy head on, without any intent of dodging. A Mimic foreleg came within a hand's breadth of her face and she didn't even flinch. ~ Hiroshi Sakurazaka

You might want to pop your collar."

"Hey if the biker doesn't pop his, I'm not popping mine. Also? We're thirty years past that fashion faux pas."

"Yeah, but it still comes in handy when you're sporting a hickey."

"What?" My hands flew to my neck, and I found the tender spot. "Shit. No, that's not-- I burned it. My hair wasn't cooperating, so I dragged out the curling iron."

"Gabriel has a curling iron?"

"No, I meant--Damn it." I rooted through my bag for concealer. "I'm sorry. If I'd noticed, I'd have hidden it."

"I know." His lips twitched. "It is kinda funny, though, watching you guys scramble with excuses. Gabriel told me you weren't answering my calls because you forgot your phone in the car. Which is about as likely as you leaving your arm behind. He dried his hair so fast the back was sticking up. And then he scarfed down half the food I brought for lunch. I've never seen him eat like that." He smiled. "But I do appreciate he's being circumspect."

"He's not going to wave it in your face."

"No, but we are talking about Gabriel, who never goes out of his way to cushion anyone's feelings but yours. He's being very thoughtful. It's sweet. Just don't tell him I said that."

"I won't." I finished applying the concealer. "Better?"

"Yep." He leaned over for a better look and then stopped. "Is that a bite on your collarbone?"

"Shit! No. Damn it.

Ric ~ Kelley Armstrong

He could feel the strong, steady beat of Isabelle's heart.
'I thought you were dead,' she went on. 'I saw you fall down, and
I thought you were dead.'
Simon let her hold him, propping himself up on his hands. He realized that he was listing like a ship with a hole in its side, and tried not to move. He was afraid that if he did, he would fall over. 'I am dead.'
'I know,' Izzy snapped. I mean more dead than usual. ~ Cassandra Clare

The reason it is difficult is that we have been conditioned to laugh at conspiracy theories, and few people will risk public ridicule by advocating them. On the other hand, to endorse the accidental view is absurd. Almost all of history is an unbroken trail of one conspiracy after another. Conspiracies are the norm, not the exception. ~ G. Edward Griffin

Ulis, he prayed, abandoning the set words, let my anger die with him. Let both of us be freed from the burden of his actions. Even if I cannot forgive him, help me not to hate him. Ulis was a cold god, a god of night and shadows and dust. His love was found in emptiness, his kindness in silence. And that was what Maia needed. Silence, coldness, kindness. He focused his thoughts carefully on the familiar iconography, the image of Ulis's open hands; the god of letting go was surely the god who would listen to an unwilling emperor. Help me not to feel hatred, he prayed, and after a while it became easier to ask that Dazhis find peace, that Maia's anger not be added to the weight against his soul. ~ Katherine Addison

Frankie turned back and forth in front of the three-way mirror. "I have absolutely no ass whatsoever."
A few feet away,a woman whose designer velour fit her like a sausage casing, gave an amused snort. "Honey," she said over a display of two-hundred-dollar T-shirts. "I have been waiting forty years to say those words."
Frankie padded toward her in his socks and Alexander McQuenn pants.He thrust his hands into the pockets, pulling the fabric tighter, and presented her with his outthrust bottom. "Honestly. This is what you want?"
She lasted about five seconds before grinning-and sighing at the same time. "No,I guess not."
He turned around, leaned in, and informed her conspiratorially, "There is not a T-shirt on earth worth that much."
She looked down at the plain blue cotton in her hands. "You are so right." She put it back. "And with that face, sweetie, you could have the ass of a rhino and no one would notice.I'm just saying."
"What does she know?" he muttered when she'd gone. "What good has this face done me?"
Apparently, Connor hadn't been quite as available as he'd let on. Apparently, along with dancing, juggling was one of his talents.
"You couldn't have known," Sadie said gently.
"Oh,yes,I could.I mean, he's a guy,isn't he?"
There's not much you can say to a boy when he makes a statement like that. So we just scooted in until we were up against Frankie's thin shoulders, bookending him. ~ Melissa Jensen

In the taxi I let my hand lie on her leg like a promise, but I had no intention of keeping my promise. ~ Graham Greene

The reason why Matthew Arnold, to my feeling, fails entirely as a poet (though no doubt his ideas were good - at least, I am told they were) is that he had no sense of touch whatsoever. Nothing made any impression on his skin. He could feel neither the shape nor the texture of a poem with his hands. ~ Edith Sitwell

This Mr. Right." Freddie leaned forward and rested his hands, still flushed from washing dishes, on his knees. "It has been months and months, and you are still ashamed to introduce us? He must be Mr. Wrong-But-It-Feels-So-Right. ~ Laurie Boris

What did I do to deserve you?"
"You told me not to throw away my work. You chased me down and made me open up. Enough to see things I needed to see." Xander stepped closer and put a hand carefully on Skylar's hip. "This is how I make love to you, Skylar Stone. I make you take off your clothes and spread your legs for me. I get you to tell me stories of goddesses and turn you into one. I turn your deepest fears into the most beautiful painting I know how to create, and then I stay up all night to give it to you." He rested his nose on Skylar's shoulder, nipping him smartly. "The very idea I need to slobber on a body part to do it is insulting."
Without turning around, Skylar found Xander's hand and laced their fingers tight. "What happens if I tell you that I love you?"
Xander shut his eyes, smiling into Skylar's skin as his heart soared. He squeezed their joined hands tighter. "I'll tell you that I love you back. ~ Heidi Cullinan

Marginalia

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.

Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
who wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.

Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony"
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.

Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
Absolutely," they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
Yes." "Bull's-eye." "My man!"
Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points
rain down along the sidelines.

And if you have managed to graduate from college
without ever having written "Man vs. Nature"
in a margin, perhaps now
is the time to take one step forward.

We have all seized the white perimeter as our ownBilly Collins

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