Huffing Quotes

For all the huffing and blowing we get about rugged individualism, the American spirit and the American experiment always have had at their heart the notion that the government is all of us and that, therefore, the government may keep things in trust for all of us. ~ Charlie Pierce

I'm huffing and puffing to blow your house down ... Bronwyn McCall to Ernest Rose. ~ Marcia Ferguson

The stairs aren't challenging enough anymore?" he asked.
Antonio laughed. "Challenge has nothing to do with it, Jer. I'd say it's the big bad wolf huffing and puffing at her door up there. ~ Kelley Armstrong

Hey." Erik was now eye level with Cara's breasts and thoroughly enjoying the view. Maybe he should try and strike up a conversation. "Come here often?"
"Are you talking to my breasts again?" Cara huffed in exasperation.
"Oh… do that again, the huffing thing."
Cara grabbed a fistful of the hair on his clearly undamaged head and yanked so Erik was forced to sit up and make actual eye contact with her. "I can't tell if you're brain damaged or if you've always been like this. ~ Jane Cousins

It's interesting that penny-pinching is an accepted defense for toxic food habits, when frugality so rarely rules other consumer domains. The majority of Americans buy bottled drinking water, for example, even though water runs from the faucets at home for a fraction of the cost, and government quality standards are stricter for tap water than for bottled. At any income level, we can be relied upon for categorically unnecessary purchases: portable-earplug music instead of the radio; extra-fast Internet for leisure use; heavy vehicles to transport light loads; name-brand clothing instead of plainer gear. "Economizing," as applied to clothing, generally means looking for discount name brands instead of wearing last year's clothes again. The dread of rearing unfashionable children is understandable. But as a priority, "makes me look cool" has passed up "keeps arteries functional" and left the kids huffing and puffing (fashionably) in the dust. ~ Barbara Kingsolver

For all the flailing and huffing and puffing, there is a kind of fatality about the process of war-making and the excuses we find for it, the consolation of belligerence in politics. ~ John Le Carre

When they rolled to a stop, she found herself pinned by a tremendous, huffing weight. And pierced by an intense green gaze.
"Wh-?" Her breath rushed out in question.
Boom, the world answered.
Susanna ducked her head, burrowing into the protection of what she'd recognized to be an officer's coat. The knob of a brass button pressed into her cheek. The man's bulk formed a comforting shield as a shower of dirt clods rained down on them both. He smelled of whiskey and gunpowder.
After the dust cleared, she brushed the hair from his brow, searching his gaze for signs of confusion or pain. His eyes were alert and intelligent, and still that startling shade of green-as hard and richly hued as jade.
She asked, "Are you well?"
"Yes." His voice was a deep rasp. "Are you?"
She nodded, expecting him to release her at the confirmation. When he showed no signs of moving, she puzzled at it. Either he was gravely injured or seriously impertinent. "Sir, you're…er, you're rather heavy." Surely he could not fail to miss that hint.
He replied, "You're soft."
Good Lord. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And how was he still atop her?
"You have a small wound." With trembling fingers, she brushed a reddish knot high on his temple, near his hairline. "Here." She pressed her hand to his throat, feeling for his pulse. She found it, thumping strong and steady against her gloved fingertips.
"Ah. That's nice."
Her face blazed with heat. " ~ Tessa Dare

his parents huffing after him; ~ Hanya Yanagihara

Anytime you see white men suppose to fight each other an you not white, well you know you got trouble, because they blah-blah loud about Democrat or Republican an they huffing an puff about democracy someplace else but relentless, see, the deal come down evil on somebody don have no shirt an tie, somebody don live in no whiteman house no whiteman country. ~ June Jordan

This is the last time we'll walk up this staircase together, Peter taking the stairs two at a time, me nipping at his heels, huffing and puffing to keep up. It's the last day of school for seniors, the last day of my high school career.
When we reach the top of the staircase, I say, "I feel like taking the stairs two at a time is just bragging. Have you ever noticed that only boys ever take stairs two at a time?"
"Girls probably would if they were as tall."
"Margot's friend Chelsea is five eleven, and I don't think she does it."
"So what are you saying--boys brag more?"
"Probably. Don't you think?"
"Probably," he admits. ~ Jenny Han

Six express tracks and twelve locals pass through Palimpsest. The six Greater Lines are: Stylus, Sgraffito, Decretal, Foolscap, Bookhand, and Missal. Collectively, in the prayers of those gathered prostrate in the brass turnstiles of its hidden, voluptuous shrines, these are referred to as the Marginalia Line. They do not run on time: rather, the commuters of Palimpsest have learned their habits, the times of day and night when they prefer to eat and drink, their mating seasons, their gathering places. In days of old, great safaris were held to catch the great trains in their inexorable passage from place to place, and women grappled with them with hooks and tridents in order to arrive punctually at a desk in the depth, of the city.

As if to impress a distracted parent on their birthday, the folk of Palimpsest built great edifices where the trains liked to congregate to drink oil from the earth and exchange gossip. They laid black track along the carriages' migratory patterns. Trains are creatures of routine, though they are also peevish and curmudgeonly. Thus the transit system of Palimpsest was raised up around the huffing behemoths that traversed its heart, and the trains have not yet expressed displeasure.

To ride them is still an exercise in hunterly passion and exactitude, for they are unpredictable, and must be observed for many weeks before patterns can be discerned. The sport of commuting is attempted by only the bravest and the wildest of Pal ~ Catherynne M. Valente

I have climbed the stairway to heaven, huffing and puffing all the way to the top and knocked on heaven's door. I have lived in hell and danced with the devil. I have played with monsters and lived in fantasy worlds of my own making. I have worked hard and loved freely. I have spent too many years living behind walls to protect my tender heart. I have felt alone and have been lonely. Now I ask you to visit me here, be my friend and share my journey.-- Ty* ~ Thalia Finegold

You'll learn. It takes time to kill the flesh, honey. It's kind of like those candles your father used to put on Mitchell's cake
the ones that relight when you think they're out. You've got to keep huffing and puffing and maybe even use the help of water before it's over, but eventually it's over, and that candle can't be lit even if you try
-Mrs. Flannery ~ Heather Randall

Her ankle was screaming like a blonde in a horror flick ...
Huffing a little, she once more wished that being a witch was lot more like Harry Potter made it out to be and a lot less like being a good cook. This whole situation would be vastly improved if all she had to do was dig her magic wand out of her bag, point it at the security guards chasing her, and shout, Stupefy! ~ Christine Warren

'Didn't realize Matty was so scary,' Chris said.
'She's maybe five two and can't make it up a flight of stairs without huffing and puffing. But if I really pissed her off, she might poison my coffee.'
'Sounds like someone I'd like to meet.' ~ Kim Fielding

If you eat healthily most of the time you can afford to indulge yourself occasionally, but if you eat nothing but junk, you'll end up not being able to run for a bus without huffing like a steam train. (The only drawback to being super-fit is that centring your life around your quinoa intake and yoga classes often results in an overdose of smugness which may cause your social circle to shrink.) ~ Rosie Blythe

It can be exalting to belong to a church that is five hundred years behind the times and sublimely indifferent to fashion; it is mortifying to belong to a church that is five minutes behind the times, huffing and puffing to catch up. ~ Joseph Sobran

I've always been very Type-A, so a friend of mine got me into cycling when I was living in L.A. I lived right on the beach in Santa Monica, where there's this great bike path in the sand that goes for, I think, 25 miles. I'd go onto the bike path, and I would [go] head down and push it - just red-faced huffing, all the way, pushing it as hard as I could. I would go all the way down to one end of the bike path and back, and then head home, and I'd set my little timer when doing this. . . .

"I noticed it was always 43 minutes. That's what it took me to go as fast as I could on that bike path. But I noticed that, over time, I was starting to feel less psyched about going out on the bike path. Because mentally, when I would think of it, it would feel like pain and hard work. . . . So, then I thought, 'You know, it's not cool for me to associate negative stuff with going on the bike ride. Why don't I just chill? For once, I'm gonna go on the same bike ride, and I'm not going to be a complete snail, but I'll go at half of my normal pace.' I got on my bike, and it was just pleasant.

"I went on the same bike ride, and I noticed that I was standing up, and I was looking around more. I looked into the ocean, and I saw there were these dolphins jumping in the ocean, and I went down to Marina del Rey, to my turnaround point, and I noticed in Marina del Rey, that there was a pelican that was flying above me. I looked up. I was like, 'Hey, a pelican!' and he shit in ~ Derek Sivers

Tonight," said Mack Nuggett,
"These feathery beasts
Will be chopped up and roasted
For Thanksgiving feasts."

The children stood still
As tears filled their eyes,
Then they clamored aloud
In a chorus of cries.

"Oh dear," cried Mack Nuggett,
"Now what shall I do?"
So he dashed to the well,
And the teacher went, too.

And they fetched some water
Fresh from the ground,
In hopes that a swig
Might calm everyone down.

And when they returned
To quiet the matter,
The children were calmer
(And mysteriously fatter!).

The boys and girls drank up
Their drinks in the hay,
Then thanked old Mack Nuggett
And waddled away.

They limped to the school bus
All huffing and puffing--
It's not easy to walk
With hot turkey stuffing.

And then, as the school bus drove off in the night,
Mack Nuggett looked 'round--not a turkey in sight! ~ Dav Pilkey

Freud kept himself amused while waiting for God by inhaling glue that was gummed up inside a plastic bag. In mid huff, God rushed through the door, "Oh my God, you have to try this," Freud giggled. "I'm so baked. And dizzy. Actually, I don't feel good at all. ~ Dylan Callens

That's what it was supposed to be, but then we started meeting up for morning workouts, which led to a joint trip to the GNC, and then we discovered we both play chess, which led to inviting him over for a game night, and then I quoted Mallrats but he didn't get it, which led to a movie enlightenment mission and several movie-at-home nights…" I trail off, leaving the "etcetera etcetera" unspoken. Huffing out an exasperated sigh, I explain, "The more we hung out together, the more couple-y we got, and before I knew it we were buying extra toothbrushes to keep at our apartments and doing silly shit like giving each other keys. Add in the most amazing porn star sex ever, and it's apparently enough for me to want to have his puppy."

"You mean baby."

"God, no. You know better than that. I'm not the nurturing type."

"Yeah, well, you also used to say you weren't the falling in love type, either."

I narrow my eyes at her. "No one likes a wise-ass, Janey."

"Maybe not, but sometimes a hard-ass like you needs a wise-ass like me. ~ Gina L. Maxwell

It's already midmorning, and we've got beasts to outrun, holes to avoid, and whopper spiders to squish before we make it back to the Lady Kate."
Camille picked up the map. Oscar took Camille's arm and helped her up the first boulder.
"Well, aren't we a sorry-lookin' lot?" Ira bellowed as they limped up the cascade, each one nursing injuries. As they climbed, their huffing and puffing and grunts of pain were both amusing and disheartening. ~ Angie Frazier

Will you stop doing that?" she asked. Annoyance colored her tone.
Janco perked up. "Doing what?"
"That huffing thing. Like you're leaking air."
"It's called sighing. ~ Maria V. Snyder

A model shoot was going on at half-court. Lots of those umbrella lights and tall, bony women-cum-children and tripods and people huffing and fluffing about. Myron waited for someone to mistake him for a model. And waited. ~ Harlan Coben

I'm often asked if I'm a feminist. This I suspect has something to do with the fact that I write a column called Fe-mail and most people lack imagination. My answer is always a firm 'now' because I refuse to have my femininity define me or indeed put me on the back foot. Life is already full of challenges, why make my gender another one? It's just too exhausting, and ultimately, I suspect, futile. I am not fighting to prove my worth or my ability as a woman, but rather as a person. And of course I speak not on behalf of, or against, millions of women across the world who must forcibly negotiate cultures, religions, societies, or families that genuinely oppress (sometimes in the most brutal ways) but rather those women-educated and free-who cry foul at the merest hint of male dominance. Chill the F^*k out and just get on with your own life. Because you know what? All those nasty evil men you're huffing and puffing about, they're not giving you a moment's thought. They're too busy aggressively going after what they want with no thought of barriers or blocks or unfair this or that. ~ Amy Mowafi

MY PAJAMAS ARE soaked with sweat when I jolt awake and there is a third person in my bedroom. A man I've never seen before. I begin screaming like an injured monkey.

"Calm down," Josh says into my ear. I scramble into his lap and press my face into his collar bone, huffing his cedar scent so hard I probably suck out his ghost. I'm about to be taken to a scary medical facility, away from the safety of my bed and these arms.

"Don't let them, Josh! I'll get better!"

"I'm a doctor, Lucy. How long and what symptoms?" The man puts on some gloves. ~ Sally Thorne

For all the huffing and puffing of the doubters, a home of our own is still the rock on which our hopes are built. Price appreciation aside (and most houses will appreciate, eventually), homeownership is a state of mind. It's your piece of the earth. It's where a family's toes grow roots. It's where the flowers are yours, not God's. ~ Jane Bryant Quinn

Broken-bone, broken-bone, smash her with a silver stone," trilled Kamala in my ear. "Maybe-queen-maybe-liar, you share something with this crone. Is it blood? Is it sinew? Let me rend and taste her tissue."

I shoved Kamala. "Why don't you go graze?"

"Graze?" she retorted. "I do not graze."

"Go stalk a peacock."

"You are not very nice," said Kamala, huffing and trotting away. ~ Roshani Chokshi

Are you going to say anything?"
Brisbane crossed one leg lazily over the other flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his trousers. "I think he is doing quite well without me."
"I did not mean for you to help him I meant for you to defend me," I said huffing slightly in my indignation. ~ Deanna Raybourn

Huffing from her exertion, her face flushed and her expression happy, she looked toward the door - and went still.
Dare pushed past Trace and went to the wall unit to turn down the music.
Into the silence, Chris asked, "Everyone having fun?"
"God, Chris," Dare said. "Trace is going to kill you if you don't shut up."
"Really?" Priss struck a pose of annoyance, one hip cocked out, her arms crossed, her chin elevated. "And here Molly and Chris assured Matt that you weren't the type to cause bodily harm."
"They must have been jesting." Trace was well used to Chris's warped sense of humor, so Chris wasn't in any danger. But Matt . . . Trace zeroed in on him. In a tone more lethal for the quietness of it, he asked, "What are you doing?"
"Harmless dancing?" Matt replied in a nervous question, unsure of the right answer.
Priss suddenly stepped in front of Matt, which left Matt bemused. "Don't act snarky with him, Trace. I asked him to dance with me. We had some time to kill before this crud comes out of my hair. And you were nowhere to be found."
Matt pulled her aside, earning a glare from Trace. He quickly held up his hands, palms out, to prove he wasn't touching her. "Speaking of time, we can go wash your hair right now, if everyone will just excuse us."
"I need a minute with Priss first." Trace eyed her militant stance, and had to fight a smile. She had a backbone of steel. He liked that. "Alone. ~ Lori Foster

Imp. It's short for ImPrudence - much more appropriate. Whoever named you Prudence was ill-advised. There is not a shred of prudence or caution in you!" He observed her indignant reaction with patent approval, then commented affably, "You know, huffing and puffing like that shows off your bosom very prettily. ~ Anne Gracie

At paces that might stun and dismay the religious jogger, the runners easily kept up all manner of chatter and horseplay. When they occasionally blew by a huffing fatty or an aging road runner, they automatically toned down the banter to avoid overwhelming, to preclude the appearance of show boating (not that they slowed in the slightest). They in fact respected these distant cousins of the spirit, who, among all people, had some modicum of insight into their own days and ways. But the runners resembled them only in the sense that a puma resembles a pussy cat. It is the difference between stretching lazily on the carpet and prowling the jungle for fresh red meat. ~ John L. Parker Jr.

He bent his head down, running his nose along my cheek. My neck. Behind my ear, huffing his scent onto me like he hadn't done since he'd become the Alpha. I loved it. And him. But ~ T.J. Klune

Instead, I gave them the only salute I could think of.
Two middle fingers. Held high for emphasis.
The six fiery orbs winked out at once. Hopefully, they'd died from affront.
Ben eyed me sideways as he maneuvered from shore. "What in the world are you doing?"
"Those red-eyed jerks were on the cliff," I spat, then immediately felt silly. "All I could think of."
Ben made an odd huffing sound I couldn't interpret. For a shocked second, I thought he was furious with me.
"Nice work, Victoria." Ben couldn't hold the laughter inside. "That oughta do it!"
I flinched, surprised by his reaction. Ben, cracking up at a time like this?
He had such a full, honest laugh - I wished I heard it more. Infectious, too. I couldn't help joining in, though mine came out in a low Beavis and Butthead cackle. Which made Ben howl even more.
In an instant, we were both in stitches at the absurdity of my one-finger salutes. At the insanity of the evening. At everything. Tears wet my eyes as Sewee bobbed over the surf, circling the southeast corner of the island. It was a release I desperately needed.
Ben ran a hand through his hair, then sighed deeply. "I love it," he snickered, steering Sewee through the breakers, keeping our speed to a crawl so the engine made less noise. "I love you, sometimes."
Abruptly, his good humor cut off like a guillotine. Ben's body went rigid. I felt a wave of panic roll from him, as if he'd accidently triggered a nuclear ~ Kathy Reichs

Understand this: we are both tiny and massive. We are nothing more than molded clay given breath, but we are nothing less than divine self-portraits, huffing and puffing along the mountain ranges of epic narrative arcs prepared for us by the Infinite Word Himself. ~ N.D. Wilson

Out of the thousand writers huffing and puffing through movieland, there are scarcely fifty men and women of wit and talent ... Yet, in a curious way, there is not much difference between the product of a good writer and a bad one. They both have to toe the same mark. ~ Ben Hecht

Our huffing and puffing to impress God, our scrambling for brownie points, our thrashing about trying to fix ourselves while hiding our pettiness and wallowing in guilt are nauseating to God and are a flat out denial of the gospel of grace. ~ Brennan Manning

Like tourists huffing and puffing to reach the peak we forget the view on the way up. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

In the world of pop stardom, what is mistaken for rebellion? A mediocre artist who spouts political beliefs that most freshmen in high school could have come up with after huffing Glade. ~ Greg Gutfeld

I'm trying to quit huffing epoxy glue out of grocery bags. ~ Davy Rothbart

How do we exorcise one of the Jinn?"
He shrugged. "You got Yellow Pages?"
"Seriously?"
Jai snorted. "Yes, Ari. There are Aissawa Exorcists in the Yellow Pages."
Huffing, Ari walked away from him. "You really need to work on intonation when you use sarcasm. That way people will know when you're being an asshole."
"And you need to work on your gullibility."
"Well, I was under the impression you have no sense of humour so forgive me for believing everything you say."
"Well that should be fun."
"See!" she threw over her shoulder. "No intonation. ~ Samantha Young

Mujo is a refugee in Germany, has no job, but has a lot of time, so he goes to a Turkish bath. The bath is full of German businessmen with towels around their waists, huffing and puffing, but every once in a while a cell phone rings and they pull their phone out from under the towel and say, Bitte? Mujo seems to be the only one without a cell phone, so he goes to the bathroom and stuffs toilet paper up his butt. He walks back out, a long trail of toilet paper behind him. So a German says, you have some paper, Herr, sticking out behind you. Oh, Mujo says, it looks like I have received a fax. ~ Aleksandar Hemon