Its So Hot Southern Quotes

I love African food, I love Italian food, but I rarely eat Italian out because it's so easy to make at home. On the other hand, unless you have specialized equipment, Chinese food is really tough because you literally can't get the pan hot enough. ~ Robert Sietsema

Has it never occurred to you that that miserable clown may have a soul–a living, struggling human soul, tied down into that crooked hulk of a body and forced to slave for it? You that are so tender-hearted to everything–you that pity the body in its fool's dress and bells–have you never thought of the wretched soul that has not even motley to cover its horrible nakedness? Think of it shivering with cold, stilled with shame and misery, before all those people–feeling their jeers that cut like a whip–their laughter, that burns like red-hot iron on the bare flesh! Think of it looking round–so helpless before them all–for the mountains that will not fall on it–for the rocks that have not the heart to cover it–envying the rats that can creep into some hole in the earth and hide; and remember that a soul is dumb–it has no voice to cry out–it must endure, and endure, and endure. ~ Ethel Lilian Voynich

Don't be a sore loser.'
'It's hard to argue with a woman when she's got her knee on my ego.'
'Good. Now I'm going to have my way with you.'
'Are you?'
'Damn right. I won.' She cocked her head and reached down to strip off his shirt. 'Cooperate and I won't have to hurt you. Uh-uh.' When he reached for her, she gripped his hands and pushed them back to the mat. 'I'm in charge here. Don't make me get out the cuffs.'
'Hmm. An interesting threat. Why don't you - ' His words trailed off as her mouth came down on his, hard and hot. Instinctively, his hands flexed under hers, wanting to touch, to take. But he understood she wanted something else, something more. So he would let her find it.
'I'm going to take you.' She bit down on his lip, sending an edge of lust razoring through his gut. 'Do whatever I want to you.'
His mind was already spinning, his breath clogging. 'Be gentle with me,' he managed, and felt warmth twine with the heat when she laughed.
'Dream on. ~ J.D. Robb

And so I love films that are kind of rural in atmosphere. And you know, it's just a nice place to be day after day. All be it, it can be hard, it can be hard work. You can get hot. ~ Keith Carradine

New York City life is different from all other city life. It's incredibly relentless and fast, and I think when I first got here, it was incredibly exciting. It was also so hot. I didn't know New York got so hot. I'm not a fan of the heat! ~ Matthew James Thomas

One day Marlboro Man invited my sister, Betsy, and me to the ranch to work cattle. She was home from college and bored, and Marlboro Man wanted Tim to meet another member of my family.
"Working cattle" is the term used to describe the process of pushing cattle, one by one, through a working chute, during which time they are branded, dehorned, ear tagged, and "doctored" (temperature taken, injections given). The idea is to get all the trauma and mess over with in one fell swoop so the animals can spend their days grazing peacefully in the pasture.
When Betsy and I pulled up and parked, Tim greeted us at the chute and immediately assigned us our duties. He handed my sister a hot shot, which is used to gently zap the animal's behind to get it to move through the chute.
It's considered the easy job.
"You'll be pushing 'em through," Tim told Betsy. She dutifully took the hot shot, studying the oddly shaped object in her hands.
Next, Tim handed me an eight-inch-long, thick-gauge probe with some kind of electronic device attached. "You'll be taking their temperature," Tim informed me.
Easy enough, I thought. But how does this thing fit into its ear? Or does it slide under its arm somehow? Perhaps I insert it under the tongue? Will the cows be okay with this?
Tim showed me to my location--at the hind end of the chute. "You just wait till the steer gets locked in the chute," Tim directed. "Then you push the stick all the way in and wait till I tell ~ Ree Drummond

Every time it starts to get cool, I mean in the middle of autim, I start gettin nutty ideas like I was thinkin about what was forein and diffrent, like for exsample how I'd like to turn into a swallow and get away and fly to countrys where it gets hot, or be an ant so's I could get deep into a cave and eat the stuff I stored away durin the summer or be a snake like what they got in the zoO, the ones they keep lockt up in glass cages thats heated so's they don't get stiff from the cold, which is what happens to poor human beans who cant buy no close cause the price is to high, and cant keep warm cause theys no keroseen, no coal, no wood, no fule oil and besides theys no loot, cause when you go around with bocoo bread you can go into any bar and get some sneaky pete that can be real warmin, even tho it aint good to overdo it cause if you overdos it it gets to be a bad habbit and bad habbits is bad for your body just like they is for youre selfrespeck, and when you start goin downhill cause your actin bad in everythin, they aint nobody or nothin can stop you from endin up a stinkin piece of human garbidge and they never gone give you a hand to haul you up outen the dirty muck you rollin around in, not even if you was a eaglE when you was young and could fly up and over the highest hills, but when you get old you like a highflyin bomber thats lost its moral engines and fall down outen the sky. I jes hope what I been writin down hear do somebody some good so he take a good look at ~ Julio Cortazar

Hey, Large," Gabe says, flicking me with his towel. "Where you been all day?"
"I've been around." I look over at Peter, but he won't meet my eyes. "I saw you guys on the slopes."
Darrell says, "Then why didn't you holler at us? I wanted to show off my ollies for you."
Teasingly I say, "Well, I called Peter's name, but I guess he didn't hear me."
Peter finally looks me in the eyes. "Nope. I didn't hear you." His voice is cold and indifferent and so un-Peterlike, the smile fades from my face.
Gabe and Darrell exchange looks like oooh and Gabe says to Peter, "We're gonna head out to the hot tub," and they trot off.
Peter and I are left standing in the lobby, neither of us saying anything. I finally ask, "Are you mad at me or something?"
"Why would I be mad?"
And then it's back to quiet again.
I say, "You know, you're the one who talked me into coming on this trip. The least you could do is talk to me."
"The least you could do was sit next to me on the bus!" he bursts out.
My mouth hangs open. "Are you really that mad that I didn't sit next to you on the bus?"
Peter lets out an impatient breath of air. "Lara Jean, when you're dating someone, there are just…certain things you do, okay? Like sit next to each other on a school trip. That's pretty much expected."
"I just don't see what the big deal is," I say. How can he be this mad over such a tiny thing?
"Forget it." He turns like he's going to leave, and I grab ~ Jenny Han

Here I was just thinking all these wonderful things about you and now you're trying to strip down before we can have sex."
His hands casually held in the air, he explained, "I was hot."
"It's seventy degrees in here."
His hands went to his cotton pants, thumbing the cinched band, preparing for a total strip down. Gawd, how I secretly wanted him to do it, but for some reason, the word stop came out of my mouth. At least I agreed with myself when I said, "That is so not fair."
Neither was the way the left side of his mouth curled up, smiling wickedly as his eyes swept across my body. "You're right. Your ogling is making me uncomfortable. You should remove your top to compensate. ~ Devon Ashley

That first loving kiss, the one that comes out of you from the source of your personal river, and the one that comes from her that is the same, there's never another moment like it; never another flame that burns so hot. It can never be that good again, ever. All manner of goodness can come after, but it's different. And that's a good thing, because if we burned that hot for too long, we'd be nothing but ash. ~ Joe R. Lansdale

Stopping just short of her mouth, he rasped, "Are you still engaged to Blakeborough?"
Her gorgeous eyes narrowed. "My engagement didn't stop you last night."
"It would now."
A coy smile broke over her lips, and she tightened her grip on his neck. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I am not."
With a growl of triumph, he kissed her once more. She was here. She was his. Nothing else mattered.
Still kissing her, he jerked both sets of curtains closed. Then he tugged her onto his lap and began to tear at the fastenings of her pelisse-dress. He wanted to touch her, taste her…be inside her. He could think of naught else.
"I take it that you mean to seduce me," she murmured between kisses.
"Yes." Seduce her and marry her. And then seduce her again, as often as he could.
"Well then, carry on."
So he did. He unfastened her clothes just enough to bare her breasts, then seized one in his mouth. God, she was perfect. His perfect jewel.
She buried her hands in his hair to pull her into him, sighing and moaning as if she would die if he didn't make love to her. Which was exactly how he felt.
Working his hand up beneath her skirts and into the slit in her drawers, he found her so wet and hot that he nearly came right there. He slipped a finger inside her silky sweetness, and she gasped, then began to tug at his trouser buttons.
"You're all I want, Jane." As he stroked her, he used his other hand to brush hers away so he could unfaste ~ Sabrina Jeffries

The Fire

When a human is asked about a particular fire,
she comes close:
then it is too hot,
so she turns her face -

and that's when the forest of her bearable life appears,
always on the other side of the fire. The fire
she's been asked to tell the story of,
she has to turn from it, so the story you hear
is that of pines and twitching leaves
and how her body is like neither -

all the while there is a fire
at her back
which she feels in fine detail,
as if the flame were a dremel
and her back its etching glass.

You will not know all about the fire
simply because you asked.
When she speaks of the forest
this is what she is teaching you,

you who thought you were her master. ~ Katie Ford

Don't contour with blush - that's so eighties. It was an amazing trend then, but it's not hot now. Instead, go for a neutral contour color that's one or two shades deeper than your skin tone. ~ Tyra Banks

Nobody can tell about this California climate. One minit its hot and the next minit its cold, so a person never knows what to hock. ~ Anita Loos

There's a reason diehard fans get to the ballpark hours before game time. It's not for better parking. It's not for extra time to find our seats. It's not so we'll have time to down an extra hot dog, heavy on the mustard, prior to the first pitch. It's called BP. ~ Tucker Elliot

We writers aren't sculpting in DNA, or even clay or mud, but words, sentences, paragraphs, syntax, voice; materials issued by tongue or fingertips but which upon release dissolve into the atmosphere, into cloud, confection, specter. Language, as a vehicle, is a lemon, a hot rod painted with thrilling flames but crazily erratic to drive, riddled with bugs like innate self-consciousness, embedded metaphors and symbols, helpless intertextuality, and so forth. Despite being regularly driven on prosaic errands (interoffice memos, supermarket receipts, etc.), it tends to veer on its misaligned chassis into the ditch of abstraction, of dream. ~ Jonathan Lethem

Skylar: There was this Irish guy, walking down the beach one day. And he comes across a bottle, and this Genie pops out. The genie turns to the Irishman and says "You've released me from my prison, so I'll grant you three wishes." The Irish guy thinks for a minute and says "What I really want is a pint of Guiness that never empties." And POOF! A bottle appears. He slams it down, and lo and behold it fills back up again. Well, the Irish guy can't believe it. He drinks it again, and again BOOM! It fills back up. So, while the Irish guy is marveling at his good fortune, the Genie is getting impatient, because it's hot and he wants to get on with his freedom. He says "Let's go, you have two more wishes." The Irish guy slams his drink again, it fills back up, he's still amazed. The Genie can't take it anymore. He says "Buddy, I'm boiling out here. What are your other two wishes?" The Irish guy looks at his drink, looks at the Genie and says... "I guess I'll have two more of these. ~ Matt Damon

Many art-worlders have an if-you-say-so approach to art: Everyone is so scared of missing out on the next hot artist that it's never clear whether people are liking work because they like it or because other people do. Everyone is keeping up with the Joneses, and there are more Joneses than ever. ~ Jerry Saltz

They sit here in the darkness, trusting. That the coffee will be hot and unpoisoned. That no raging madman will come in with a gun or bomb.

It leaves him breathless at times, how much faith people put in one another. So fragile, the social contract: we will all stand by the rules, move with care and gentleness, invest in the infrastructure, agree with the penalties of failure. That this man driving his truck down the street won't, on a whim, angle into the plate glass and end things. That the president won't let his hand hover over the red button and, in moment of rage or weakness, explode the world. The invisible tissue of civilization: so thin, so easily rendable. It's a miracle that it exists at all. ~ Lauren Groff

She smiled. "You're very sweet." "Now you go too far - " She shoved her hand under his nose. "This is your ring you see, my lord, and that gives me the right to tell you to be quiet. So, be quiet. I'll probably be back to thinking you're a jerk tomorrow, so live with the compliment while it's still in force. Got it?" He grumbled something she didn't catch. But then, to her utter surprise, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it in a rough, Richardy kind of way. Then he dropped it as if it had been a hot potato, set her on her feet, then leaned his head back against the chair and pretended to snore. Jessica went to bed with a smile on her face. ~ Lynn Kurland

I love hot yoga. I go to a sculpt class with weights. That's really good for the core and it's obviously super hot. I love cardio bar. I'm not a big gym fan, so I like to go to classes. ~ Naya Rivera

There is no reader so parochial as the one who reads none but this morning's books. Books are not rolls, to be devoured only when they are hot and fresh. A good book retains its interior heat and will warm a generation yet unborn. ~ Clifton Fadiman

He felt that he had unwittingly stuck his hand into The Great Wasps' Nest of Life. As an image it stank. As a cameo of reality, he felt it was serviceable. He had stuck his hand through some rotted flashing in high summer and that hand and his whole arm had been consumed in holy, righteous fire, destroying conscious thought, making the concept of civilized behaviour obsolete. Could you be expected to behave as a thinking human being when your hand was being impaled on red-hot darning needles? Could you be expected to live in the love of your nearest and dearest when the brown, furious cloud rose out of the hole in the fabric of things (the fabric you thought was so innocent) and arrowed straight at you? Could you be held responsible for your own actions as you ran crazily about on the sloping roof seventy feet above he ground, not knowing where you were going, not remembering that your panicky, stumbling feet could lead you crashing and blundering right over the rain gutter and down to your death on the concrete seventy feet below? Jack didn't think you could. When you unwittingly stuck your hand into the wasps' nest, you hadn't made a covenant with the devil to give up your civilized self with its trappings of love and respect and honour. It just happened to you. Passively, with no say, you ceased to be a creature of the mind and became a creature of the nerve endings; from college-educated man to wailing ape in five seconds. ~ Stephen King

I'm grinning like the town idiot. And now is not the time to be grinning like the town idiot, not when I'm buck naked in a room full of showering dudes and my girlfriend is glaring daggers at me. But I'm so happy to see her that I can't control my facial muscles.

My eyes eat up the sight of her. Her gorgeous face. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail with a pink hair thingie. Infuriated green eyes.

She's so damn hot when she's mad at me.

"It's nice to see you too, baby," I answer cheerfully. "How was your break?"

"Don't you baby me. And don't ask about my break because you don't deserve to know about it!" Hannah glowers at me, then shifts her attention to the three hockey players in the neighboring stalls. "For the love of Pete, would you guys just rinse off and skedaddle already? I'm trying to yell at your captain."

I choke back a laugh, which ends up spilling out when my teammates snap to attention like they've been issued a command by a drill sergeant. Showers turn off and towels come out, and a moment later, Hannah and I are alone. ~ Elle Kennedy

Look Jane!" Brenda nudged her daughter. "Look who's over there!"
"Damn!" Jane had smudged the fingernail she'd been painting. A tiny frown of exasperation marred her pretty face. Then she brightened as she saw him – Richard from accounts, jostling at the bar with the rest of the lunchtime crowd. "What's he doing here?" she wondered aloud. "Wouldn't have thought this was his scene."
"Don't be silly!" Brenda admonished. "It's a hot day. Lots of people fancy a cold lager with their lunch. It's perfectly natural." She sometimes despaired at her daughter's lack of insight. How could such a pretty girl be so empty-headed? And when would Jane ever find a steady boyfriend? Brenda had high hopes for Richard in this direction. He was old enough to be a good influence; brilliantly clever; in line for promotion – he would be perfect for Jane.
"Call him over, Mum!" Jane suggested excitedly. ~ Bernie Morris

I rolled my eyes at Jeremy. Guys and their egos are completely insufferable. "What do you want me to say Jeremy? You're hot, and you're a good kisser. But I'm in love with Bryn. End of story."
A smile spread across his face, the gold flecks in his eyes dancing. "So I'm still in the game."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. "This isn't a game-it's my life! ~ D.T. Dyllin

Japan and Hong Kong are steadily whittling away at the last of the elephants, turning their tusks (so much more elegant left on the elephant) into artistic carvings. In much the same way, the beautiful furs from leopard, jaguar, Snow leopard, Clouded leopard and so on, are used to clad the inelegant bodies of thoughtless and, for the most part, ugly women. I wonder how many would buy these furs if they knew that on their bodies they wore the skin of an animal that, when captured, was killed by the medieval and agonizing method of having a red-hot rod inserted up its rectum so as not to mark the skin. ~ Gerald Durrell

I'm renowned within the ton as being cool under fire- around you, I'm never cool. I'm heated- I seethe- I burn with desire. If I'm in the same room, all I can think about is heat- your heat- and how you'll feel around me."
Patience felt the heat rise, a real force between them.
"I've gained the reputation of being the soul of discretion- now look at me. I've seduced my godmother's niece- and been seduced by her. I share her bed openly, even under my godmother's roof." His lips twisted wryly. "So much for discretion."
He drew a deep breath; his chest brushed her breasts.
"And as for my vaunted, up-until-you 'legendary' control- the instant I'm inside you that evaporates like water on hot steel."
What prompted her Patience never knew. His lips were so close- with her teeth, she nipped the lower. "I told you to let go- I won't break."
The tension, pouring off him in waves, eased, just a little. He sighed, and rested his forehead on hers. "I don't like losing control- it's like losing myself- in you."
She felt him gather himself, felt the tension swell and coalesce about them.
"It's giving myself to you- so that I'm in your keeping."
The words, low and gravelly, rolled through her; closing her eyes, she drew in a shallow breath. "And you don't like doing that."
"I don't like it- but I crave it. I don't approve of it, yet I yearn for it." His words feathered her cheek, then his lips touched hers. "Do you understand? I haven't any ~ Stephanie Laurens

Hammer: Where are u? The chicks at the Gas Station are so hot tonight. It's like winter doesn't exist for them. God bless band-aid dresses.

Me: Bandage.

Hammer: Same thing. Where are u?! Do you think the Christmas break makes these Western girls hotter? I don't remember them being so fine last semester.

Me: How much have u had to drink? It's only 8.

Hammer: Where are u? ~ Jen Frederick

It's only been a few hours and all I can think about is the way you taste, the way you feel wrapped around me. When you're so hot and so ready. So wet, he murmurs against my mouth. ~ M. Leighton

Show up with stories to tell. Your whole life prepares you for the big moments, so go in confidently knowing you have years of experience to your name. This goes for interviews, dates, or any important conversations. It's ultimately about whether they're a fit for you than you a fit for them, so be funny and self-assured and wear hot pink if you feel like it. ~ Mari Andrew

Seeing him on his knees in front of me, feeling his mouth on me, it's so unexpected and hot. My hands stay in his hair, pulling gently as I try to quiet my too loud breathing. He gazes up at me through impossibly long lashes, his eyes scorching smoky gray. ~ E.L. James

This part concerns the unshakable feeling one gets, one thinks, after the unthinkable and unexplainable happens
the feeling that, if this person can die, and that person can die, and this can happen and that can happen ... well, then what exactly is preventing everything from happening to this person, he around whom everything else happened?
Just as some police
particularly those they dramatize on television
might be familiar with death, and might expect it an any instant
so does the author, possessing a naturally paranoid disposition, compounded by environmental factors that make it seem not only possible but probable that whatever there might be out there that snuffs out life is probably sniffing around for him, that his number is perennially, eternally up, that his draft number is low, that his bingo card is hot, that he has a bull's-eye on his chest and target on his back. It's fun. You'll see. ~ Dave Eggers

It is hot in Tokyo, it's humid, I'm tired, all of these backs are in front of you, I'm not going to make the team anyway so screw it. I remember going back and I called down to the desk. I was asking about some flights out of there. ~ Terrell Davis

Liam cleared his throat again and turned to fully face me. "So, it's the summer and you're in Salem, suffering through another boring, hot July, and working part-time at an ice cream parlor. Naturally, you're completely oblivious to the fact that all of the boys from your high school who visit daily are more interested in you than the thirty-one flavors. You're focused on school and all your dozens of clubs, because you want to go to a good college and save the world. And just when you think you're going to die if you have to take another practice SAT, your dad asks if you want to go visit your grandmother in Virginia Beach."
"Yeah?" I leaned my forehead against his chest. "What about you?"
"Me?" Liam said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm in Wilmington, suffering through another boring, hot summer, working one last time in Harry's repair shop before going off to some fancy university - where, I might add, my roommate will be a stuck-up-know-it-all-with-a-heart-of-gold named Charles Carrington Meriwether IV - but he's not part of this story, not yet." His fingers curled around my hip, and I could feel him trembling, even as his voice was steady. "To celebrate, Mom decides to take us up to Virginia Beach for a week. We're only there for a day when I start catching glimpses of this girl with dark hair walking around town, her nose stuck in a book, earbuds in and blasting music. But no matter how hard I try, I never get to talk to her.
"Then, as our fr ~ Alexandra Bracken

Then, on impulse, I scroll back through my previous Instagram posts, looking at the photos of London cafes, sights, drinks, and smiling faces (mostly strangers). The whole thing is like a feel-good movie, and what's wrong with that? Loads of people use colored filters or whatever on Instagram. Well, my filter is the "this is how I'd like it to be" filter. It's not that I lie. I was in those places, even if I couldn't afford a hot chocolate. It's just I don't dwell on any of the not-so-great stuff in my life, like the commute or the prices or having to keep all my stuff in a hammock. Let alone vanilla-whey-coated eggs and abnoxious lechy flatmates. And the point is, it's something to aspire to, something to hope for. One day my life will match my Instagram posts. One day. ~ Sophie Kinsella

Spread the glad tidings that it will not disappoint Miss Heyer's many admirers. Judging from the letters I've received from obviously feeble-minded persons who do so wish I would write another These Old Shades, it ought to sell like hot cakes. I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense, but it's questionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter, or recovering from flu. Its period detail is good; my husband says it's witty
and without going to these lengths, I will say that it is very good fun. ~ Georgette Heyer