Lace Bra Quotes

I rode Caro's bike down a hill with no hands, and then I went sock shopping because I was sad to say goodbye to Alfred, and the socks were cute, but there was this purple lace bra." She ground to a halt, cheeks steaming. "It was the same color as Alfred. ~ Debora Geary

I started getting Mal's texts just before lunch.
Mal: Awake
Anne: Morning
Mal: Going for a run with Jim
Anne: Have fun!
Mal: Back from run having lunch
...
Mal:Your taste in music sucks
Anne: Thanks
Mal: Seriously, we need to talk it's that bad. Everything apart from Stage Dive needs to go.
Anne: Wait. What are you doing?
Mal:Fixing it.
Anne: Mal, WTH are you doing?
Mal: Making you new playlist wih decent shit. Relay
Anne: K Thanks
Mal: Bored again
Mal: Ben's coming over to play Halo
Anne: Great! But you don't have to tell me everything you do, Mal
Mal: Davie says communication's important
Mal: When are you on the rag? Davie said to find out if you want cupcakes or ice cream
Anne: I want to not talk about this ever
Mal: Bored. Ben's late
Mal: Let's get a dog
Anne: Apartment has no pets rule
Mal: Nice green lace bra
Anne: Get out of my drawers, Mal.
Mal: Matching panties?
Anne: GET OUT NOW.
Mal: :)
Mal: sext me
Mal: Some on it'll be funny
Mal: Plz?
Mal: High level of unhealthy codependency traits exhibited by both parties relationship possibly bordeing on toxic
Anne: WTF?
Mal: Did magazine quiz. We need help- Especially you
Anne:...
Mal: Booking us couples counseling. Tues 4:15 alright?
Anne: We are not going to counseling.
Mal: What's wrong? Don't you love me anymore?
Anne: Turning ph ~ Kylie Scott

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra ... ~ Pamela Redmond Satran

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her
dreams wants to see her in an hour...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a youth she's content to leave behind....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who
lets her cry...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a feeling of control over her destiny...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of ~ Pamela Redmond Satran

He was distracted at that moment by a black lace bra that was reclining provocatively but somewhat casually on top of the dryer. He gazed at it and realized that the number and cup size that popped into his head the night he'd taken her to Harbour Sixty for dinner were absolutely correct. Gabriel silently congratulated himself. ~ Sylvain Reynard

Soroya:"Where are we going? I need to know what to wear."
Graham: "Wear whatever you're wearing right now."
I looked down.
Soraya: "A hot pink lace bra and G-string? Where are you taking me, a strip club? ~ Vi Kieland Penelope Ward

And this is the most gorgeous ass in the world," he growled. "I almost started collecting panties for you, but somehow that just struck me as obsessive, don't you think?"
She shook her head.
"Good, then you won't be surprised when I pull out the few pairs I collected for you, no more than a few dozen, and ask you to wear them for me. Silk and satin and lace so delicate it's no more than a whisper against your flesh. I'll come just thinking of you wearing those panties beneath those mission pants you wear. They have ribbons too. And little bows. And some don't have a crotch. I could slip right inside you, and not have to worry about tearing them from you first. ~ Lora Leigh

The situation is established not only to provoke defensiveness but to sidetrack the reformer into answering the wrong questions.... In this, the pattern of discourse resembles that of dinnertime conversations about feminism in the early 1970s. Questions of definition often predominate. Whereas feminists were parlaying questions which trivialized feminism such as "Are you one of those bra burners?" vegetarians must define themselves against the trivializations of "Are you one of those health nuts?" or "Are you one of those animal lovers?" While feminists encountered the response that "men need liberation too," vegetarians are greeted by the postulate that "plants have life too." Or to make the issue appear more ridiculous, the position is forwarded this way: "But what of the lettuce and tomato you are eating; they have feelings too!"

The attempt to create defensiveness through trivialization is the first conversational gambit which greets threatening reforms. This pre-establishes the perimeters of discourse. One must explain that no bras were burned at the Miss America pageant, or the symbolic nature of the action of that time, or that this question fails to regard with seriousness questions such as equal pay for equal work. Similarly, a vegetarian, thinking that answering these questions will provide enlightenment, may patiently explain that if plants have life, then why not be responsible solely for the plants one eats at the table rather than for the larger quant ~ Carol J. Adams

I want to be covered, head-to-toe with nothing but you, Lace. Forever. ~ Ann Lister

Pedro of Portugal's rapt and bizarre declaration of love, in 1356, for the embalmed corpse of his murdered wife, Inez de Castro, who swayed beside him on his travels, leather-brown and skeletal, crowned with lace and gold circlet, hung about with chains of diamonds and pearls, her bone-fingers fantastically ringed. ~ A.S. Byatt

In many parts of the world, you will find people of the
same ethnic group, living a few miles apart in similar valleys under similar
conditions, speaking languages that have absolutely nothing in common with each
other. This sort of thing is not an oddity -- it is ubiquitous. Many linguists
have tried to understand Babel, the question of why human language tends to
fragment, rather than converging on a common tongue?" "Has anyone come up with
an answer yet?"
"The question is difficult and profound," the Librarian says. "Lagos had a
theory."
"Yes?"
"He believed that Babel was an actual historical event. That it happened in a
particular time and place, coinciding with the disappearance of the Sumerian
language. That prior to Babel Infopocalypse, languages tended to converge. And
that afterward, languages have always had an innate tendency to diverge and
become mutually incomprehensible -- that this tendency is, as he put it, coiled
like a serpent around the human brainstem."
"The only thing that could explain that is --" Hiro stops, not wanting to say
it.
"Yes?" the Librarian says.
"If there was some phenomenon that moved through the population, altering their
minds in such a way that they couldn't process the Sumerian language anymore.
Kind of in the same way that a virus moves from one computer to another,
damaging each computer in the same way. Coiling around the bra ~ Neal Stephenson

My head kinda hurts," Miss New Mexico said. Several of the girls gasped. Half of an airline serving tray was lodged in her forehead, forming a small blue canopy over her eyes. "What is it?" Miss New Mexico checked to make sure her bra straps weren't showing. "N-nothing." Miss Ohio managed an awkward smile. ~ Libba Bray

People think I'm trying to make a fashion statement because I never wear a bra. It's really that I'm a tomboy at heart. ~ Cameron Diaz

Do not conceive that fine clothes make fine men any more than fine feathers make fine birds. ~ George Washington

I plucked a creased note from the table. Eight weeks ago, Curran, the Beast Lord of Atlanta, the lord and master of fifteen hundred shapeshifters, and my own personal psycho, had sat in the kitchen of my apartment in Atlanta and written out a menu on this piece of paper. I'd lost a bet to him, and according to the terms of our wager, I owed him one naked dinner. He'd added a disclaimer explaining that he'd settle for my wearing a bra and panties, since he wasn't a complete beast - an assertion very open to debate.
He'd set a date, November 15, which was today. I knew this because I had checked the calendar three times already. ~ Ilona Andrews

Then there were her childhood book: Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, What Katy did next, Pollyanna - stories about girls who were good. All Pollyanna had ever done wrong was ruin her parasol. Beth in Little Women was so perfect she was only fit for heaven. Why were girls in novels exemplary, almost saintly? Grace preferred adventure stories, histories and romances about what to do if you were damned and female, tales about women who were kind, likeable and believable, who escaped unpunished. No thin Quakers with lace caps. No beatific consumptives coughing delicately. No unloved, eternally jolly orphans. Grace craved books about girls like herself: good women, normal women in a world bigger and more powerful than themselves. ~ Wendy Jones

Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops:

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone,

Rom. Let me be ta'en,, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go:
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so,
How is't my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:

William Shakespeare

What have you been doing to yourself? Your back is like concrete." That's not the only thing that's like concrete. ~ Katherine Lace

Everybody tells me that they would love to knit, but they don't have time. I look at people's lives and I can see opportunity and time for knitting all over the place. The time spent riding the bus each day? That's a pair of socks over a month. Waiting in line? Mittens. Watching TV? Buckets of wasted time that could be an exquisite lace shawl. ~ Stephanie Pearl-McPhee

My mom was sarcastic about men. She would tell me Adam was the rough draft and Eve was the final product. She was a feminist minister, an earth mom who wore a bra only on Sundays. ~ Daphne Zuniga

There's always hope when it's a question of whether we should love. ~ Kathryn Rose

I used to collect vintage clothing - exquisite lace dresses, embroidered shawls and ornate jewelry - but that's just not me any more. ~ Britt Ekland

Merda! Her lace panties had snagged on his ring, the signet ring he'd inherited from his father, Giacomo Casanova. His father had seduced hundred of women without any problems whatsoever, and he was having trouble with just one. This was the real reason he never used the Casanova name. He could never live up to his father's reputation. The old man was probably laughing in his grave.

Nine circles of hell," Jack muttered.

Hell?" Lara asked. "I thought I was the Holy Land."

You're paradise. Unfortunately, I am stuck there."

Her eyes widened. "Stuck?"

Normally, I would love being stuck to your lovely bum, but it would look odd if we go sightseeing with my hand under your skirt. Especially in the basilica."

She glanced down. "How can you be stuck?"

My ring. It's caught in the lace. See?" He moved his hand down her hip, dragging her undies down a few inches.

Okay, stop." She bit her lip, frowning, then suddenly giggled. "I can't believe this has happened."

I assure you, as much as I had hoped to get your clothes off, this was not part of my original plan."

She snorted. "No problem. Just rip yourself loose."

Are you sure?" It will destroy you undies."

She narrowed her eyes with a seductuve look. "Rip it."

Very well." He jerked his hand away, but the panties came with him. He yanked his hand back and forth, but the lacy, latex material simply ~ Kerrelyn Sparks

This is okay?" he asks.
"Yes."
The word explodes through me, empowering and sexy, and I can't get my bra off fast enough. ~ Ashley Herring Blake

I turn to head outside when the boys make their way back into the house. Kel stops in the doorway and puts his hands on his hips, then looks up at me.
"Are you my sister's boyfriend?"
I'm thrown off by his directness. I pull my jacket on and shake my head. "Um, no. Just her friend."
"She told my mom you were taking her on a date. I thought only boyfriends took girls on dates."
"Well," I pause. "Sometimes boys take girls on dates to see if they want them to be their girlfriend."
I notice Caulder standing beside me, taking in the conversation as if he's just as curious. I wasn't prepared to have to explain the rules of dating right now.
"So it's like a test?" Caulder asks. "To see if you want Layken to be your girlfriend?"
I shrug and nod. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
Kel laughs. "You aren't gonna like her. She burps a lot. And she's bossy. And she never lets me drink coffee, so she probably won't let you have any, either. And she has really bad taste in music and sings way too loud and leaves her bras all over the house. It's gross."
I laugh. "Thanks for the warning. You think it's too late to back out now?"
Kel shakes his head, missing my sarcasm completely. "No, she's already dressed so you have to take her now."
I sigh, pretending to be annoyed. "Well, it's just a few hours. Hopefully she won't burp a lot and boss me around and steal my coffee and sing to her really bad music and leave her bra in my car."
Colleen Hoover

Theta clearing is about as practical and simple as repairing a shoe lace. It is nothing to do with hypnotism, voodooism, charalatanism, monkeyism or theosophy. Done, the thetan can do anything a stage magician can do in the way of moving objects around. But this isn't attained by holding one's breath or thinking right thoughts or voting Republican or any other superstitous or mystic practice. So for the reason I brought up, rule out, auditor, any mumbo jumbo or mysticism, spiritualism, or religion. ~ L. Ron Hubbard

Standing in the courtyard with a glass eye; only half the world is intelligible. The stones are wet and mossy and in the crevices are black toads. A big door bars the entrance to the cellar; the steps are slippery and soiled with bat dung. The door bulges and sags, the hinges are falling off, but there is an enameled sign on it, in perfect condition, which says: "Be sure to close the door." Why close the door? I can't make it out. I look again at the sign but it is removed; in it's place there is a pane of colored glass. I take out my artificial eye, spit on it and polish it with my handkerchief. A woman is sitting on a dais above an immense carven desk; she has a snake around her neck. The entire room is lined with books and strange fish swimming in colored globes; there are maps and charts on the wall, maps of Paris before the plague, maps of the antique world, of Knossos and Carthage, of Carthage before and after the salting. In the corner of the room I see an iron bedstead and on it a corpse is lying; the woman gets up wearily, removes the corpse from the bed and absent mindedly throws it out the window. She returns to the huge carven desk, takes a goldfish from the bowl and swallows it. Slowly the room begins to revolve and one by one the continents slide into the sea; only the woman is left, but her body is a mass of geography. I lean out the window and the Eiffle Tower is fizzing champagne; it is built entirely of numbers and shrouded in black lace. The sewers are gurg ~ Henry Miller

Get a new dress. One that shows a lot of skin. Short. Strapless. Maybe a push-up bra too." He actually had the audacity to do a quick assessment of my chest. "Eh, maybe not. But definitely some high heels. ~ Richelle Mead

The fields were rifle with clouds of Queen Anne's lace, which would make a billowy wreath. Her father had always said there people who saw Queen Anne's lace as a weed, and those who considered it a flower, and he belonged to the latter group.
If you think it's beautiful it is, he had told her. ~ Alice Hoffman

She laughed and unfastened her bra, unleashing her breasts like attack dogs ~ Nev Fountain

Angus, when you're done with the brick, I shall add some oiled rags. That will make it smoke even worse."
Angus turned an admiring glance at his partner in crime. "Miss,ye've a gift fer this,ye do."
She chuckled,the sound just as seductive, except for the hint of mockery. "I'm becoming as adept at this as the new owner is at shirking his duty."
"Now,miss,he might have a good reason not to rush here."
"Like what?"
"I don't know.Perhaps he won several houses at the card game and has been visitin' them all."
"It's far more likely he was waylaid by a lass with loose morals. From what I hear, the man's a lace-bedecked profligate."
Blast the woman and her rude assumptions! He may have stayed in Stirling to sample the charms of a widow, but that did not make a lace-bedecked profligate.What burned the most was that she was correct in her assumption about what had kept him away from his new acquisition. ~ Karen Hawkins

A permanent dull ache spread from my belly to my chest. I thought I could feel pinpricks of loneliness in the pads of my fingers, taste it in the back of my mouth. Clara Miller must have been lonely too, longing to be touched. One day as she sat before her metal tub filled to the rim with sweet corn, she reached behind her head and unpinned her silver hair. It tumbled down her back like creamy lace cloak. She hiked her skirts to her knees and I could see she had removed her stockings. Her legs were heavy and milk white, solid as columns. She hiked her skirts higher, until they bunched in her lap.

When I kissed the back of her neck she quivered, like the dying peasant I'd shot and killed a week before. Her silver hair smelled like smoke. Clara and I tangled together like the bale of wire resting beside the unrepaired chicken coop. We were shameless, falling to the ground, wading into the creek, making our way to her bed. ~ Susan Power

His eyes are ravenous but his body is still tense, and so I slip my bra strap off my shoulder and motion my finger at him. He takes a deep breath, slips off his silver cross necklace, and tosses it aside. Whatever is about to happen, it seems that he does not want God around to witness it. ~ Seth King

Miss Rudy, the former Harmony librarian, had single-handedly held off a siege of the town council bent on cutting her funds. She had locked the library doors and hid the only key in her bra, living on water from the toilet tank after the town had shut off water to the building to drive her out. She ate paste to keep up her strength. Oh, they had underestimated her. On the fourth day, the men of the council had capitulated, apologizing for cutting the funds, begging her to open the doors and come out. But she had stayed in the library an extra day, just to show them one could live on books, then marched out at noon on the fifth day, her head held high, and three pounds heavier. She had gained weight! When word got out, her picture made the cover of American Libraries magazine. Admiring letters poured in from librarians around the world – beaten down, beleaguered librarians who had drawn strength from her bravery. She answered each one in flowing, Palmer-method, handwritten script. ~ Philip Gulley

Gross. Feminists everywhere are outraged. If I were wearing a bra under this shirt, it'd be burning. ~ Lauren Michelle Smith

Henry's face grows pink, pinker than those ridiculous bras Mom recently left on my bed when she decided I needed something more feminine than a sports bra. ~ Miranda Kenneally

It won't happen anytime soon, don't worry," Berkeley says, amused. "We still have two albums left on our contract, and like I said before, the band's a big business - it supports a lot of people - we're not going anywhere."

"Well, that's a relief. You scared me. I was about to ask if you wouldn't mind autographing my bra so I'd have something to remember you by."

He takes his time responding, his eyes slowly looking me up and down. "But you're not wearing a bra," he finally points out. ~ Katie Delahanty

I believe the defining moment was when certain persons, who shall remain nameless, objected to my fuchsia silk striped waistcoat. I loved that waistcoat. I put my foot down, right then and there; I do not mind telling you!" To punctuate his deeply offended feelings, he stamped one silver-and-pearl-decorated high heel firmly. "No one tells me what I can and cannot wear!" He snapped up a lace fan from where it lay on a hall table and fanned himself vigorously with it for emphasis. ~ Gail Carriger

At the door of their room, Willow stood next to Rider while Decker unlocked the door. It was then she noticed the naughty red lace underwear hanging out of Rider's pocket.
Rider was startled when his wife's hand dove deeply into his pants pocket. But before he would ascertain her actions, the clerk opened the door and turned to hand him the key. For a split second the man's haughty mein slipped, then he handed them the key and hurried back down the stairs, his shoulders quaking with suppressed mirth.
"What was that all about?" Rider asked his red-faced wife.
She whipped the offensive item out of his pocket and dangled it before his eyes. "It was hanging out of your pocket and I was afraid he'd see it," she explained.
Rider swooped her into his arms. "Instead he got to see my anxious bride fondling me." He laughed.
Quickly over her embarrassment, she chuckled. "Maybe he was jealous."
"I know I would be," he replied huskily, and kicked the door shut behind them. ~ Charlotte McPherren

And for some reason I thought how potent a creation love is - that although sometimes it exists for just a brief, glorious moment in our lives, the ghost of its giving and taking often weaves such an intricate pattern opon our souls, as delicate as lace, as strong as steel. That its spirit is something far too powerful for us mere humans to understand. ~ Glenn Meade

It's not lace, is it? ~ Jodi Ellen Malpas

As a boy, in my own backyard I could catch a basket of blue crabs, a string of flounder, a dozen redfish, or a net full of white shrimp. All this I could do in a city enchanting enough to charm cobras out of baskets, one so corniced and filigreed and elaborate that it leaves strangers awed and natives self-satisfied. In its shadows you can find metal work as delicate as lace and spiral staircases as elaborate as yachts. In the secrecy of its gardens you can discover jasmine and camellias and hundreds of other plants that look embroidered and stolen from the Garden of Eden for the sheer love of richness and the joy of stealing from the gods. In its kitchens, the stoves are lit up in happiness as the lamb is marinating in red wine sauce, vinaigrette is prepared for the salad, crabmeat is anointed with sherry, custards are baked in the oven, and buttermilk biscuits cool on the counter. ~ Pat Conroy

Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: tomorrow, place the glass before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, without softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no displeasing irregularity; write under it, 'Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, poor, and plain.'

"Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory--you have one prepared in your drawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest, clearest tints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils; delineate carefully the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in your softest shades and sweetest lines, according to the description given by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram; remember the raven ringlets, the oriental eye;--What! you revert to Mr. Rochester as a model! Order! No snivel!--no sentiment!--no regret! I will endure only sense and resolution. Recall the august yet harmonious lineaments, the Grecian neck and bust; let the round and dazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace and glistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it 'Blanche, an accomplished lady of rank. ~ Charlotte Bronte

It's not objective. It's subjective." Katya hooks her bra behind her back. "It's just what you think, not the truth. ~ E. Lockhart

You asked me earlier what it was like to come home," I say.
Haley nods. I lace our fingers together and raise them into the air. "I couldn't answer you because I didn't know, but now I do. This-" I rock out hands "-I finally found home. ~ Katie McGarry