Maroon 5 Quotes

I've got the moves like Jagger. ~ Adam Levine

Some of my favorite artists are Jason Mraz, Eric Hutchinson, Ben Folds, Bruno Mars, Mumford and Sons, Maroon 5 - their vibe is slightly different from all the pop stuff on 'Glee,' although some do fall into that genre. ~ Grant Gustin

Maroon 5 are worldwide stars. ~ Blake Shelton

Not what I didn't feel it's what I didn't show ~ Maroon 5

I know its hard to remember, the people we used to be, its even harder to picture ... ~ Maroon 5

You turned your back on tomorrow, 'Cause you forgot yesterday. I gave you my love to borrow, but you just gave it away ~ Maroon 5

I can't tell you what genre Maroon 5 is in. I don't know if they're rock or pop or alternative. I don't know what they are. I have a hard time separating that stuff. I just know what I like when I hear it. ~ Blake Shelton

I really do like Bruno Mars. I think he's very good. And I love Maroon 5. ~ Bridgit Mendler

If I could tour with anyone, I'd go with either Maroon 5, or Dave Matthews. No lets go with Sting, he will be my all time favorite ... wait no I want to go on tour with the Police. ~ Ryan Cabrera

Even the sun sets in Paradise ~ Maroon 5

The man who never lied, never lied until today ~ Maroon 5

At any Maroon 5 concert, you'll see a room backstage marked 'yoga.' ~ Adam Levine

Indie; I think the ten-minute song is going to be really good.

Jenna: I hope you didn't tell him that.

Indie: No, I told him it's unmarketable.

Hudson: And what did he say?

Indie: He said I sounded like a Suit., specifically like Jenna Holden, and that Jenna Holden was hired to get him Balmain deals and negotiate fat deals with record labels, not produce his next album. He also said he'd once caught you nodding your head at a Maroon 5 song, and the fact that you're not dead to him after that is a miracle in itself, so you should not push your luck. Again, his words, not mine.>/b> ~ L.J. Shen

I Don't mind spending everyday Out on your corner in the pouring rain. Look for the one with the broken smile ask them if they want to stay awhile. ~ Maroon 5

I really love hip hop. My cousin Nas came out with an album 'Life Is Good,' and I love that album, but I also love Maroon 5. ~ Yara Shahidi

People see you on TV every day, they start knowing your name. You know, I was always just the guy from Maroon 5 until I became myself. ~ Adam Levine

I turned on the radio and scrolled through the stations until I found a new song by Maroon Five that I really liked. Susan reached over, turned it up louder, and began singing with Adam Levine. "He's so hot," she said, as the song ended. "I need to buy one of his CDs." "Yeah, I love his voice. ~ Kristen Middleton

Henry: How does it feel? How does it feel?

Sometimes it feels as though your attention has wandered for just an instant. Then, with a start, you realize that the book you were holding, the red plaid cotton shirt with white buttons, the favorite black jeans and the maroon socks with an almost-hole in one heel, the living room, the about-to-whistle tea kettle in the kitchen: all of these have vanished. You are standing, naked as a jaybird, up to your ankles in ice water in a ditch along an unidentified rural route. You wait a minute to see if maybe you will just snap right back to your book, your apartment, et cetera. After about five minutes of swearing and shivering and hoping to hell you can just disappear, you start walking in any direction, which will eventually yield a farmhouse, where you have the option of stealing or explaining. Stealing will sometimes land you in jail, but explaining is more tedious and time consuming and involves lying anyway, and also sometimes results in being hauled off to jail, so what the hell. ~ Audrey Niffenegger

All the Blackwood women had taken the food that came from the ground and preserved it, and the deeply colored rows of jellies and pickles and bottled vegetables and fruit, maroon and amber and dark rich green, stood side by side in our cellar and would stand there forever, a poem by the Blackwood women. ~ Shirley Jackson

Isaiah opens my car door and his warm silver eyes smile at me. "Hey."
I sweep my bangs from my eyes. "Hi."
He offers his hand and I accept. His fingers wrap around mine and heat surges up my arm, flushes my neck and settles into a blush on my face. He tugs gently and I slip out. I'm not sure if my body vibrates from the rumbling of the garage door closing or from the blood pounding in my veins.
Our fingers lace together, and his other hand smoothly cups my hip. I suck in a breath, surprised that someone touches me so easily and with such care.
"You look nice," he says.
"I'm in my school uniform." White button-down blouse, maroon-and-black plaid skirt, and a pair of white Keds. Nothing spectacular.
"I know." The seductive slide in his voice causes the back of my neck to tickle. ~ Katie McGarry

The key of D is daffodil yellow, B major is maroon, and B flat is blue. ~ Marian McPartland

If we don't get a good day's work out of you, we'll maroon you.
He ignored Barnaby's raised eyebrow. They'd never marooned anybody before, even the English nobles they hated, but Gideon meant to put the fear of God into the man. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I see women and children starving to death, homes destroyed and buried in rubble, the countryside a burnt landscape, its only fruit the rotting flesh of casualties. I see dead dead dead red and burgundy and maroon and the richest shade of your mother's favorite lipstick all smeared into the earth. ~ Tahereh Mafi

My eyes close in a subconscious effort to block out the bad memories, but the effort backfires. Protests. Rallies. Screams for survival. I see women and children starving to death, homes destroyed and buried in rubble, the countryside a burnt landscape, its only fruit the rotting flesh of casualties. I see dead dead dead red and burgundy and maroon and the richest shade of your mother's favorite lipstick all smeared into the earth. So much everything all the things dead. ~ Tahereh Mafi

The ocean to my right was maroon, the sky above it silver. There were sand trails through the thick purple ice plant that grew along the roadside ... but now the sky is the color of peaches ...
It was a ball of bright saffron sinking into the sea, turning the water purple, the sky orange and green. ~ Andre Dubus III

As we strolled into the hospital, I couldn't help thinking about Maroon 5's "Harder to Breathe" because I was having a difficult time staying calm. I had been kidnapped and beaten senseless by an agent of Lucifer, and yet the white coats the doctors wore scared me just as badly. The men who had taken me from my mother wore those same damned lab coats. Every time I saw one, it awakened a dormant fear inside me - fear that I'd be dragged away from someone I loved again, fear that I'd be placed into the waiting hands of another horrible person. It would never truly go away.
Michael's shoulder bumped mine, which shook me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him. "What?"
"You're frowning."
"Am I supposed to be smiling right now?"
He faced forward, looking at our reflection in the elevator doors. "No, but you look like you're about to bolt at any second."
I watched the digital numbers change one by one as we rose up to the right floor, fiddling with the rosary in the pocket of my leather jacket. Somehow, the beads had a calming effect on me. "I'm fine."
"Hard ass."
A tiny smirk touched my lips. "Stop thinking about my butt. You're an archangel."
He grinned, but didn't reply. ~ Kyoko M.

I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, ignoring the bite of the frosty air on my bare skin. I launched myself in the direction of the door, fumbling around until I found it. I tried shaking the handle, jiggling it, still thinking, hoping, praying that this was some big birthday surprise, and that by the time I got back inside, there would be a plate of pancakes at the table and Dad would bring in the presents, and we could - we could - we could pretend like the night before had never happened, even with the evidence in the next room over.
The door was locked.
"I'm sorry!" I was screaming. Pounding my fists against it. "Mommy, I'm sorry! Please!"
Dad appeared a moment later, his stocky shape outlined by the light from inside of the house. I saw Mom's bright-red face over his shoulder; he turned to wave her off and then reached over to flip on the overhead lights.
"Dad!" I said, throwing my arms around his waist. He let me keep them there, but all I got in return was a light pat on the back.
"You're safe," he told me, in his usual soft, rumbling voice.
"Dad - there's something wrong with her," I was babbling. The tears were burning my cheeks. "I didn't mean to be bad! You have to fix her, okay? She's…she's…"
"I know, I believe you."
At that, he carefully peeled my arms off his uniform and guided me down, so we were sitting on the step, facing Mom's maroon sedan. He was fumbling in his pockets for something, listening to me as I told ~ Alexandra Bracken

a little redheaded girl in a maroon cape emerges from a doorway, maybe six or seven years old, small for her age, with big clear eyes that remind him of Jutta's. She runs across the street to the park and plays there alone, beneath the budding trees, while her mother stands on the corner and bites the tips of her fingers. The girl climbs into the swing and pendulums back and forth, pumping her legs, and watching her opens some valve in Werner's soul. This is life, he thinks, this is why we live, to play like this on a day when winter is finally releasing its grip. He waits for Neumann Two to come around the truck and say something crass, to spoil it, but he doesn't, and neither does Bernd, maybe they don't see her at all, maybe this one pure thing will escape their defilement, and the girl sings as she swings, a high song that Werner recognizes, a counting song that girls jumping rope in the alley behind Children's House used to sing, Eins, zwei, Polizei, drei, vier, Offizier, and how he would like to join her, push her higher and higher, sing fünf, sechs, alte Hex, sieben, acht, gute Nacht! ~ Anthony Doerr

In North Carolina, I stopped to gas up at a Humble Oil station, then walked around the corner to use the toilet. There were two doors and three signs. MEN was neatly stenciled over one door, LADIES over the other. The third sign was an arrow on a stick. It pointed toward the brush-covered slope behind the station. It said COLORED. Curious, I walked down the path, being careful to sidle at a couple of points where the oily, green-shading-to-maroon leaves of poison ivy were unmistakable ... There was no facility. What I found at the end of the path was a narrow stream with a board laid across it on a couple of crumbling concrete posts ... If I ever give you the idea that 1958's all Andy-n-Opie, remember the path, okay? The one lined with poison ivy. And the board over the stream. ~ Stephen King

I think," Berta remarked with a proud little smile when she was seated alone in the drawing room beside Elizabeth, "he's having second thoughts about proposing, milday."
"I think he was silently contemplating the easiest way to murder me at dinner," Elizabeth said, chuckling. She was about to say more when the butler interrupted them to announce that Lord Marchman wished to have a private word with Lady Cameron in his study.
Elizabeth prepared for another battle of wits-or witlessness, she thought with an inner smile-and dutifully followed the butler down a dark hall furnished in brown and into a very large study where the earl was seated in a maroon chair at a desk on her right.
"You wished to see-" she began as she stepped into his study, but something on the wall beside her brushed against her hair. Elizabeth turned her head, expecting to see a portrait hanging there, and instead found herself eye-to-fang with an enormous bear's head. The little scream that tore from her was very real this time, although it owed to shock, not to fear.
"It's quite dead," the earl said in a voice of weary resignation, watching her back away from his most prized hunting trophy with her hand over her mouth.
Elizabeth recovered instantly, her gaze sweeping over the wall of hunting trophies, then she turned around.
"You may take your hand away from your mouth," he stated. Elizabeth fixed him with another accusing glare, biting her lip to hide her smile. She would ha ~ Judith McNaught

My mom believed that you make your own luck. Over the stove she had hung these old, maroon painted letters that spell out, "MANIFEST." The idea being if you thought and dreamed about the way you wanted your life to be
if you just envisioned it long enough, it would come into being.
But as hard as I had manifested Astrid Heyman with her hand in mine, her blue eyes gazing into mine, her lips whispering something wild and funny and outrageous in my ear, she had remained totally unaware of my existence. Truly, to even dream of dreaming about Astrid, for a guy like me, in my relatively low position on the social ladder of Cheyenne Mountain High, was idiotic. And with her a senior and me a junior? Forget it.
Astrid was just lit up with beauty: shining blonde ringlets, June sky blue eyes, slightly furrowed brow, always biting back a smile, champion diver on the swim team. Olympic level.
Hell, Astrid was Olympic level in every possible way. ~ Emmy Laybourne

The liver, that great maroon snail: No wave of emotion sweeps it. Neither music nor mathematics gives it pause in its appointed tasks. ~ Richard Selzer

And I thought: What am I doing here? What am I doing here? What am I? I wanted to feel like a pretty girl, even out in Colorado with no one who knew me. To be beautiful. To live beautifully. I drew on maroon Make Me Blush lipstick. ~ Aspen Matis

The river was glossy, narrow, and quick, a beautiful green color, with the white and maroon striped college punts strung along the near bank ... The sun, westering, heavy, and hazy, was in those great final throes of energy before the sky whitens and clears, and evening comes. I stood and watched it. That immense body, dying trillions of feet away from me, still warming my face with its steady insensate chemistries. ~ Charles Finch

Her friends' lips were red, their teeth white, and their tongues and gums were pink. Pink, too, were the tips of their breasts. Their eyes were aquamarine blue, cherry-black, hazel and maroon. ~ Italo Calvino

A dingy emblem on the door depicted a little boy peeing into a pot. The rest of the bar was equally drab and tasteless. Dim bulbs behind red-tasseled lamp shades barely illuminated each of a dozen maroon vinyl booths, which marched along one wall toward the murky front windows. Chipped Formica tables anchored the booths in place. Opposite the row of booths was a long, scarred wooden bar with uncomfortable-looking stools. Behind the bar, sitting on glass shelves in front of a cloudy mirror, were endless rows of bottles, each looking as forlorn as the folks for whom they waited.
He caught the strong odors of liquor and tobacco smoke, and the weaker scents of cleaning chemicals and vomit. In one of the booths , two heads bobbed with the movement of mug-clenching fists. A scrawny bartender with droopy eyelids picked his teeth with a swizzle stick and chatted quietly with a woman seated at the bar. Otherwise the bar was empty. ~ Robert Liparulo

... the result is a coffee shop on every block, and a four-figure annual tab for a serious enthusiast. The shop across the light from the pay phone was representative. It had maroon paint and exposed brick and scarred wood, and a chalkboard menu about ninety percent full of things that don't really belong in coffee, like dairy products of various types and temperatures, and weird nut-based flavorings, and many other assorted pollutants. ~ Lee Child

A dinner party is the oldest experiment. Trap a bunch of souls in a room. Faces move like painted moons, rising and setting, as talk blows in from the east. The thunk and freckles of a hand slammed down on the table in laughter, the noise of a long night unscrolled like a map. Madeira and Roquefort. Paper towels for napkins. The maroon wall telephone rings: next round of folks on their way! ~ Jardine Libaire

I still remember the winter sky that evening. Whenever I worked in my sea garden and I saw a sunset like that, I'd think back to Bantham Beach. It was as if the sun had been torn open. Everything was scarlet. The clouds were flames, so wild and vibrant that blue didn't look like a color anymore. The sea and land served as a mirror. The ribbed sand was on fire. So were the stones and maroon rock pools. The pink crests of the waves. The burning hump of Burgh Island. ~ Rachel Joyce

If someone told you they loved you and they would never leave you trust them that way if they do leave you, you have all right to get a knife and kill them at night. :) ~ Autumn Maroon

Due to some mental hiccup I can't explain, when I think of God, I picture Hugh Hefner: a thin, angular man with a prominent chin in a maroon smoking jacket. ~ Jonathan Tropper

When he pursed his lips and dropped a hand into his coat pocket, the last thing Nur expected him to pull out was a cricket ball. "I'd hoped for a disruptor at least," she muttered reprovingly.

The Doctor slipped three fingers around the ball and hefted it experimentally. "I thought we'd try something a little less excessive."

He breathed gently on to the maroon leather and polished it on his leg as the Sontaran finally tossed the Kshatriya aside and stopped to pick up its fallen weapon. He stepped around the corner, sighting along his free arm as the Sontaran straightened, its back fully turned. The cricket ball flashed down the length of the corridor in the blink of an eye, punching into the back of the Sontaran's collar and ricocheting away. To Nur's astonishment, the alien spasmed and crashed to the floor like a falling tree. "Out for a duck," the Doctor commented, blowing across his fingertips.

"I've never seen anything killed by a cricket ball before."

"You haven't yet. He'll wake up in a few minutes. ~ David A. McIntee

Silted-up residues of the years smouldered uninterruptedly - and not without melancholy - in the maroon brickwork of these medieval closes: beyond the cobbles and archways of which (in a more northerly direction) memory also brooded, no less enigmatic and inconsolable, among water-meadows and avenues of trees: the sombre demands of the past becoming at times almost suffocating in their insistence. ~ Anthony Powell

Not so very long ago, however, such self-governing peoples were the majority of humankind. Today, they are seen from the valley kingdoms as "our living ancestors," "what we were like before we discovered wet-rice cultivation, Buddhism and civilization." on the contrary, I argue that hill peoples are best understood as runaway, fugitive, maroon communities who have, over the course of two millennia, been fleeing the oppressions of state-making projects in the valleys - slavery, conscription, taxes, corvée labor, epidemics, and warfare. ~ James C. Scott

Let us help."
"You already did." My voice didn't betray anything. "Both of you helped plan this. You lent me this
car. Aubrey put up the funds."
He raised his brow. "Lending you this car doesn't count as helping. It was more like public service.
If you drove your car, the noise would wake up all of Haverleau."
"It's not that bad - "
"Yeah, if you want to be as obvious as a rhinoceros."
I gave a pointed look at his lime-green coat and bright maroon sweater.
Talk about burning my retinas. "Pot calling kettle."
He glanced at himself. "It's seasonal. I look Christmasy. ~ Emma Raveling

These books you're reading . . . I question your taste, Miss Twill."

She straightened the collar of his maroon coat. "I'll read what I please, Mr. Thane."

"I have a suggestion," he said with a wry smile, stepping away and glancing back at the sunset, which had already grown ruddier. "I have a dissertation on eighteenth-century Folding basics on interlibrary loan. It's wonderfully dry and has all its nouns capitalized. I think you'll enjoy it."

Ceony frowned. "You want me to study primitive Folding techniques?"

"Only subprimitive," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "It never hurts to go back to basics, even if you think you know them."

"I do know them."

"Are you sure?"

Ceony paused. "Is this a hint for my test? ~ Charlie N. Holmberg

Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Wheezy - "
"Find my what?"
" - and take his Wheezy back from the merpeople!"
"What's a Wheezy?"
"Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy - Wheezy who is giving Dobby his jumper!"
Bobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts.
"What?" Harry gasped. "They've got... they've got Ron?"
"The thing Harry Potter will miss the most, sir!" squeaked Dobby. ~ J.K. Rowling

Soon the maroon-throated howls would echo back from the other trees, father down the beach, until the whole jungle filled with roaring trees. As it was in the beginning, so it is every morning of the world. ~ Barbara Kingsolver

The river Guadalquivir
Flows between oranges and olives
The two rivers of Granada
Descend from the snow to the wheat

Oh my love!
Who went and never returned

The river Guadalquivir
Has beards of maroon
The two rivers of Granada
One a cry the other blood

Oh my love!
Who vanished into thin air ~ Federico Garcia Lorca

She could see all of Ferenwood from here: the rolling hills, the endless explosion of color cascading down and across the lush landscape. Reds and blues: Maroon and ceruleans. Yellow and tangerine and violet and aquamarine. Every hue held a flavor, a heartbeat, a life. She took a deep breath and drew it all in. ~ Tahereh Mafi

They veer off the main highway onto a private road that travels away from the ocean. A thin row of tall bamboo lines both sides of the narrow roadway that continues 150 feet before dead-ending at a lavish, single-story, traditional Japanese-style home. The entire property is surrounded by an eight-foot-high maroon wooden fence with three separate entrance gates, one in the front, next to the house, and two others in opposite corners of the triangular-shaped backyard. ~ Joseph E. Henning