Oritz Skirt Quotes

Her character became a label based on what she wore
The girl in the mini skirt soon began to be called a whore ~ Manali Manan Desai

I could take you down on this sidewalk and be up that skirt of yours in a heartbeat. And you wouldn't fight me, would you? No, she probably wouldn't.
Wrath and Beth ~ J.R. Ward

Here came the waitress. She had on a mini-skirt, high heels, see-through blouse with padded brassiere. Everything was too small for her: her outfit, the world, her mind. Her face was hard as steel. When she smiled it hurt. It hurt her and it hurt me. She kept smiling. That smile was so false the hairs on my arms rose. I looked away. ~ Charles Bukowski

Today, she is standing at the top of a mountain and appreciating the majestic panoramic view of mesmerizing Himalaya. As a kid, she used to look up in the sky and wish for wings to fly up to the mountains. And now after a long wait of many years, she is standing here and living her dream. It's the moment when she can't believe her eyes because what she always dreamed of has come alive. She looks with amazement as if she's witnessing a miracle. It is the moment of her life. She just wants to feel it. There are beautiful clouds below her and there are snow clad mountain peaks emerging from those clouds. The white peaks shining in blue sky among white clouds look like glittering diamonds to her. The view of the large lush green meadow surrounded by mountains under blue sky with a rainbow circling the horizon has put her in a state of tranquility. As the sun starts drowning in the horizon, the sky begins to boast his mystical colours. The beautiful mix of pink, orange and red looks like creating a twilight saga. She opens her both arm and takes a deep breath to entwine with the nature. The glimmering rays of the moon are paying tribute to her by kissing her warm cheeks and her eyes twinkle in bright moon light. She raises her face towards the moon and senses the flood of memories which she wants to unleash. The cool breeze lifts her ruffled hair and blows her skirt up. She closes her eyes and breathes deep as if she wants to let her know that she is finally here and then she open ~ Ashish Bhardwaj

Alex was growing in prominence. I noticed him trending on Twitter from time to time, for telling his now millions of fans that U.S. scientists were covertly creating "man-fish hybrids," that atheists "worship Lucifer," and that the government puts secret chemicals in juice boxes to turn Americans gay: "After you're done drinking your little juices you're ready to put makeup on, wear a short skirt, put together a garden of roses or something." And ~ Jon Ronson

I prefer clothes that are simple, well-cut, but with one major extravagance. Something with the sleeves, with the skirt, but nothing too fussy, too flashy. ~ Carolina Herrera

I tugged at the hem of my brand-new Hecate Hall issue blue plaid skirt (Kilt? Some sort of bizarre skirt/kilt hybrid? A skilt?) ~ Rachel Hawkins

I cheated at school. I remember on one occasion I wrote some history dates in pen on my leg. So when there was a question like 'What year did that happen?', I'd lift my skirt up and have a look. ~ Delia Smith

choosing a gown of a dark blue-gray so soft that in the shadow it looked almost indigo. The line of the neck and the sweep of the skirt were both very flattering, and cut in the fashion of the moment. Deliberately she wore no jewelry, except very small diamond drop earrings. Her shining silver hair was ornament enough. ~ Anne Perry

Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and burst into tears. "It's been so long," she gasps, "since I've seen anything pretty. ~ Suzanne Collins

Crazy isn´t always what they say it is. It´s not always the old woman wearing sneakers and a skirt and a scarf, wandering around with a shopping cart, hollering at no one, nothing, tumbling through years in her head. No. Sometimes it is a girl wearing boots and jeans and a sweater, arms crossed in front of her, shivering, wandering through the streets at night, all night, murmuring to no one, nothing, tumbling through the strange unreal dimensions in her head. ~ Marya Hornbacher

Four.
That's the number of people who saw me hiding around the corner from my own apartment in just a skirt and a bra. Eleven.
That's the number of ant bites I got on my shoeless feet.
Twenty-seven.
That's the number of times I was tempted to do myself physical harm because I am an IDIOT.
One.
That's the number of times I tried not to cry, but failed. ~ Cora Carmack

All through June the writing course had stretched before me like a bright, safe bridge over the dull gulf of summer. Now I saw it totter and dissolve, and a body in a white blouse and green skirt plummet into the gap. ~ Sylvia Plath

Girls are important: Remember that very few stories are of great interest without the rustle of a skirt. ~ Jill Lepore

Cameron Diaz was so cute at the MTV Movie Awards when she pulled her skirt up and wiped her armpits. ~ Pink

Anwen uncrossed her arms, adjusted her skirt. She glanced from me to Watson. "If it's not an imposition," she said. "You can come too, Jamie. If you want."
At that, I pinched his leg.
"No!" he yelped. "No, go on. I, ah. Have a lecture."
"Are you sure?" I ask him, sniffling.
"I'm sure," he said, and reached out, very gently, to brush away a tear from my face. His dark eyes softened. He really was a better actor than I gave him credit for. "I'll see you later, pumpkin."
As I led Anwen out to the street, I texted from my bag:
Watson?
Yes, pumpkin?
New condition: you cease and desist all gourd-related nicknames.
Done. But pinch me again, and I'll start calling you pickle.
Do that, and I will find and them publish your diaries in a website with a vociferous comments section. Thought I was not a gourd, I was most definitely not a vinegar-soaked phallic object. ~ Brittany Cavallaro

Salome dipped an end of the blue shawl into the creek water, wrung it out, and walked back to Margaret. "Lift up yo' skirt. We ~ Francine Thomas Howard

He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the manor except to snap out directions, telling her which way to turn at a fork in the road, or ordering her to skirt a pothole. Even then she doubted if he would have minded much if she'd fallen into the pothole, except that it would have slowed them down. ~ Cassandra Clare

The most important thing I can tell you about aging is this: If you really feel that you want to have an off-the-shoulder blouse and some big beads and thong sandals and a dirndl skirt and a magnolia in your hair, do it. Even if you're wrinkled. ~ Maya Angelou

Logan took the kiss deeper. He thrust his tongue against hers, plunging into her mouth, just as he'd like to do to her body. All the while she ground her body into his. He fisted the fabric of her dress. In another moment, he'd be tempted to lift the skirt of that dress and take her, right there behind the bushes.
He broke the kiss and tried to regain his control and his breath. That was proving difficult with his hands still on her hips, pressing her close, but he wasn't ready to give up all of their contact quite yet. His gaze met hers. "I should apologize for that."
"Kiss me again and I'll consider forgiving you. ~ Cat Johnson

He caught her wrist and pulled her until she was straddling him. His hand smoothed down the outside of her right thigh. Thank you for wearing a skirt tonight. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. ~ Cherrie Lynn

In the Deep South, God is a cotton king,
Trussed up in plantation whites and powdered over smooth
with a little bit of talcum from Momma's compact.
He's the Georgia dust that gets on everything, in everything,
Caking the soles of bare feet
sifting through cracks in church pews,
and catching in your lover's eyelashes.

In the Deep South, the Devil is a beautiful boy
who swears and cheats at billiards on Sunday.
He is the one who reaches up your skirt,
pulls out the prayers your were saving for someday
and lights them on fire with his tongue.
He will sing hymns while feasting on your forfeit heart,
call you blessed while peeling away dignity like stockings,
then drag you out in front of the church to be stoned.

In the Deep South, the Holy Spirit is an old woman
with hands brown and gnarled as the nuts she boils
and a voice soft and dark as the Appalachian sky.
She is the swamp kingdom matriarch children are sent to
when sins need to be wished away like warts,
the presence of whom straightens the spines of wayward souls
and coaxes a "Yes Ma'am" from the devil's own.

In the Deep South, Jesus is a mixed-race child
with drops of destiny mingled into his blood
and the names of the saints tattooed along his spine.
He has his mother's bearing, one that wears suffering nobly,
and baleful eyes that speak of the sins of his forefathers.
S.T. Gibson

She extends a fingertip. After a moment's hesitation, Manfred extends a fingertip of his own. They touch, exchanging vCards and instant-messaging handles. She stands and stalks from the breakfast room, and Manfred's breath catches at a flash of ankle through the slit in her skirt, which is long enough to comply with workplace sexual harassment codes back home. Her presence conjures up memories of her tethered passion, the red afterglow of a sound thrashing. She's trying to drag him into her orbit again, he thinks dizzily. She knows she can have this effect on him any time she wants: She's got the private keys to his hypothalamus, and sod the metacortex. Three billion years of reproductive determinism have given her twenty-first-century ideology teeth: If she's finally decided to conscript his gametes into the war against impending population crash, he'll find it hard to fight back. The only question: Is it business or pleasure? And does it make any difference, anyway? ~ Charles Stross

The goal of feminist spirituality has never been the simple substitution of Yahweh-with-a-skirt. Rather, it seeks, in all its diversity, to revitalize relational, body-honoring, cosmologically grounded spiritual possibilities for women and all others. ~ Charlene Spretnak

I fucking love Scooby-Doo. That Velma girl - she has it going on. That tight sweater, short skirt, and knee socks? You can't tell me she got dressed in the dark. Some folks, they got it out for Daphne. But you know to look at her - she's one of those girls that talks it up all day, but when it comes down to lights-out she just lies there and acts like she's doing you a favor. Velma? You know she takes off those glasses and she gets to work. ~ Robert Brockway

Brendon's big hands slid under her skirt and took hold of the plain white cotton panties she had to dig through her entire suitcase to find. ~ Shelly Laurenston

But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived? ~ Aimee Bender

In America: each year the day before school after summer vacation I sat on my bed touching my notebooks, pencils, ruler-holding the stern and sweet smelling brown oxfords in my lap and spreading my skirt and blouse and underwear and socks before me. My mother would come in and always say the same thing: "Free paper burn now."
Such words conspire to make a past.
Such words conjure a knowledge.
Such words make assimilation impossible. They stay with you for years. They puzzle but you sense a significance. I need these words. ~ Michelle Cliff

What anguish! Cincinnatus, what anguish! What stone anguish, Cincinnatus - the merciless bong of the clock, and the obese spider, and the yellow walls, and the roughness of the black wool blanket. The skim on the chocolate. Pluck it with two fingers at the very center and snatch it whole from the surface, no longer a flat covering, but a wrinkled brown little skirt. The liquid is tepid underneath, sweetish and stagnant. Three slices of toast with tortoise shell burns. A round pat of butter embossed with the monogram of the director. What anguish, Cincinnatus, how many crumbs in the bed! ~ Vladimir Nabokov

I wear dresses most of the time.
If I wore a skirt or pants my panties would show because of all the people pulling at my hem wanting something from me. ~ Karen E. Quinones Miller

Zoe had dressed up for their meeting with Dr. Marriott in a long Indian skirt stitched with beads and tiny mirrors, a T-shirt embossed with CAT WOMAN STRIKES AGAIN! and a short-sleeved pink hoodie. To top it off, she wore a bracelet made from typewriter keys. She was sure Dr. Marriott would love it, seeing as typewriters were right up his alley. ~ Christine Brodien-Jones