Peshmerga Shirt Quotes

Tacky T-shirts that said things like "My crazy Grandma traveled to India and all I got was this lousy T-shirt." They ~ Chris Colfer

There's a dream I keep having," Sheridan whispered into the telephone. "The dream has always been the same - until tonight."

"And what happened tonight?" asked Lil' John.

Sheridan hesitated, his words stumbling out in tentative phrases: "The man in my dream . . . he spoke to me for the first time . . . he told me of a sacred gift that had been lost . . . a gift that could save the world."

"Your dream," John urged gently. "Is the gods conspiring to give you freedom, just like the elders sang that night in the Sundance ceremony:"
When worlds collide
There sounds a tolling
A call to rise
And seize the moment
The gods conspire
To give us freedom
When worlds collide
The journey has begun
Sheridan pulled at the collar of his t-shirt, Lil' John's words suffocating him. Pushing back from the precipice of dread, Sheridan strained to speak, his husky words weak and staggering: "What are you saying?"

"Your search for the sacred gift has already begun . . . ~ Phillip R. White

Snub end of a dismal year,
deep in the dwarf orchard,
The sky with its undercoat of blackwash and point stars,
I stand in the dark and answer to
My life, this shirt I want to take off,
which is on fire ... ~ Charles Wright

The kiss was everything she hadn't dared let herself think about. Slow. Hot. Hungry. His lips molded to hers, drinking up her small, breathless exhale before his tongue skimmed across hers. Bree reached out and gripped his shirt, tugging him until he was flush against her. The man knew how to kiss, and she felt her mind emptying of everything but how incredible his mouth felt working deeper into hers. Every nip, every silky stroke of his tongue, every breath dragged between their mouths made her hold on tighter. The second he stopped, the real world would slide back into place, and more than anything, she wanted this. Wanted Finn with an unexpected yearning that burrowed deeper with each second he continued to kiss her. He cupped the nape of her neck, tipping her head back as he deepened the kiss. She whimpered, catching his bottom lip between hers. His thumb trailed along her jawline, and she shuddered in its wake, wanting his mouth there. Wanting ~ Sydney Somers

He invited me to keep my drum in his trunk," I explained as we reached him. Considering our new title, I thought it might help to remind him that this storage operation had been his idea, not mine.
"Oh," Will said, turning around with the fresh T-shirt in his hands. Glancing at Kaye and then back at me, he said, "You can't anymore, because of the flirting thing."
"Wait a minute." I didn't mean to raise my voice, especially not with Kaye standing there. But I felt baited and switched, so I lashed out. "I can understand why we shouldn't flirt anymore because of the title, but not why I can't leave my drum in your car. This is how it ends, after all our time together? What about the mortgage? What about the kids? ~ Jennifer Echols

A thread from everyone, and the naked will have a shirt." There is no beggar but has his thread of cotton, and he will not grudge it to a naked man - no, nor even to a fully dressed one; but will bestow it on the first comer. The poor, who want to forget their poverty, are very ready with their threads. Moreover, they prefer to give them to the rich, rather than to a fellow-tramp. To load the rich with benefits, must not one be very rich indeed? That is why fame is so easily got. ~ Lev Shestov

Torn clothing littered the ground, more hung from bushes. Nick held up half a pair of white panties and grinned at me.
"Wild dogs? Or just Clayton?"
"Oh God," I muttered under my breath.
I walked over to snatch the underwear from him, but he held it over his head, grinning like a schoolboy.
"I see Paris, I see France, I see Elena's underpants," he chanted.
"Everyone's already seen much more than that," Jeremy said. "I think we can safely resume the search."
Peter plucked Clay's shirt from a low-hanging branch and held it up, peering through a hole in the middle. "You guys can really do some damage. Where's the hidden video when you need it?"
"So this
uh
wasn't done by wild dogs?" one of the searchers said.
Peter grinned and tossed the shirt to the ground. "Nope. Just wild hormones. ~ Kelley Armstrong

The Frenchman invented the ruffle; the Englishman added the shirt. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

As long as I am winning, people shouldn't care whether my skirt is six inches long or six feet long. How I dress is a very personal thing. It is scary that every time I wear a T-shirt, it becomes a talking point for the next three days. ~ Sania Mirza

I get it – you want to see me without my shirt on. You know what? Let me give you a sneak peek. It's awesome, by the way. You might want to close one eye to reduce the effect. ~ Erin Watt

Cupping her face, I reclaim her lips and gently guide her body next to mine on the bed. Rachel's tank rides up and my fingers explore the satin skin of her belly. There are so many places I long to go, so many places I crave to take her.
"I want to go further," she whispers. When I skim the waistband of her pants, her breathing hitches.
Further. Damn, my entire body responds. I don't miss the way her hand fidgets with the hem of her shirt. Scared I'll spook her, I don't push her too far, but I'm all for reading body language. I place my hand over hers and her smile appears.
"You sure?" I ask. I kiss each and every centimeter of her exposed skin as I move up her tank. I linger over the material of her bra and Rachel fists the sheet with both hands. She's so damn hot I'm about to forget slow and go for fast.
But I ignore those urges and guide the material up and over her head. I don't know what the hell I did to have such a beautiful creature in my bed, but she's here and I'm going to spend tonight worshipping this gift in front of me. ~ Katie McGarry

I went to bed wearing my oldest, most faded flannel shirt, the bra that had looked all right in the catalog but was obviously an escapee from a downmarket nursing home when it arrived, white cotton panties that had had pansies on them about seven hundred washings ago and were now a kind of mottled gray, and the jeans I usually wore for housecleaning or raking Yolande's garden because they were too shabby for work even if I never came out of the bakery. Food inspector arrest-on-sight jeans. Oh, and fuzzy green plaid socks. It was a cool night for summer. Relatively. I lay down on top of the bedspread. And slept through till the alarm at three-forty-five. He hadn't come. T ~ Robin McKinley

Leaning over me with his chest bare, he pressed his wadded-up t-shirt to my ear. It was his Poser t-shirt that he wore to school at least twice a week,and he was willingly staunching my blood with it.He must be in love. ~ Jennifer Echols

If you're looking for good Mexican food in Vegas, you go to the Arts District. Jonesing for stupidly overpriced jeans or a rhine- stone T-shirt? The Fashion Show Mall has you covered. How about some quiet contemplation over that lost trust fund? Lake Mead's your man. Maybe getting stabbed, shot, or beaten to death is your thing, so head on up to North Vegas. But, if you're looking for a snapshot of city history, a reasonably affordable libation, and the rare sensation of getting squeezed through a kaleidoscope's poop chute, then you can't beat Fremont. ~ Daniel Younger

Standing, Rider lifted his arms and stretched. His shirt rode up, baring a sliver of his stomach. My gaze dropped and focused in. His lower stomach was unbelievably taut. Defined.
Nice.
Very nice.
Cheeks flushing, I looked away and caught Hector's knowing gaze. Crap. I needed to be better about checking out guys. Like incognito style. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

There's a young man in a T-shirt listening to a rock and roll station. He's got greasy hair, greasy smile, he says, Lord this must be my destination. ~ John Mellencamp

What first comes across our minds
About the stocky Mexican

Pushing a mower across the lawn
At 7 a.m. on a Saturday

As the roar of the cutter wakes us?
Let me take a guess.

Why do they have to come so damn early?
What do we make of his flannel

Shirt missing buttons at the cuffs,
Threadbare at the shoulders,

The grass stains around his knees,
The dirt like roadmaps to nowhere,

Between the wrinkles of his neck?
Let me take a shot. Dirty Mexican.

Would his appearance lead us to believe
He is a border jumper or wetback

Who hits the bar top with an empty shot glass
For the twelfth time then goes home

To kick his wife around like fallen grapefruit
Lying on the ground?

First, the stocky Mexican isn't mowing the lawn
At 7 a.m. on a Saturday.

He doesn't work weekends anymore ever since
He lost one-third of his route

To laborers willing to work for next to nothing.
Second, he knows better than to kneel

On the wet grass because, well, the knees
Of his pants will become grass-stained

And pants don't grow on trees, even here,
Close to Palm Springs.

Instead, after 25 years of the same blue collar work,
Two sons out and one going to college,

Rather than jail, and a small but modest savings
In case he loses the remaining two-thirds
John Olivares Espinoza

Ladies love a man with shirt off, so my shirt stays off ~ Soulja Boy

She wears a shirt that fits tight to her tits and reads: I never received my acceptance letter from Hogwarts, so I'm leaving the Shire to become a Jedi! ~ Alexa Riley

Remy looked down at the blood disinterestedly and clucked his tongue. "Maudit! I just stole this shirt," he murmured as he pulled at the sleeve and examined the growing stain. "Stitches must have come out. ~ Abigail Roux

If your shirt isn't tucked into your pants, then your pants are tucked into your shirt. ~ Nick Offerman

Savannah's fear was being pushed aside by the heated tenderness of Gregori's mouth, by the gentleness in his caressing hands. He carelessly shoved the sheet down, exposing her bare breasts to his hungry gaze. Hot. He was so hot. Savannah could not stand the feel of the thin sheet of her heated hips, twisting around her legs. Her hands were tangled in Gregori's thick hair, crushing it in her fingers like so much silk.His shirt was open to his tapered waist, his hard muscles pressing against her soft breasts. The rough,dark hair on his chest rasped erotically over nipples.
A wave of heat heralded a storm of fire, through him, through her. Savannah's hands, of their own accord, pushed his shirt from his wide shoulders. She watched with enormous eyes as he slowly shrugged out of it, his silver gaze holding her blue one captive. She was drowning in those pale, mesmerizing eyes. Eyes filled with such intensity, with so much hunger for one woman. Her. Only her. ~ Christine Feehan

Like most of the others, she'd been wearing the same clothing for a week - in her case, a long-sleeved wool shirt and sturdy green trousers with numerous pockets - but, unlike the others, her garb appeared clean and freshly ironed. Even Maldynado rarely looked so crisp - apparently his love of fashion didn't extend to a love of doing laundry. ~ Lindsay Buroker

He seems like a good guy, but we need to focus on finding Nia's killer, and then finish the theater. We don't have time for distractions. No men."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Mel rolled her eyes.
"Inspiration before intercourse."
Callie chuckled. "I should put that on a T-shirt. ~ Lisa Kessler

I kissed him, let him kiss me, let him clutch my hips, curl his fingers into
the fabric of my shirt, slide his hands around my waist and splay them
against my back, pull me infinitesimally closer. He made a sound, a growl or
purr, some predatory noise that rumbled in his throat, then said my name. And
this time, it wasn't a question but a sound of victory, a claim on his prize. ~ Chloe Neill

Now they show you how detergents take out bloodstains, a pretty violent image there. I think if you've got a T-shirt with a bloodstain all over it, maybe laundry isn't your biggest problem. Maybe you should get rid of the body before you do the wash. ~ Jerry Seinfeld

Rachel returned to the circle of his arms and thought she might possibly combust. Even the summer night breeze that moved the silk against her torso couldn't cool her. Braced against her car in the moonlight with his shirt fully open this time, Hawke posed as her own personal Adonis, poised for her touch. ~ Mia Dymond

His warm fingers slid along my cheek, then wrapped into my hair. He leaned down to rest his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. "The ribbon. I lied."
"What? We aren't engaged?" I asked, smiling shakily, curling my fingers into his shirt. "I have to show up to family dinners as your weird second cousin?"
He opened his eyes and looked into mine. "It doesn't mean family. Not like that. Not to me."
And his emotional connection opened cleanly, without the muddle he usually hid his true feelings within. And it was love, clear and without artifice, shining there.
I stared at him, breath caught in my chest. "You - "
His emotions were wrapping around me, free and clear and relieved. Like honey and copper - sweet, tangy, and charged - gentle, consuming, warm, passionate, and resolute. "No tricks. No games. No expectations. No lies - not to you, not ever again."
Stunned, I watched him pull away.
He looked at peace for the first time in weeks. Months. Then he looked down at our connection threads and I wondered what on earth he'd see.
He looked up, and a smile, brilliant and all-consuming split his face. He backed up slowly. "Interesting. See you soon, darling." He winked, turned, and flipped over the edge of the seal and through the vortex. ~ Anne Zoelle

I tried to get my hands beneath his shirt, but because of the way we were sitting, I couldn't find the hem. Instead, the back of my hand brushed across the undeniable hardness between his legs. The accidental contact made his entire body jerk and go rigid as a groan ripped from his mouth.
"Fuck, Katie."
"I-I'm sorry," I said, my voice low and shaky.
He pulled back, staring down at me with passion in his eyes. "Do it again. ~ Cambria Hebert

If you leave here, War can find you again. What are you going to do if that happens? (Tory)
Leave bloodstains on his best shirt. (Acheron) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

I love challenging the notion that, in order to be a tech founder, you have to be holed up in a dark room wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans. ~ Kevin Systrom

Sometimes the best solution to make a revolution is your personal evolution.
And sometimes your personal evolution is not possible without a revolution. ~ Talismanist Giebra

There they are. Dancing in a circle. Shadows swinging over the snow. Calling upon the ancestors. Each wearing the sacred shirt. Side stepping to the left in time to the echoing heartbeat of the drums and the echoing yearning of the songs. There they are. Dancing in a circle. Shadows swinging over the firelit snow. Calling upon the ancestors. Expecting something wonderful to happen. Everyone singing. We will live again. We will live again. ~ Glenn Haybittle

[My father] was generous with his affection, given to great, awkward, engulfing hugs, and I can remember so clearly the smell of his hugs, all starched shirt, tobacco, Old Spice, and Cutty Sark. Sometimes I think I've never been properly hugged since. ~ Linda Ellerbee

DON'T GO BUYING TROUBLE.
IT'S FREE AND IT KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE.
- T-SHIRT ~ Darynda Jones

Gail and Lonny find me as I'm tugging on my shirt. I can't wait until my clothes start fitting normal again and aren't uncomfortably tight around the chest. I can't wait to go back to all the familiar comics T-shirts that don't fit me at this bulked-out size.

"Well?" Gail says. "How is it? How do you feel?"

"I can eat bacon again!" I yell, throwing up a fist. "All the bacon! Bacon or bust!"

"Yes!" Gail cheers. "After your promo shoots, you absolutely can!"

My cries of glee turn into an actual sob. I quickly shove my face into my arm. Thank god it's just Gail.

She pats me on the shoulder. "I know," she says. "But you'll get to have it soon, and then - "

"No." I swallow and shake my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "It's not the bacon." I mean, it is but it's also not. I'm overcome right now with everything. These last few months leading up to the shoot, the mounting pressure, the twenty-three days of high stress and rabbit food and Elle. All of it. "Why does it have to be so hard?"

"Getting a six pack?"

I give her a feeble smile. "I am more than my body, thank you. ~ Ashley Poston

Anal is pretty much the sexual duct tape of the world- it fixes everything.
I should put that on a t-shirt. ~ Tara Sivec

He adopted his standard mocking approach. "Having trouble getting out of the pool, Lily? There's a ladder on the side for the old ladies who come and do aqua aerobics."
Everything inside her stilled. That condescending wretch. She felt him come closer, and was careful not to stir an inch, not even a hair.
"You should get out of the pool and take a long hot shower. It'll make you feel better," he suggested, not ungently. His brow furrowed with worry.
She ignored the thread of concern in his voice and concentrated on not moving too suddenly. Slowly, as if in unbearable agony, she lifted her head. He was dressed once more in his khakis and shirt, his sneakers were in one hand, his gear bag in the other. Good. She let her face crumble, her expression slip into wretchedness. Her lower lip trembled, a special added effect. "I - I'm not sure I can even make it to the ladder," she confessed haltingly. "My whole body's shot."
Damn, she must be hurting worse than he'd imagined. Trying not to stare at her lush lower lip quivering helplessly, Sean dropped his gear bag and stepped forward. "Here," he said, leaning over, stretching out his hand. "Grab my hand. I'll pull you out."
She'd braced her feet against the wall of the pool, knowing she'd have to strike fast. They grasped hands. The second his tightened about her forearm, she jerked backward with all her strength.
Physics were on her side.
Caught off balance, Sean somersaulted through the air, with ~ Laura Moore

I credit my grandmother for my sense of style. She was known for wearing bright, outrageous things because it made people happy and she thought it made her more approachable. When you wear a brightly colored shirt or pants, it shows you don't take yourself too seriously and it puts everyone around you at ease. ~ Blake Mycoskie

Lady Kestrel?" said an anxious voice.
Kestrel opened her eyes to see a girl dressed in a Herrani serving uniform. "Yes?"
"Will you please follow me? There is a problem with your escort."
Kestrel stood. "What's wrong?"
"He has stolen something."
Kestrel rushed from the room, wishing the girl would move more quickly down the villa's halls. There must be some mistake. Arin was intelligent, far too canny to do something so dangerous. He must know what happened to Herrani thieves.
The girl led Kestrel into the library. Several men were gathered there: two senators, who held Arin by his arms, and Irex, whose expression when he saw Kestrel was gloating, as if he had just drawn a high tile in Bite and Sting. "Lady Kestrel," he said, "what exactly did you bring into my house?"
Kestrel looked at Arin, who refused to return her gaze. "He wouldn't steal." She heard something desperate in her voice.
Irex must have, too. He smiled.
"We saw him," said one of the senators. "He was slipping that inside his shirt." He nodded at a book that had fallen to the floor.
No. The accusation couldn't be true. No slave would risk a flogging for theft, not for a book. Kestrel steadied herself. "May I?" she asked Irex, nodding at the fallen book.
He swept a hand to indicate permission.
Kestrel stooped to retrieve the book, and Arin's eyes flashed to hers.
Her heart failed. His face was twisted with misery.
She considered the closed, lea ~ Marie Rutkoski

I went to a Catholic School, and underneath my school uniform, I wore a metal shirt. ~ George Stroumboulopoulos

Sky. Hope mixed with horror as I searched for Zed, quessing he would not have let his soulfinder walk into this situation alone. I finally identified him as the heavily bearded drummer in the flowery shirt and, yes, socks and sandals. I bit my tongue, repressing the absurd desire to laugh at his fashion sacrifice for our cause. ~ Joss Stirling

He looked like he'd poured his muscular body into a pair of faded Levi jeans with holes in the knees. Fine black hairs curled enticingly in the deep V of his light blue T-shirt, and a black leather jacket set off the sexy ensemble. Eight ball, corner pocket. Stop that, you wacko! ~ Kari Lee Harmon

You can drink out of Lincoln's nose. They got the Hard Rock t-shirts. They got Elvis, too. ~ Suzy Bogguss

She wanted to know what his body would feel like under her hands. Her palms slid, almost as if under someone else's control, under his jacket until she embraced his waist. His jacket, now parted on either side of her, left only a thin shirt and her dress between her belly and the ridges she felt across his abdomen. She was right about what she'd imagined under his suit. ~ Elizabeth SaFleur

The Light and the Darkness both flow in to Delhi. Gurgaon, where Mr. Ashok lived, is the bright, modern end of the city, and this place. Old Delhi is the other end. Full of things that the modern world forget all about rickshaws, old stone buildings and Muslims. On a Sunday, though, there is something more: if you keep pushing through the crowd that is always there, go past the men clearing the other men's ears by poking rusty metal rods into them, past the men selling small fish trapped in green bottles full of brine, past the cheap shoe market and the cheap shirt market, you come great secondhand book market Darya Ganj.
You may have heard of this market, sir, since it is one of the wonders of the world. Tens of thousands of dirty, rotting, blackened books on every subject- Technology, Medicine, Sexual Pleasure, Philosophy, Education, and Foreign Countries - heaped upon the pavement from Delhi Gate onwards all the way until you get to the market in front of the Red Fort. Some books are so old they crumble when you touch them; some have silverfish feasting on them- some look like they were retrieved from a flood, or from a fire. Most shops on the pavement are shuttered down; but the restaurants are still open, and the smell of fried food mingles with the smell of rotting paper. Rusting exhaust fans turn slowly in the ventilators of the restaurants like the wings of giant moths.
I went amid the books and sucked in the air; it was like oxygen after the stench of th ~ Aravind Adiga

First, fold each lengthwise side of the garment toward the center (such as the left-hand, then right-hand, sides of a shirt) and tuck the sleeves in to make a long rectangular shape. It doesn't matter how you fold the sleeves. Next, pick up one short end of the rectangle and fold it toward the other short end. Then fold again, in the same manner, in halves or in thirds. The number of folds should be adjusted so that the folded clothing when standing on edge fits the height of the drawer. This is the basic principle that will ultimately allow your clothes to be stacked on edge, side by side, so that when you pull open your drawer you can see the edge of every item inside. If you find that the end result is the right shape but too loose and floppy to stand up, it's a sign that your way of folding doesn't match the type of clothing. Every piece of clothing has its own "sweet spot" where it feels just right - a ~ Marie Kondo

Yesterday I saw a child wearing a T-shirt that said, "If you love me, don't feed me junk food." I was delighted to see this, but I also know how difficult it can be to feed our children well, particularly when the foods that are most convenient and the most heavily advertised are often the ones we should avoid. Joel Fuhrman's new book is a blessing, because it makes it so much easier. It is excellent, and full of clarity, wisdom, and guidance you can trust. It can indeed give you the power to shape your child's health destiny - John Robbins ~ Joel Fuhrman