Teeth Clothes Quotes

#1. Oh, he wanted to sleep with her. Actually, he wanted to pull off her clothes with his teeth, - Author: Jill Shalvis

#2. You want us to attack the NIA agents with frozen meat?" Digger asked, his voice trembling and his teeth chattering. He snickered. "Literally hit them over the head with our big meatsacks? - Author: Abigail Roux

#3. Her clothes were filled with safety pins and hidden tears. - Author: Louise Erdrich

#4. That's so when I forget how to spell my name, I can still find my (expletive) clothes. - Author: Stu Grimson

#5. I've always been a slow learner in some areas of my life.mostly the areas known as myself. Or maybe I should say 'selves.'because the fact is, I've never, even as a child, felt I'm only one self, only one person. I've always felt I'm quite a few more than one. For example, there's my jokey self, there's my morose and fed-up self,there's my lewd and disgusting self. There's my clever-clogs self, and my fading-violet-who-cant-make-up-her-mind-about-anything self. There's my untidy-clothes-everywhere-all-over-my-room self, and my manically tidy self when I want my room to be minimalist and Zen to the nth degree. There's my confidant, arrogant self and my polite and reasonable and good listener self. There's my self-righteous self and my wickedly bad self, my flaky self and my bsentimental self. There are selfs I like and selfs I don't like.there's my little-girl selfnwhonlikes to play silly games and there's my old-woman self when I'm quite sure I'm eighty and edging towards geriatric.
The self I show in action at any moment depends on where I am, who I'm with, the circumstances of the situation and the mood I'm in. - Author: Aidan Chambers

#6. One year later, I grew out of my clothes because, it turns out, growing fourteen inches in a summer is easy. It's growing out of a label that's hard. Which - Author: Jennifer Niven

#7. We buy our way out of jail but we can't buy freedom,
We buy a lot of clothes when we don't really need them,
Things we buy to cover up what's inside. - Author: Kanye West

#8. Nick pressed a finger onto the table. "Would you bust him out of prison?"
"No," Zane answered immediately.
Nick sat back, eyebrows climbing high. "No?"
"No," Zane said again. He poured another glass, gritting his teeth. "I wouldn't let him make it to a cell."
"How is that not enough? - Author: Abigail Roux

#9. Her voice was as rough as sandpaper. As long as Blomkvist lived, he would never forget her face as she went on the attack. Her teeth were bared like a beast of prey. Her eyes were glittering, black as coal. She moved with the lightning speed of a tarantula and seemed totally focus on her prey as she swung the club again, striking Martin in the ribs. - Author: Stieg Larsson

#10. What is it that you long for best, that clenches teeth and claws over the ventricles of your heart? - Author: Benjanun Sriduangkaew

#11. We spent a lot of money on buying clothes, but we spend our best times naked.. - Author: Eyden I.

#12. There is no way either would get into their wedding clothes. But they'd grown in other ways as well, and Gamach figured it was a good deal. If life meant growth in all directions, it was fine with him. - Author: Louise Penny

#13. Jemima was not pretty, the flatness and shortness of her face made her almost plain; yet most people looked twice at her expressive countenance, at the eyes which flamed or melted at every trifle, at the rich colour which came at every expressed emotion into her usually sallow face, at the faultless teeth which made her smile like a sunbeam. - Author: Elizabeth Gaskell

#14. Hatter was dressed in his outlandish clothes again and her heart beamed with pride. "You know," she said, "you're all sorts of perfect." He smiled, but she saw pleasure in his eyes. - Author: Marie Hall

#15. Abigail,' he says. 'I thought it was you.'
'Hi!' I say loudly. 'Mark!'
'Who?' says Robert. Fuck, he doesn't know his real name. Why do I give everyone stupid nicknames?
'I almost don't recognise you out of your SKINNY JEANS,' I enunciate carefully. He's wearing grey flannel trousers and a pink T-Shirt with leather Converses. He speaks clothes exceptionally confidently for a straight man. I wonder if he'd take me shopping.
'Oh, right. Got it.'
'That's odd,' says Skinny Jeans. 'Since I was wearing nothing at all when you left my room without saying goodbye . . . let's see, seven weeks ago?'
'Um, yes. Well, you know . . .' I trail off. Come on, Robert, I think desperately.
'I'm sorry, were you planning on making me breakfast in bed?' says Robert. Yes! Make a joke!
'I'm sorry, were you planning on making me breakfast in bed?' I say.
Skinny Jeans grins.
'Scrambled eggs? Toast? On a little tray?'
'Scrambled eggs? Toast? On a little tray with a rose on it?' I say.
'Don't fuck with my script,' says Robert, which makes me grin slightly more broadly - Author: Gemma Burgess

#16. Don´t be afraid,Miss Burel.This won´t hurt a bit."He ran his teeth over his lower lip,tugging at the silver hoops."Unless you want it to. - Author: Laura Wright

#17. When I was small, I never wanted to step in puddles. Not because of any fear of drowned worms or wet stockings; I was by and large a grubby child, with a blissful disregard for filth of any kind.
It was because I couldn't bring myself believe that that perfect smooth expanse was no more than I thin film of water over solid earth. I believed it was an opening into some fathomless space. Sometimes, seeing the tiny ripples caused by my approach, I thought the puddle impossibly deep, a bottomless sea in which the lazy coil of a tentacle and gleam of scale lay hidden, with the threat of huge bodies and sharp teeth adrift and silent in the far-down depths.
And then, looking down into reflection, I would see my own round face and frizzled hair against a featureless blue sweep, and think instead that the puddle was the entrance to another sky. If I stepped in there, I would drop at once, and keep on falling, on and on, into blue space.
The only time I would dare walk though a puddle was at twilight, when the evening stars came out. If I looked in the water and saw one lighted pinprick there, I could slash through unafraid--for if I should fall into the puddle and on into space, I could grab hold of the star as I passed, and be safe.
Even now, when I see a puddle in my path, my mind half-halts--though my feet do not--then hurries on, with only the echo of the though left behind.
What if, this time, you fall? - Author: Diana Gabaldon

#18. Booker T. Jones sounds more pithy and forceful than ever on "Potato Hole" ... Mr. Jones still jabs terse, unhurried melodies that sound as if he knows the lyrics but would never tell. Where the M.G.'s suavely underplayed their aggression, the rockers' multiple-guitar attack, with distortion and feedback, gives the music teeth. - Author: Jon Pareles

#19. If you go to a therapist, they say, 'Are you sure? How do you feel about your wrinkles?' And I say, 'I don't know, because I don't really see them.' I see my hands, but I don't see my face, so it's not a torment. I only see it for five minutes in the morning when I brush my teeth! When you read women's magazines you always read about this drama of getting old, about anti-aging cream and plastic surgery and whatever else. But I think if you're independent, like I have grown to be, it's welcome. - Author: Isabella Rossellini

#20. Tina was hosting. She's a thirty-five-year-old version of Sienne, only bottle blonde.Same blind-you lipstick, same taste in clothes,same complete disregard for anyone else's opinion on anything.
They hate each other.
"You hate me!" Sienna wailed.
It wasn't Tina's voice that snapped back, but Dad's, "Oh,no. I am not playing that game with you. Do you have any idea what a hundred pounds of filet is gonna cost me? And now you want lobster?"
"But it's my wedding! Daddy-"
"Don't you Daddy me, princess! I'm already five grand in the hole for the damned hotel,not to mention two for the dress, and every time I turn around, you and your mother have added a new guest, bridesmaid,or crustacean!"
First of all,Dad was yelling.Almost. Second,he was swearing.Even damn is fighting talk for him.I set down my pizza and debated the best route for a sealthy escape.
I'd seen the dress.Pretty, in a Disney-princess, twenty-yards-of-tulle, boobs-shaped-into-missiles sort of way. Sienne looked deliriously happy in it. She looked beautiful.The less said about the bridesmaids' dressed, I'd decided, on seeing the purple sateen,the better.
"No lobster!" he yelled.
There was a dramatic howl, followed by the bang of the back door. When I peeked out,it was like a photo. Everything was frozen.Dad was standing over the massive pasta pot, red-faced and scowling, wooden spoon brandished like a sword. Leo and Ricky had retreated to the doorway of the freezer. Nonna ha - Author: Melissa Jensen

#21. I respect you," he murmured. "and your views. I think of you as an equal. I respect your brains, and all those big words you like to use. But I also want to rip your clothes off and have sex with you until you scream and cry and see God." -Jack Travis (Smooth Talking Stranger) - Author: Lisa Kleypas

#22. At the same time that middle- and upper-middle-class mothers were urged to pipe Mozart into their wombs when they're pregnant so their kids would come out perfectly tuned, the government told poor mothers to get the hell out of the house and get to work--no more children's aid for them. Mothers like us--with health care, laptops, and Cuisinarts--are supposed to replicate the immaculate bedrooms we see in Pottery Barn Kids catalogs, with their designer sheets and quilts, one toy and one stuffed animal atop a gleaming white dresser, and a white rug on the floor that has never been exposed to the shavings from hamster cages, Magic Markers accidentally dropped with their caps off, or Welche's grape juice.... we've been encouraged to turn our backs on other mothers who pick their kids' clothes out of other people's trash and sometimes can't buy a can of beans to feed them. How has it come to seem perfectly reasonable--even justified-- that one class of mother is suppoed to sew her baby's diapers out of Egyptian cotton from that portion of the Nile blessed by the god Osiris while another class of mother can't afford a single baby aspirin? - Author: Susan J. Douglas

#23. She couldn't lookaway from the feral lust on his face - the cording of his neck muscles, the tight clamp of his jaw, the baring of his teeth. It fed the heat building in her thighs and buttocks and belly. It
stoked the fever raging out of control between her legs.
She'd never been so freaking turned on in her life. - Author: Amy Andrews

#24. We had to scramble for seats in the day coach, lugging one straw valise between us and a gallon jug of lemonade. And a thermos bottle of the kind the Spanish-American War soldiers carried, with our own well water for brushing our teeth. We'd heard that St. Louis water comes straight out of the Mississippi River, and there's enough silt in it to settle at the bottom of the glass. We'd go to their fair, but we weren't going to drink their water. - Author: Richard Peck

#25. Pity, Jane, from some people is a noxious and insulting sort of tribute, which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth of those who offer it; but that is the sort of pity native to callous, selfish hearts; it is a hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes, crossed with ignorant contempt for those who have endured them. But that is not your pity, Jane; it is not the feeling of which your whole face is full at this moment - with which your eyes are now almost overflowing - with which your heart is heaving - with which your hand is trembling in mine. Your pity, my darling, is the suffering mother of love: its anguish is the very natal pang of the divine passion. I accept it, Jane; let the daughter have free advent - my arms wait to receive her. - Author: Charlotte Bronte

#26. The man screamed, and screamed behind his mask, and the Bloody-Nine laughed, and twisted the blade. Logen might have pitied him, but Logen was far away and the Bloody-Nine had no more pity in him than the winter. Less even. He stabbed, and cut, and cut, and smiled, and the screams bubbled and died, and he let the corpse drop to the cold stones. His fingers were slick with blood and he wiped it on his clothes, on his arms, on his face - just as it should be. - Author: Joe Abercrombie

#27. Then my hair was loose and his hands were buried in it, and he was kissing me so deeply his fangs grazed my teeth and I tasted blood. I was acutely aware of every inch of my body that was touching every inch of his: his forearm grazing the side of my neck, his hands cradling my skull, his mouth so soft yet "
"hard, his powerful chest against the only part of me that wasn't muscle, one of his thighs slipping between my legs, making my knees tremble and nearly buckle.
He kissed like he did everything, with exquisite skill, passion, and one hundred percent focus. Here was where Ryodan shed his aloof businessman attire, his cool facade, and came to life with the heat and intensity of a thousand suns. And I realized that was what had so entranced me on Level 4 - I'd seen him drop all his guards and fuck like a man on fire, with nothing held back. Open, unguarded, just like he'd been when we'd talked.
Ryodan, controlled, is formidably fascinating.
Ryodan, open, is indescribably addictive. - Author: Karen Marie Moning

#28. The orgy room at Dave's Baths was democracy made flesh; race and social standing were checked at the door along with clothes. - Author: Christopher Bram

#29. At last they came to the lower slopes of the great mountains. Here she met a wild and bedraggled boy. He stumbled across her when she had stopped to rest and suckle the baby. The boy stared at the unlikely pair for a moment, then seated himself on the ground at a respectful distance, obviously preparing to converse. He was the strangest looking boy she had ever seen. Evidently a changeling like herself, for he was tall and straight with long slender limbs, but his hair was golden like the sun and his eyes a deep blue like the sky. He looked to be about fifteen years old, not quite a man, yet man enough to survive. She guessed he must have originated from the fabled district of Shor, in the far south, where it was rumoured that all the people were changelings, and all golden-haired.
Astelle tensed, fully expecting Torking to deliver one of his pain bolts to the curious boy, but the child seemed unperturbed, and simply carried on suckling. This boy's attention was obviously not deemed as a threat. She relaxed and smiled at the youth.
He returned the smile, white teeth startling against his tanned and dirty face. 'Why are you travelling all alone?' he asked.
Encouraged by Torking's mindwhispers, Astelle managed to concoct a story very close to the truth.
'As you can see, my child is rather unusual,' she explained. 'I could not bear to raise him among mortals who would constantly deride and insult him – and his father has left me, so I had no choice but to run - Author: Bernie Morris

#30. It took hours, but all of a sudden as she was drawing the plug-in for a vacuum pump that felt as if it was radiating cold, although she didn't know how, Claire saw . . . something. It was like a flash of intuition, one of those moments that came to her sometimes when she thoughtabout higher-order physics problems. Not calculation, exactly, not logic. Instinct.She saw what he was doing, and for that one second, it was beautiful.Crazy, but in a beautiful kind of way. Like everything Myrnin did, it twisted the basicrules of physics, bent them and reshaped them until they became . . . something else. He's agenius, she thought. She'd always known that, but this . . . this was something else. Something beyond all his usual tinkering and weirdness.
"It's going to work," she said. Her voice sounded odd. She carefully set the vacuum pumpin its place on the meticulously labeled canvas sheet. Myrnin, who was sitting in his armchair with his feet comfortably on a hassock, looked up. He was reading a book through tiny little square spectacles that might have once belonged to Benjamin Franklin.
"Well, of course it's going to work," he said. "What did you expect? I do know what I'm doing."
This from a man wearing clothing from the OMG No store, and his battered vampire-bunny slippers. He'd crossed his feet at the ankles on top of a footstool, and both the bunnies' red mouths were flapping open to reveal their sharp, pointy teeth.
Claire grinned, suddenly full of enthusi - Author: Rachel Caine

#31. Maybe it's the hair. Maybe it's the teeth. Maybe it's the intellect. No, it's the hair. - Author: Tom Shales

#32. People who confuse social behavior with manners naturally think of it as something that can be donned and doffed, a fashion that can be copied. But social behavior is nerve and bone, not clothes, and is never just a copy, however derivative it may look. - Author: Nick Joaquin

#33. It was a great help to a person who had to toil all the week to be able to look forward to some such relaxation as this on Saturday nights. The family was too poor and too hardworked to make many acquaintances; in Packingtown, as a rule, people know only their near neighbors and shopmates, and so the place is like a myriad of little country villages. But now there was a member of the family who was permitted to travel and widen her horizon; and so each week there would be new personalities to talk about, - how so-and-so was dressed, and where she worked, and what she got, and whom she was in love with; and how this man had jilted his girl, and how she had quarreled with the other girl, and what had passed between them; and how another man beat his wife, and spent all her earnings upon drink, and pawned her very clothes. Some people would have scorned this talk as gossip; but then one has to talk about what one knows. It - Author: Upton Sinclair

#34. The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across the field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed he barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was admiration for the gesture with which she had thrown her clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the arm. That too was a gesture belonging to the ancient time. Winston woke up with the word 'Shakespeare' on his lips. - Author: George Orwell

#35. I want to go swimming," the child said. She waited for opposition, but none came. So she took off her clothes, slowly and nervously. She glanced at her grandmother -- you can't depend on people who just let things happen. She put her legs in the water.
"It's cold," she said.
"Of course it's cold," the old woman said, her thoughts somewhere else. "What did you expect? - Author: Jansson, Tove

#36. But the customer is the final, final filter. What survives the whole process is what people wear. I'm not interested in making clothes that end up in some dusty museum. - Author: Marc Jacobs

#37. I was no stranger to bar fights. You'd think they'd be rare in a place like the University, but liquor is the great leveler. After six or seven solid drinks, there is very little difference between a miller on the outs with his wife and a young alchemist who's done poorly on his exams. They're both equally eager to skin their knuckles on someone else's teeth. - Author: Patrick Rothfuss

#38. What do you want from me, Crank?"
He gritted his teeth, and I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I want to know what you look like with that dress off. I want to take you home with me and tear it off and make love to you until you scream. - Author: Charles Sheehan-Miles

#39. If you don't let go of me this instant," I said between clenched teeth, "I'll be forced to empty a terrible fighting tactic my brother taught me upon your manhood. - Author: Kerri Maniscalco

#40. They would return to unwanted jobs, unloved families, unchosen friends, to drawing rooms, evening clothes, cocktail glasses and movies, to unadmitted pain, murdered hope, desire left unreached, left hanging silently over a path on which no step was taken, to days of effort not to think, not to say, to forget and give in and give up. - Author: Ayn Rand

#41. What," asked Mr Croup, "do you want?"
"What," asked the Marquis de Carabas, a little more rhetorically, "does anyone want?"
"Dead things," suggested Mr Vandemar. "Extra teeth. - Author: Neil Gaiman

#42. I'm speechless. But my dick has plenty to say. I'm already hard at the idea of Wes being prepped and ready for me. I drop my mouth onto his and he moans again. My tongue glides across his piercing and we're off to the horny dog races. We kiss as if there's a meteor heading straight for the Toronto metropolitan area. Wes's eager hands roam my ass while I suck on his tongue. His eagerness is like a drug, and I want hit after hit. I can feel how hard he is, even through all of our clothes. He wants me to fuck him, and he's all primed and ready? "Mmm," I moan into his mouth. Sexiest fucking thing I ever heard. That's when the doorbell rings. "Hold that thought," I say, pushing up on one arm. "Nooooo!" Wes lifts both his legs to trap me in them. "No." Kiss. "No." Kiss. "Don't even think about it." Pinning his hands to the quilt is easy, because he's horny to the point of distraction. "Stop it, baby. It's the couch delivery. We're paying seventy-five bucks for them to show up on a Saturday. - Author: Sarina Bowen

#43. Heat invaded her cheeks. She wasn't used to men seeing her whithout her clothes on. And here was in her boring white cotton bra and panties. damn, if only she'd worn her black lace undies. She winced inwardly. She'd come close to getting mauled by a jaguar, and all she could think about was the sexiness factor of her underwear? She must be in shock. - Author: Kerrelyn Sparks

#44. A murmur ran through the crowd, and I looked around to see what all the fuss was about. Then I saw him, walking past table after table as if everybody weren't stopping to stare at him.
Loki had ventured down from where he'd been hiding in the servants' quarters. Since I'd granted him amnesty, he was no longer being guarded and was free to roman as he pleased, but I hadn't exactly invited him to the wedding.
As Tove and I danced, I didn't take my eyes off Loki. He walked around the dance floor toward the refreshments, but he kept watching me. He got a glass of champagne from the table, and even as he drank his eyes never left me.
Another Markis came over and cut in to dance with me, but I barely noticed when I switched partners. I tried to focus on the person I was dancing with. But there was something about the way Loki looked at me, and I couldn't shake it.
The song had switched to something contemporary, probably the sheet music that Willa had slipped the orchestra. She'd insisted the whole thing would be far too dull if they only played classical.
The murmur died down, and people returned to dancing and talking. Loki took another swig of his champagne, then set the glass down and walked across the dance floor. Everyone parted around him, and I wasn't sure if it was out of fear or respect.
He wore all black, even his shirt. I had no idea where he'd gotten the clothes, but he did look debonair.
"May I have this dance?" Loki asked my dance p - Author: Amanda Hocking

#45. The best way to garden is to put on a wide-brimmed straw hat and some old clothes. And with a hoe in one hand and a cold drink in the other, tell somebody else where to dig. - Author: Texas Bix Bender

#46. Would anyone remember the story of Godiva if she lowered Coventry's taxes without taking her clothes off? - Author: Daniel Donoghue

#47. I don't know about you, but I don't feel that it's my vehicle that is essential. I don't know about you, but I don't feel that it's my education that is essential. I don't think what is essential about me is my house or my car or my clothes. What is essential about me? Well, I think what is essential is that I live and embrace life right now, wherever I am. I grab it in my arms! Don't spend time crying about yesterday-yesterday is over with! I forgive my past. I forgive the people who've hurt me. I don't want to spend the rest of my life blaming and pointing a finger. - Author: Leo Buscaglia