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J Quotes

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“Jaime climbed up onto the bar and gave himself an even sweeter taste than anything he had sampled in the bar. Her. He kissed down her body, lavishing attention on her belly until he reached her panties. She let out a deep moan when he pressed kisses over the delicate lace, which was already wet. He pulled them off and stopped to stare at her beautiful pussy. Her skin was tan and soft, and her hair was waxed into a perfect landing strip. He planted kisses on her thighs, inhaling her sweet scent, teasing her for as long as he could hold himself back. Then, spreading her legs wide, he licked her, and she gasped. God, she tasted as sweet as he remembered, like pure honey. He licked her like she was an oasis in the desert, like she was the first woman he'd ever had the pleasure to be with, like she was the last woman he would ever taste. "Oh, Jaime. That feels so amazing, baby." She ran her fingers through his hair as he devoured her, her scent making him high. After all these years, she still tasted the same, the one taste that he was addicted to. Jaime loved eating her pussy, making her feel good, watching her react to his tongue and knowing how much she loved it. He cupped her beautiful ass cheeks in his hands as he ate her for all he was worth, sucking on her clit, changing his rhythm to see what she liked. Her breath came in spurts, and Jaime knew she was close. He reached up and pinched her nipples as he kept his mouth on her pussy. He slowly inserted his finger deep inside, and she gasped. She started thrashing on the bar, but he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped onto his back. "Come here, baby, and sit on my face." "What?" She put her hand over her chest. "I... we've never---" "There's a first time for everything." She gave him a devilish smile but quickly obliged and straddled his mouth. Jaime was in heaven with the beautiful view of her breasts and the taste of her pussy on his lips. This was so fucking hot. She placed her hands on the sides of the bar and rocked back and forth, all over his tongue. Her moans got louder and louder, and he didn't care if the tenants in the nearby restaurant or the community patrol heard her. He gripped her ass and sucked her clit. "Oh, oh my God... oh, baby." Her body constricted as she let out a breathy moan before coming in his mouth. He lapped up every sweet drop. He couldn't get enough.”

“Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.”

“Jaime,” she said, tugging on his ear, “sweetling, I have known you since you were a babe at Joanna’s breast. You smile like Gerion and fight like Tyg, and there’s some of Kevan in you, else you would not wear that cloak... but Tyrion is Tywin’s son, not you. I said so once to your father’s face, and he would not speak to me for half a year. Men are such thundering great fools. Even the sort who come along once in a thousand years.”

“Jainism is the first religion that has made vegetarianism a fundamental necessity for transforming consciousness. And they are right. Killing just to eat makes your consciousness heavy, insensitive; and you need a very sensitive consciousness - very light, very loving, very compassionate. It is difficult for a non-vegetarian to be compassionate; and without being compassionate and loving you will be hindering your own progress.”

“Jak ich było pięćdziesięciu, wszyscy byli poetami i każdy wypowie wiersz na cześć profesora R. (który dyskretnie i z taktem dawał do zrozumienia, że mniejsza o niego, poezja grunt). Zawezwałem wtedy kelnera aby mi dostarczył dwóch butelek wina, jedną białego, drugą czerwonego, i obie zacząłem doić! Tymczasem poeci recytowali, R. promieniał, anielskość parowała wraz ze wszystkimi cnotami praktykowanymi w takich wypadkach - skromność, dyskrecja, ale i szlachetność, z uczuciem, z sercem, wszystko było jak wyjęte z najsłodszych snów poetyckich starej ciotki: "piękne" i "czyste". Gdy skończył poeta, ściskano mu dłoń, wołano "brawo!". Ale kiedy na koniec tłusta pindula, niecierpliwie oczekująca swojej kolei, zerwała się rzucając biustem na prawo i lewo, machając rękami, wytoczyła z siebie nowe pęki rymowanych szlachetności, ja mając we wnętrzu czerwone z białym nie wytrzymałem, parsknąłem w plecy Dipie, który też parsknął, ale, że to nie miał komu wsadzić w plecy twarz, parsknął i ryknął twarzą całemu zgromadzeniu! Zgorszenie. Spojrzenia. Ale oto wstaje czcigodny laureat i kropi: że nie zasłużył sobie, chociaż może i zasłużył, ale raczej nie zasłużył, acz cokolwiek może zasłużył... Wzruszenie. Oklaski. Anioł-prezes-poeta dziękuje i zagrzewa... Atmosfera staje się tak wzniosła i słodka, że Dipi i ja dajemy drała najbliższymi drzwiami, zataczają się, pijani w pestkę, w pędzel, w sztok i w kitę!”

“Jak’ri surfaced beside her a second later. Grinning, Ava drew in deep breaths and swiped water from her face. “That was awesome!” Once again, he found himself smiling, something he did a lot around her. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” “You’re so fast!” He nodded. “You should see the Purvelis with tails. They’re even faster.” Her mouth dropped open. “Some of you have tails?” He grinned. “No. I just wanted to see your reaction.” Laughing, she splashed him.”

“Jak wygląda świat, kiedy życie staje się tęsknotą? Wygląda papierowo, kruszy się w palcach, rozpada. Każdy ruch przygląda się sobie, każda myśl przygląda się sobie, każde uczucie zaczyna się i nie kończy, i w końcu sam przedmiot tęsknoty staje się papierowy i nierzeczywisty. Tylko tęsknienie jest prawdziwe, uzależnia. Być tam, gdzie się nie jest, mieć to, czego się nie posiada, dotykać kogoś, kto nie istnieje. Ten stan ma naturę falującą i sprzeczną w sobie. jest kwintesencją życia i jest przeciwko życiu. Przenika skórę do mięśni i kości, które zaczynają odtąd istnieć boleśnie. Nie boleć. Istnieć boleśnie – to znaczy, że podstawą ich istnienia był ból. Toteż nie ma od takiej tęsknoty ucieczki. Trzeba by uciec poza własne ciało, a nawet poza siebie. Upijać się? Spać całe tygodnie? Zapamiętywać się w aktywności aż do amoku? Modlić się nieustannie?”

“Jake acknowledged her remarks with raised brows, an emphatic and knowing nod, and a peculiar smile while a coughing fit escaped Hugh. He’d heard all about Josie and could barely contain his amusement with the nun’s remarks. Jake tried to temper his reply. “Yes, we’ve experienced the determination of Miss Hayes.” —Jake Hunter, "Cherry Crossing" by Lisa M. Prysock.”

“JAKE BAKER JOINING THE UNION ARMY IN NEW ORLEANS "I'd prefer to be back in Texas, taking aim at the Rebs..., but I just can't do that," said Jake. ..."So, I'll just do what I can do, I guess." "I suspect that goes for all of us," said the Colonel. "Maybe we should make that the unit's motto. 'The First Texas Cavalry of the United States of America: We'll just do what we can do, we guess.' It does have a ring to it, but I expect that we need somethin' a bit more inspirational and less true.”

“Jake did a quick run-through of women in his mind, not of the ones he had known or dealt with in the past few months of years so much as all of them: their concern with the surface of things, with objects and appearances, with their surroundings and how they looked and sounded in them, with seeming to be better and to be right while getting everything wrong, their automatic assumption of the role of injured party in any clash of wills, their certainty that a view is the more credible and useful for the fact that they hold it, their use of misunderstanding and misrepresentation as weapons of debate, their selective sensitivity to tones of voice, their unawareness of the difference in themselves between sincerity and insincerity, their interest in importance (together with noticeable inability to discriminate in that sphere), their fondness for general conversation and directionless discussion, their pre-emption of the major share of feeling, their exaggerated estimate of their own plausibility, their never listening and lots of other things like that, all according to him.”

“Jake eyed his brother. "I never forget. All data is stored in my memory banks. And one day, candy pig, you will pay." "You 're such a geek." "Thesbo." "That's Jack's latest insult." Seth gestured with his wine-glass. "A play on thespian, since Kev's into that." "Rhymes with lesbo," Jake explained helpfully while Anna stifled a groan. "It's a slick way of calling him a girl.”

“Jake La Botz is a creator of dark poetry and haunting song, the kind of music that gets in your bones and rides you for days, a sound and vision only those who've been to the bottom and clawed their way back up can generate. His midnight gifts evoke Hank Williams and Skip James as much as Tom Waits and Dylan. Not everybody will get this music - because not everybody is ready for the truth.”

“Jake opened his mouth to say something--he had no idea what--and then, incredibly, Roland's voice was in his mind, filling it. Distract them, Jake--and if there's a button that opens the door, get close to it. The Tick-Tock Man was watching him closely. "Something just came into your mind, didn't it, cully? I always know. So don't keep it a secret; tell your old friend Ticky." Jake caught movement in the corner of his eye. Although he did not dare glance up at the ventilator panel--not with all the Tick-Tock Man's notice bent upon him--he knew that Oy was back, peering down through the louvers. Distract them...and suddenly Jake knew just how to do that. "I did think of something," he said, "but it wasn't about computers. It was about my old pal Gasher. And his old pal, Hoots." "Here! Here!" Gasher cried. "What are you talking about, boy?" "Why don't you tell Tick-Tock who really gave you the password, Gasher? Then I can tell Tick-Tock where you keep it." The Tick-Tock Man's puzzled gaze shifted from Jake to Gasher. "What's he talking about?”