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Witty Quotes

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Witty Quotes

“Arrogant men with knowledge make more noise from their mouth than making a sense from their mind.”

“Their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Salt from her tears mixed with her natural sweetness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Her softness, her scent, she filled and overran his senses. He mouthed another kiss against her lips. Heat flared inside his abdomen when she opened her mouth, and kissed him back with firmer lips. He sank into her embrace, the heated connection she offered. A kinetic warmth surged through him, lighting, igniting dormant pieces inside—like someone returning home . . . A soft groan, hushed breaths. Their mouths parted and found each other again. He slid his hand behind her neck as he deepened the kiss.”

“I have this craving to be some ball-buster chick who, when you look at her, think, “She likes her rock hard, her cock hard, and her liquor harder,” yet I know that this striving has everything to do with the what’s lurking behind my softer feminine side. Hard and edgy. I know them well. I sought them out, tried them on and wore them in the many forms so many of us do, from fuck me to fuck you, and everything in between.”

“I can’t bear to wear flats, and it’s not a height thing. The rounded toe of the ballet slipper-style shoes do not appeal to me. Let’s face it, none of us over thirty, forty, fifty and on, are ballerinas. No, girls, Pilates is not ballet. I’ve been told I am built like a ballerina, but I’ve also been told I dance like a stripper. Did you ever ask someone how they thought you dance? You may be in shock, or maybe they will be.”

“There is a moment when you just know it and can’t deny it. It’s simply the irrefutable truth, and now you have to change the situation because it’s no longer working for you. Maybe you come to the realization gradually, or maybe you come to it like a nearly missed red light when you stomp on the brake, and it’s right there, unmistakable. It’s the moment when you realize there is only one cool person in the relationship or dating thingy, and it’s not the other person.”

“I was fourteen years-old, singing and strumming away on my six-string acoustic guitar to the songs of the sixties and seventies limited to the aforementioned “Cocaine,” “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” and “House of the Rising Sun.” I had no idea Lola was a man and someone else was glad they were a man. I always tell people, “I’ve been to that desert. I’ve been on that horse and he did have a name, I just was never allowed to tell anyone.”

“My personal hell is a place filled with loud, cocky, inked hipster—millennials. It’s a place where every guy looks like a member of Mumford & Sons, and all the women shun makeup. No, it isn’t Lollapalooza, nor an Arcade Fire concert. No, it isn’t some hipster independent coffee shop serving the latest trend in cold brewed coffee and a donut. No, not a craft cocktail lounge playing Daft Punk on vinyl while everyone sits on low striped cushions and corduroy couches wearing color schemes of pants and tops that make no sense. I’ll give you a hint. A woman walked around wearing a t-shirt stating, “Data is the new bacon.” Excuse me, but fuck you, it is not! Okay, fine. Last hint. All the Mumford & Sons dudes and non-makeup wearing inked millennials are wearing the exact same shirt. Slap yourself if you get this wrong. My hell is the APPLE STORE!”

“The judge drummed with his fingers on his desk but the band of toes still wouldn’t let him in yet. Though he didn’t want to be in that special orchestra where a practical joker was known to put water and a powdered fruity dessert mix in large stringed instruments of which the stunt was known as cello Jello.”

“The following morning, Wilhelmina awoke to a lone lily pad moaning after escaping from an exquisite Monet painting piece that was hosting some shades of watercolor chips that were a century and half-oldish that subbed as a dish for artsy gourmet-eating tadpoles that had both a yearning for the foggy past and longing for their froggy future.”

“You know how there are words that never really—they are never really quite right. You can't quite trust them. Use them. You know. Without pause.' 'There are words I stare at,' Zach says. 'Strange. Every time. Misled, that's one. I see mizzled. And unshed. I read unched.' 'Me too! But that's a different thing—except, now you mention it, it's odd about unshed, that it's only for tears. Mostly. Hardly ever blood, for instance, you don't see unshed blood. Unched. Not really.' 'Not in my case anyway. Mine sheds all over the joint! I'm a bleeder all right.”

“Daily Bread by Stewart Stafford Butcher short-changed me again, There’s sawdust in the sausages, Grocer’s growing grosser and then, A proposition with my messages. The driving instructor’s pissed on bends, I went and told his mother, The barman’s watering down pints for friends Like he’s feeding his baby brother. The barber’s still one hair off, One side doesn’t match the other, Bookie won’t take my bets and lends, The landlord another sucker. Tossed out in the street to fend for myself, With all the other refuse, Garbage man fills his truck with me, At least I still have one use. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”