Thighs Quotes - Page 8

• I can hear her thunder, she's coming after me, thunder thighs.

  Ted Nugent

  Thunder, I Can

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• Smother me in your hot sauce woman until smoke comes from your thighs.

  Thomas Dolby

  Sex, Hot, Sauce

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• There is no love left in your eyes, there is no love between your thighs.

  Dave Navarro

  Sex, Eye, Love Is

  Song: Rexall, Album: Trust No One, 2001

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• Your legs feel like fried bacon after a day of climbing and descending. It's a roller coaster ride, but no one is pulling you up the mountain. You're headed toward Yosemite more than 4,000 feet of pounding the pedals. You are aware of every movement because your thighs feel tender with a sensation of pain. You push on, toward the final ascent into the valley. In front of you is a monster mountain-El Capitan. Your eyes grow wide. You take a deep breath. Suddenly, you feel only wonder.

  Frosty Wooldridge

  Travel, Pain, Eye

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• An erring colleague is not an Amalkite to be smitten hip and thigh.

  R. H. Tawney

  Erring, Hips, Smitten

  "The Rise of the Gentry: A Postscript". The Economic History Review, Vol. 7, No. 1, 1954.

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• It is utterly soothing to fly fish for trout. All other considerations or worries drift away and you couldn't keep them close if you wanted. Perhaps it's standing thigh deep in a river with the water passing at the exact but varying speed of life. You easily recognize this mortality and it dissipates into the landscape.

  Jim Harrison

  Lakes, Sea, Fishing

  Jim Harrison (2007). “True North”, p.157, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• The ideal build for a golfer would be strong hands, big forearms, thin neck, big thighs and a flat chest. He'd look like Popeye.

  Gary Player

  Strong, Golf, Hands

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• Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.

  John Milton

  Sleep, Eye, Water

  'Il Penseroso' (1645) l. 141

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• Confit is not something that comes to mind for summer. Usually it means duck confit, made by cooking the legs and thighs in duck fat to preserve them for winter.

  Geoffrey Zakarian

  Summer, Mean, Winter

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• I love trains. It's the only way to travel anymore where it doesn't involve a TSA agent slowly tracing the curve of my inner thigh.

  Bill Maher

  Curves, Tsa, Agents

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• I would have to say my earthy sensuality - although I should point out that the backs of my calves are exemplary and my upper inner thigh is a delight.

  Rob Brydon

  Delight, Should, Calves

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• Each in the most hidden sack kept the lost jewels of memory, intense love, secret nights and permanent kisses, the fragment of public or private happiness. A few, the wolves, collected thighs, other men loved the dawn scratching mountain ranges or ice floes, locomotives, numbers. For me happiness was to share singing, praising, cursing, crying with a thousand eyes. I ask forgiveness for my bad ways: my life had no use on earth.

  Pablo Neruda

  Memories, Eye, Kissing

  Pablo Neruda (1984). “Still Another Day”, Port Townsend : Copper Canyon Press

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• The day of battle dawned pink as the fresh-bitten thigh of a maiden.

  Roger Zelazny

  Battle, Maidens

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• ...he enclosed pieces of string that he used to measure out his body--his head, thigh, forearm, finger, neck, everything. He wanted me to sleep with them under my pillow. He said that when he came back, we would remeasure his body against the string as proof that he hadn't changed.

  Jonathan Safran Foer

  Sleep, Pieces, Body

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• he dared to explore her withered neck w/his fingertips…her hips w/their decaying bones, her thighs with their aging veins.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  Lust, Veins, Hips

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• Only then did I see. Something was amiss with Patrick's snap-on one piece, or "onesie" as we manly dads like to call it. His chubby thighs, I now realized, were squeezed into the armholes, which were so tight they must have been cutting off his circulation. The collared neck hung between his legs like an udder. Up top, Patrick's head stuck out through the unsnapped crotch, and his arms were lost somewhere in the billowing pant legs. It was quite a look.

  John Grogan

  Dad, Cutting, Looks

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• He took something out of his jacket and handed it to her. It was a long thin dagger in a leather sheath. The hilt of the dagger was set with a single red stone carved in the shape of a rose. She shook her head. "I wouldn't even know how to use that--" He pressed it into her hand, curling her fingers around it. "You'd learn." He dropped his voice. "It's in your blood." She drew her hand back slowly. "All right." "I could give you a thigh sheath to put that in," Isabelle offered. "I've got tons." "CERTAINLY NOT," said Simon.

  Cassandra Clare

  Blood, Hands, Voice

  Cassandra Clare (2015). “City of Bones: TV Tie-in”, p.214, Simon and Schuster

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• I am running through a snowfall which is her thighs, he dramatized in purple. Her thighs are filling up the street. Wide as a snowfall, heavy as huge falling Zeppelins, her damp thighs are settling on the sharp roofs and wooden balconies. Weather-vanes press the shape of roosters and sail-boats into the skin. The faces of famous statues are preserved like intaglios.

  Leonard Cohen

  Running, Fall, Purple

  Leonard Cohen (2011). “The Favourite Game”, p.95, Emblem Editions

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• How many of them were there?' Her voice wasn't joking around. Eighteen. Hundred.' Four,' Blaylock interjected. 'An honor guard of four.' What did they work you over with? Those bruises on your thighs are severe?' Crowbars. Big, massive-' Blay cut in. 'Clubs. Had to be those ceremonial black clubs.

  J.R. Ward

  Cutting, Voice, Black

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• She lights a match in the dark hall and moves it onto the wick of the candle. Light lifts itself onto her shoulders. She is on her knees. She puts her hands on her thighs and breathes in the smell of the sulphur. She imagines she slap breathes in light.

  Michael Ondaatje

  Moving, Dark, Smell

  Michael Ondaatje (2011). “The English Patient”, p.14, Vintage

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• Squatting on old bones and excrement and rusty iron, in a white blaze of heat, a panorama of naked idiots stretches to the horizon. Complete silence - their speech centres are destroyed - except for the crackle of sparks and the popping of singed flesh as they apply electrodes up and down the spine. White smoke of burning flesh hangs in the motionless air. A group of children have tied an idiot to a post with barbed wire and built a fire between his legs and stand watching with bestial curiosity as the flames lick his thighs. His flesh jerks in the fire with insect agony.

  William S. Burroughs

  Children, Air, Flames

  "Naked Lunch". Book by William S. Burroughs, 1959.

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• You said you wanted to remember something.' His palms slid up to the top of her thighs and squeezed. 'So lie back and let me do my thing.' -Issac Rothe, Crave

  J.R. Ward

  Lying, Remember Something, Said

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• Want to try it?" Dad offered, patting the arm of the chair. "Fifteen different kinds of massage. It analyzes your back muscles and makes recommendations. It also grabs and stretches the thigh and calf muscles." "No, thanks. I prefer my furniture to keep its hands to itself.

  Lisa Kleypas

  Dad, Hands, Trying

  Lisa Kleypas (2015). “The Travis Family Series, Books 1-3: Blue-Eyed Devil, Smooth Taking Stranger and Sugar Daddy”, p.158, St. Martin's Press

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• Cold?" Ravus echoed. He took her arm and rubbed it between his hands, watching them as though they were betraying him. "Better?" He asked warily. His skin felt hot, even through the cloth of her shirt, his touch was both soothing and electric. She leaned into him without thinking. His thighs parted, rough black cloth scratching against her jeans as she moved between his long legs. His eyes half-lidded as he pushed himself off the desk, their bodies sliding together, his hands still holding hers. Then, suddenly, he froze.

  Holly Black

  Eye, Thinking, Hands

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• Blay said roughly,"I'm still in love with him" Saxton dropped his eyes and brushed at the top of his thigh, as if there might have been a tiny piece of lint there. " I know. You thought you weren't?

  J.R. Ward

  Eye, Pieces, Might

  J. R. Ward (2012). “Lover Reborn: Number 10 in series”, p.386, Hachette UK

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