Ab Quotes

Abs? What are you, a workout video?" he sneered. "Pigeon?" I said with the same amount of disdain. "An annoying bird that craps all over the sidewalk?" "You like Pigeon," he said defensively. "It's a dove, an attractive girl, a winning card in poker, take your pick. You're my Pigeon.

Fas est ab hoste doceri. One should learn even from one's enemies.

Allah Ki Mohabbat Ke Siwa, Har Mohabbat Ko Zawal Hai. Rab Ki Mohabbat Ke Illawa Duniya Ki Koi Mohabbat Sachi Nahi, Aur Rab Asliyat Dekha Deta Hai. Har Rishte, Har Mohabbat Ki. Phir Wo Sab Kuch Dekha Ker Adami Se Kehta Hai, "Ab Bata Tera Mere Siwa Kon Hai?

Bonus: I now knew what Erin meant by lickable abs.

But I think the first real change in women’s body image came when JLo turned it butt-style. That was the first time that having a large-scale situation in the back was part of mainstream American beauty. Girls wanted butts now. Men were free to admit that they had always enjoyed them. And then, what felt like moments later, boom—Beyoncé brought the leg meat. A back porch and thick muscular legs were now widely admired. And from that day forward, women embraced their diversity and realized that all shapes and sizes are beautiful. Ah ha ha. No. I’m totally messing with you. All Beyonce and JLo have done is add to the laundry list of attributes women must have to qualify as beautiful. Now every girl is expected to have Caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama, and doll tits. The person closest to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes.

What? It’s not my blood!” “Let me see it,” Julian demanded, and a moment later there were sounds of a scuffle from the back seat. “I am AB positive and this is distinctly type O blood!” Ty finally shouted at him. “Look at the little Os!

Look at these abs, Wellsy. Actually, touch them. Seriously. It will change your life.

You laugh, but you haven't seen me in a tux. Or maybe you don't like broad-shouldered guys with muscular chest and washboard abs?

Fuck no, Trav, you’re not pulling this shit! You’re in love with Ab…,” his eyes focused and he recognized his mistake, “…by. Hey, Abby.

Magnus had heard the story of how the Nephilim were created many times. They must have forgotten to leave out the bit that said: And the Angel descended from on high and gave his chosen ones fantastic abs.

Sed nescio quo modo nihil tam absurde dici potest quod non dicatur ab aliquo philosphorum. (There is nothing so absurd but some philosopher has said it.)

Want to count my abs when we get home from the ballet?

16 Things Romance Readers Are Tired Of Hearin 1. All Romance books are exactly the same. 2. The endings are so predictable. 3. You know romance doesn't happen like that in real life. 4. You're setting unrealistic expectations for yourself about love. 5. Real men don't have abs like that. 6.So you think you're going to go on a lot of dates? 7. So you think you're going to fall in love with an ex-boyfriend? 8. ...or a billionaire? 9. ...or a duke? 10. So you'll stop reading romances when you have a boyfriend, right? 11. It's basically mommy porn, right? 12. I could write a romance book. 13. Do you only read female authors? 14. I saw the Notebook once. 15. Is Danielle Steel your favorite author? 16. Do you read REAL books?

Mmmmm. Warm chocolate chip cookies. Not even AB negative can compare.

Look at the stars. It won't fix the economy. It won't stop wars. It won't give you flat abs, or even help you figure out your relationship. But it's important. It helps you to remember that you and your problems are both infinitesimally small and conversely, that you are a piece of an amazing and vast universe.

Why in the world was I going to college? I could be in bed, all cuddled up and shit, dreaming about hot men with abs covered in powdered sugar.

I expect a report on his abs. Real details, not romance novel nonsense.

Take some very deep breaths," Miranda said. "Relax. Concentrate. Then envision a frosty six-pack and wiggle your pinky." A frosty six-pack. Kylie inhaled. He held out her pinky, and right then Della chimed in. "We are talking a six=pack of soda, not a cold guy with good-looking abs, right?" There was a strange kind of sizzle in the air. And suddenly appearing in front of the refrigerator was a shirtless, shivering guy with great abs. His blue eyes studied the three of them in complete bafflement. "What the...!" he muttered. Kylie gasped. Miranda giggled. Della snorted with laughter.

In a typical college romance novel, he'd be a gorgeous but troubled sex god who'd cure all my deep-seated psych issues with a good hard fuck. I'd smell his misogyny and abusive tendencies from miles off but my brain would turn to hormone soup because abs. That's the formula. Broken girl + bad boy = sexual healing. All you need to fix that tragic past is a six-pack. More problems? Add abs. It's Magic Dick Lit.

Seriously, dude, put on a shirt.” “Hey, you know what they say,” Dean drawls. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” “No, I’m pretty sure they say put on a shirt when you go for a run, you cocky narcissist.” His jaw drops. “Narcissist? More like realist. Look at these abs, Wellsy. Actually, touch them. Seriously. It will change your life.

Amazing.” Hi stripped off his shirt, wrung it out. “Score one for your honker.” “Thanks, I think.” I cocked my chin at Hi’s substantial midsection. “Nice abs.” “Yeah, I work out twice a month. No expectations. But stop hitting on me, it’s embarrassing.

Elle, what happened to your prudish behavior?” Elle laughed. “It took a back seat when I was given a mate so hot that he could cook bacon on his abs.

He'd probably been born with abs. Some were born with abs, some achieved abs, and some - like Simon - had abs thrust upon them by cruel instructors.

Ranjish hi sahi dil hi dukhane ke liye aa aa phir se mujhe chhod ke jaane ke liye aa.. Pahale se maraasim na sahii phir bhi kabhi tou rasm-o-rahe duniya hi nibhane ke liye aa.. Kis kis ko batayenge judaai ka sabab ham tu mujhse khafaa hai tou zamaane ke liye aa.. kuch tou mere pindaar-e-mohabbat ka bharam rakh tu bhi to kabhi mujh ko manaane ke liye aa.. ek umr se hoon lazzat-e-giriyaa se bhi maharuum aye raahat-e-jaan mujh ko rulaane ke liye aa.. ab tak dil-e-khushfeham ko tujh se hain ummiden ye aakharii shammen bhi bujhaane ke liye aa ....

If more information was the answer, then we'd all be billionaires with perfect abs.

My psychic senses,” Max announced, “are now attuned to that picture, and I’m getting some pretty clear messages about communing and abs.

I couldn't help it: Brendan was abs-olutely pec-tacular, horrible puns intended and very accurate.

He stands confidently in his hot pink mankini. When I told him it was the only suit left, he literally shrugged and put it on. Tan skin, ripped abs and stylish wayfarers- he instantly looked cool even wearing that damn thing. And the girls playing water volleyball even gawked at his ass

I…can’t go to dinner with you on Wednesday.” “It’s almost four in the morning, Abby. What’s going on?” “I can’t see you at all, actually.” “Abs....” “I’m…pretty sure I’m in love with Travis,” I said, bracing for his reaction.

shane:you only love me for my abs clair:shut up loser shift off

Ab honesto virum bonum nihil deterret. (Nothing deters a good man from doing what is honorable.)-A Wrinkle in Time

I'll have AB positive', I told Josh when he returned from the dance floor, 'What's it made of? Apples and Bananas?' -Belle Goose

Eve: "What do you want?" Nadine: "A man of amazing sexual prowess, great sensitivity, stupendous abs, and the face of an angel. Toss in a wicked sense of humor and stupendous wealth, who adores the very ground I walk on. Oh wait, you already have him.

…one, two, three, four, six, Good Lord, eight? Eight packs? Furthermore, had I actually been feeling said person’s eight pack? And, dear God, I was counting. I had touched each muscle. And great, my hand was still firmly placed against the guy’s stomach. I jerked my hand back and closed my eyes. “Were you just counting my abs?” His voice sounded amused. It also sounded like a movie star voice, the type that makes you want to jump into the TV screen.

Sorry, boyfriends everywhere—you’re doomed to sit through an hour and forty-seven minutes of syrupy drivel. The payoff? Between my face, Tadd’s abs and Quinton’s biceps, your girl will be ready for takeoff as soon as the credits roll. You’re welcome.

Magnus had heard the story of how the Nephilim were created many times. They had all left out the bit that said: And the Angel descended from on high and gave his chosen ones fantastic abs.

It's okay.' I rubbed my stomach.'These abs have been known to bring down much tougher girls. I won't tell anyone you want me.

Adina appealed to the sky. "We asked for rescue and you sent us incompetent rockstar pirates with a broken ship and perfect abs?" "Thank you, God," Petra said.

Now every girl is expected to have Caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama, and doll tits. The person closest to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes.

...I’m tired of everyone looking at me with pity in their eyes. I’m tired of feeling like my heart is being ripped out of my chest every damned day. I’m tired of waking up in the morning, and then remembering...

How’s the book?” he drawled later, when he’d finished his workout and I’d grabbed the closest book I could find before he entered the living room. “Riveting.” I tried to focus on the page instead of the way Rhys’s sweat-dampened shirt clung to his torso. Six-pack abs for sure. Maybe even an eight-pack. Not that I was counting. “Sure seems that way.” Rhys’s face remained impassive, but I could hear the mocking bent in his voice. He walked to the bathroom, and without looking back, he added, “By the way, princess, the book is upside down.” I slammed the hardcover shut, my skin blazing with embarrassment.

On the table beside me is a book entitled Love’s Desperate Desire. Based on the cover, I would have called it My Spectacular Washboard Abs.

It may not feel too classy, begging just to eat But you know who does that? Lassie, and she always gets a treat So you wonder what your part is Because you're homeless and depressed But home is where the heart is So your real home's in your chest Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone's got villains they must face They're not as cool as mine But folks you know it's fine to know your place Everyone's a hero in their own way In their own not-that-heroic way So I thank my girlfriend Penny Yeah, we totally had sex She showed me there's so many different muscles I can flex There's the deltoids of compassion, There's the abs of being kind It's not enough to bash in heads You've got to bash in minds Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone's got something they can do Get up go out and fly Especially that guy, he smells like poo Everyone's a hero in their own way You and you and mostly me and you I'm poverty's new sheriff And I'm bashing in the slums A hero doesn't care if you're a bunch of scary alcoholic bums Everybody! Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone can blaze a hero's trail Don't worry if it's hard If you're not a friggin 'tard you will prevail Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone's a hero in their...

You are an enigma, Avery Morgansten." I leaned against the counter, my eyes widening as he proceeded to eat half the loaf. "Not really. More like you are." "How so?" I gestured at him. "You just ate four hard-boiled eggs, you're eating half a loaf, and you have abs that look like they belong on a Bowflex ad." Cam looked absolutely thrilled to hear that. "You've been checking me out, haven't you? In between your flaming insults? I feel like man candy." I laughed. "Shut up." "I'm a growing boy.

Abs—all the assholes had them. Four to six muscles were like a graph chart to show just how big of a douche bag the guy was.

How do you tell the difference between real people and time ripples?" "You mean besides punching them in the stomach?" I blushed, not because I'd hit him, but because I was thinking about his abs.

You’ll be fine. Just hang on to me. I won’t make you let go all night if you don’t want to.” She took me up on my offer. Slowly, she slipped her arm around my waist and then clung to me like she was super glued there. I tensed beneath her touch and had to fight back shivers. “Feel free to hang on to other parts of me too.” My voice came out thick because it had been stuck in my throat. “My butt’s feeling pretty left out, and I don’t spend so much time working out my abs and chest just to never get felt up.

Quid quid movetur ab alio movetur"(nothing moves without having been moved).

Mein Selbstwertgefühl hängt davon ab, wie viel von der Welt ich beim Herumlaufen verdränge? Himmel, was für ein erniedrigender Gedanke.

I am a doctor. A.B.... M.A.... PH.D....ABMAPHID! Abmaphid has been variously described as a wasting disease of the frontal lobes, and as a wonder drug. It is actually both.I'm really very mistrustful.

Es tut mir leid, Spence", murmelte ich an seiner Brust. "Was denn?" Ich schluckte schwer. "Das ich so bin, wie ich bin." Er stütze das Kinn auf meinem Kopf ab und kraulte mir weiter den Nacken. "Dafür brauchst du dich nicht zu entschuldigen, Süße. Niemals.

He whispers, "You're beautiful." "Thank you." I'm not so scared anymore. If he likes me for who I am, it doesn't matter what kind of underwear I'm wearing. Or that I'm not wearing makeup. Or that I'm over six feet tall. "You're really cute too," I say, giving him another kiss on the lips, digging my fingertips into his abs. "I'v never wanted anyone so much in my life.

Aber man weiß ja, was man von unseren Zeitungen zu halten hat. Da notiert der Schwerhörige, was ihm der Blinde berichtet, der Dorftrottel korrigiert es, und die Kollegen in den anderen Pressehäusern schreiben es ab.

There was no room for unhappiness when squeezed between two sets of washboard abs. New life motto, right there.

Ja, man muß seinen Traum finden, dann wird der Weg leicht. Aber es gibt keinen immerwährenden Traum, jeden löst ein neuer ab, und keinen darf man festhalten wollen.

Denn wenn man niemanden hat, den man ab und an aus der Stadt verjagen kann, wie soll man dann wissen, dass man selbst dorthin gehört?

Jamie said in that voice of his, "You never saw us." "I never saw you," the driver repeated, sounding dazed. "You drove this astonishingly hot underwear model from south Texas. You wanted to lick his abs." "I wanted to lick his abs." "You're such an asshole," Stella muttered as she climbed out of the cab.

I have no problem with god - it's his fan club that scares me.

Salaar Sikandar nay pichlay aath saalon mai Imama Hashim kay liye her jazba mehsoos kiya tha. Hiqaarat,tazheek,pachtaawa,nafrat,mohabbat sab kuch......Magar aaj wahan bethay pehli baar ussay Imama Hashim say hasad horaha tha.Thi kiya woh......?Aik aurat.....Zara si aurat....Asmaan ki hoor nahi thi....Salaar Sikandar jesay aadmi kay saamnay kiya auqaat thi uss ki. Kiya mera jesa I.Q Level tha uss ka?Kiya meray jesi kamiyaabiyaan theen us ki?Kiya meray jesa kaam karsakti thi woh?Kiya meray jesa naam kama sakti thi?Kuch bhi nahi thi woh aur uss ko sab kuch plate mai rakh kar day diya aur main......Main jis ka I.Q Level 150+ hai mujhay saamnay ki cheezain dekhnay kay qaabil nahi rakha?Woh ab aankhon mai nami liye andheray mai wind screen say baahar dekhtay hue barbara raha tha."Mujhay bus iss qaabil kardiya kay main baahar nikloon aur duniya fatah kar loon.Woh duniya jis ki koi wuq'at hi nahi hai aur woh....woh...."Woh ruk gaya.Ussay Imama per ghussa araha tha.Aath saal pehlay ka waqt hota tu woh ussay "Bitch" kehta,tab Imama per ghussa anay per woh ussay yehi kaha karta tha magar aath saal kay baad aaj woh zabaan per uss kay liye gaali nahi la sakta tha.Woh Imama Hashim kay liye koi bura lafz nikalnay ki jurrat nahi kar sakta tha.Siraat-e-Mustaqeem per khud say bohat aagay khari uss aurat kay liye kaun zabaan say bura lag nikaal sakta tha?Apnay glasses utaar kar uss nay apni aankhain masleen.Uss kay andaaz mai shikast khoordagi thi."Pir-e-Kamil(S.A.W.W)......Siraat-e-Mustaqeem....Aath saal lagay thay,magar talash khatam hogayi thi.Jawab mil chuka tha.

His arms are big, his shoulders well developed. And his abs. Omigod, his abs are a work of art. Forget six-pack. This guy has a eight-working-on-ten-pack, and for a second - just a second - my eyes nearly cross as I imagine what it would be like to lick a path straight from his collarbone to his navel.

Matter is energy. In the universe, there are many energy fields which we cannot normally perceive. Some energies have a spiritual source which act upon a person's soul. However, this soul does not exist ab initio, as orthodox Christianity teaches. It has to be brought into existence by a process of guided self-observation. However, this is rarely achieved, owing to man's unique ability to be distracted from spiritual matters by everyday trivia.

He felt . . . he didn’t know how he felt, except stunned. Filled with joy and confusion and what felt like a flickering light, growing brighter by the second. He felt strong. He felt ready. He felt like his abs were still pretty much only a two-pack, but he supposed even a magic cup could get you only so far.

The reason we are so controlled is not that we don't have the power to decide our own destiny, it is that we give that power away every minute of our lives. When something happens that we don't like, we look for someone else to blame. When there is a problem in the world, we say "What are they going to do about it". At which point they, who have secretly created the problem in the first place, respond to this demand by introducing a 'solution' - more centralisation of power and erosion of freedom. If you want to give more powers to the police, security agencies and military, and you want the public to demand you do it, then ensure there is more crime, violence and terrorism, and then it's a cinch to achieve your aims. Once the people are in fear of being burgled, mugged or bombed, they will demand that you take their freedom away to protect them from what they have been manipulated to fear. The Oklahoma bombing is a classic of this kind, as I detail in ..And The Truth Shall Set You Free. I call this technique problem-reaction-solution. Create the problem, encourage the reaction "something must be done", and then offer the solution. It is summed up by the Freemason motto 'Ordo Ab Chao' -order out of chaos. Create the chaos and then offer the way to restore order. Your order. The masses are herded and directed by many and varios forms of emotional and mental control. It is the only way it coud be done.

I no longer knew what was real and what wasn’t. The lines between reality and delusion had become so blurred.

Look at the stars. It won't fix the economy. It won't stop wars. It won't give you flat abs, or better sex or even help you figure out your relationship and what you want to do with your life. But it's important. It helps you remember that you and your problems are both infinitesimally small and conversely, that you are a piece of an amazing and vast universe.

Denn nichts lenkt den Menschen so von seinem gesunden Urteil ab wie geografische Ortsnamen, geladen mit alter Sehnsucht und bepackt mit tausend Gedankenverbindungen, und wenn er dann hinkommt, ist es alles halb so schön. Aber wer traut sich denn, das zu sagen?

Sophie was fine up until the point where she fell flat on her face when she got a look at my delicious abs,” he said and pulled up his shirt rubbing his chiseled stomach. I blushed and then mocked him, “Delicious huh?” “Oh yeah,” he said jokingly. “My basement floor is now flooded with your drool.” -Caeden and Sophie

Did you smell her?” Hi asked. I nodded. Downwind, I’d picked up Whisper’s scent at thirty yards. “Amazing.” Hi stripped off his shirt, wrung it out “Score one for your honker.” “Thanks, I think.” I cocked my chin at Hi’s substantial midsection. “Nice abs.” “Yeah, I work out twice a month. No exceptions. But stop hitting on me, it’s embarrassing.

So I conjured one of the brokers and promised him my soul if he’d protect her. (Zephyra) You can’t do that. Only a demon can. (Stryker) You’re such a brainiac, baby. And to think, I thought I married you for those amazing abs. Who knew all that brainpower was buried under those bulging biceps? (Zephyra)

I wanted to soothe and comfort her, the way she had comforted her daughters.

Nouns and verbs are the guts of the language. Beware of covering up with adjectives and adverbs.

In a spirit of hope and new beginnings, we linked arms like a couple of kids. Pushing aside sad thoughts, we strode off into our future.

And his paths shall be many, and who shall know his name, for he shall be beorn among us many times, in many guises, as he has been and ever will be, time without end. His coming shall be like the sharp edge of the plow, turning our lives in furrows form out of the places where we lie in our silence. The breaker of binds; the forger of chains. The maker of futures; the unshaper of destiny. -from Commentaries on the Prophecies of the Dragon, by Jurith Dorine, Right Hand to the Queen of Almoren, 742 AB, the Third Age

Take a drink every time you hear a lie. You're a great cook. (They say as you burn toast.) You're so funny. (You've never told a joke.) You're so... ... handsome. ... ambitious. ... successful. ... strong. (Are you drinking yet?) You're so... ... charming. ... clever. ... sexy. (Drink.) So confident. So shy. So mysterious. So open. You are impossible, a paradox, a collection at odds. You are everything to everyone. The son they never had. The friend they've always wanted. A generous stranger. A successful son. A perfect gentleman. A perfect partner. A perfect... Perfect... (Drink.) They love your body. Your abs. Your laugh. The way you smell. The sound of your voice. They want you. (Not you.) They need you. (Not you.) They love you. (Not you.) You are whoever they want you to be. You are more than enough, because you are not real. You are perfect, because you don't exist. (Not you.) (Never You.) They look at you and see whatever they want... Because they don't see you at all.

She was lovely with eyes that captivated your heart, a smile that drew your mind, and a presence that captured your soul. She was everything you wanted in a girl, and so much more.

The cab pulled over to the curb, and Jamie said in that voice of his, “You never saw us.” “I never saw you,” the driver repeated, sounding dazed. “You drove this astonishingly hot underwear model from south Texas. You wanted to lick his abs.” “I wanted to lick his abs.” “You’re such an asshole,” Stella muttered as she climbed out of the cab. “I get my kicks where I can.

Here’s the bottom line: You already know all that you need to succeed. You don’t need to learn anything more. If all we needed was more information, everyone with an Internet connection would live in a mansion, have abs of steel, and be blissfully happy. New or more information is not what you need—a new plan of action is. It’s time to create new behaviors and habits that are oriented away from sabotage and toward success. It’s that simple.

The soundtrack should be a lilting indie affair; equal parts hopeful and with a broken, bittersweet lyric hook that makes your heart hurt for some unknown reason. But instead it’s scored by the 1980s hair metal I found in an incriminating iPod playlist titledGym. “You seriously got those abs while listening to Poison and Bon Jovi,” I crow, and he can’t deny it. It’s just us, windows down, stereo cranked, the road curling in front of us like a tongue.

I’m in pain now, actual physical pain – in my balls, my abs, my chest. Everything aches with a throbbing persistence, wrought from self-denial. I want this woman more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. But I want to keep her. I have no idea how to keep anyone close to me. Because I have no idea how to expose my heart.

Hey, Red.” I greeted her with a cocky grin. “Can’t stay away from me, huh? Don’t blame you.” I gestured at myself. “Look at all this.” I was still shirtless from the shower, and I didn’t want to brag or anything, but my abs were a fucking work of art. “If I knew you had company, I would’ve waited,” she said dryly. She was carrying a large portfolio bag, which was strange, since she didn’t draw. Maybe she went shopping earlier. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your weekly lovefest with your ego.” “Daily,” I corrected. “Self-love is critical to maintaining one’s self-esteem. But you’re hot, so you’re allowed to interrupt.

I sometimes wish I could spontaneously combust. Burn until nothing but ash is left, to be washed away by the wind and the rain.

Kiss me," he growled. "I shouldn't—" "I. Don't. Give. A. Damn." Well hell. My lips touched his—barely. I pulled back and looked at him—unfamiliar, dangerous, and so exciting. I devoured his mouth without thinking. Don't think, just touch. I ran my fingers across his strong shoulders and down his arms. His skin felt hot under my hands, his body hard. He sucked in his abs so I could get into his pants, if I wanted to. I slid one hand over his stomach and under his jeans, touching his hard cock, smiling when he groaned.

Have you never outright sinned, then?” “I disobeyed Patti when she told me to stay away from you.” “Right. I remember that one. So just once, then?” “There was this other time...” I thought about the two girls in the bathroom and stopped myself, blanching. “Yes? Go on,” he urged. He watched the road, but excitement underscored his tone. I rubbed my dampening palms down my shorts. “The night we met, I sort of...well, I flat-out told a lie. On purpose.” I thought he was trying not to smile. “To me?” he asked. “No. About you.” Now he unleashed that devastating smile of his, crinkling the corners of his eyes. My face was aflame. “Continue. Please.” “There were these girls in the bathroom talking about you, and for some reason, I don't know why, it upset me, and I told them...thatyouhadanSTD.” I covered my face in shame and he burst into laughter. I thought he might drive off the road. Well, it was kind of funny in an ironic way, because he couldn't keep a disease anyhow, even if he had gotten one. I found myself beginning to giggle, too, mostly out of relief that he wasn't offended. “I wondered if you were ever going to tell me!” he said through spurts of hilarity. Duh! Of course he'd been listening! My giggles increased, and it felt so nice that we kept going until we were cracking up. It was the good kind of laughter: the soul-cleansing, ab-crunching, lose-control-of-yourself kind. We started catching our breath again a few minutes later, only to break into another round of merriment. “Do you forgive me, then?” I asked when we finally settled down and I wiped my eyes. “Yes, yes. I've had worse said about me.

People who enjoy the struggles of a gym are the ones who run triathlons and have chiseled abs and can bench-press a small house. People who enjoy long workweeks and the politics of the corporate ladder are the ones who fly to the top of it. People who enjoy the stresses and uncertainties of the starving artist lifestyle are ultimately the ones who live it and make it. This is not about willpower or grit. This is not another admonishment of “no pain, no gain.” This is the most simple and basic component of life: our struggles determine our successes.

And this is one of the major questions of our lives: how we keep boundaries, what permission we have to cross boundaries, and how we do so.” A.B. Yehoshua

O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie, gimme a break before I die: grant me wisdom, will, & wit, purity, probity, pluck, & grit. Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind, gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind, and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice— these little blessings would suffice to beget an earthly paradise: make the bad people good— and the good people nice; and before our world goes over the brink, teach the believers how to think.

Einerseits geben Wörter Sinn, andererseits sind sie tauglich, Unsinn zu stiften. Wörter können heilsam oder verletzend sein. Das Wort als Waffe. Sich spreizende, auftrumpfende, mit Bedeutung gemästete Wörter. Manche sind Zungenbrecher, andere lassen erkennen, verschleiern, leugnen ab, decken zu oder auf. Oft liegen winzige Wahrheiten unter Wortlawinen begraben. Aus Wortstreit entspringen Schimpfwörter. Flüche, Beschwörungen, Zaubersprüche bannen, rufen herbei, lassen wahre Wunder geschehen.

The Shadow shall rise across the world, and darken every land, even to the smallest corner, and there shall be neither Light nor safety. And he who shall be born of the Dawn, born of the Maiden, according to Prophecy, he shall stretch forth his hands to catch the Shadow, and the world shall scream in the pain of salvation. All Glory be to the Creator, and to the Light, and to he sho shall be born again. May the Light save us from him. -from Commentaries on the Karaethon Cycle Sereine dar Shamelle Motara Counsel-Sister to Comaelle, High Queen of Jaramide (circa 325 AB, the Third Age)

Thank you.” Okay, sincerity was not what I had come to expect from this man. I shook it off. “It’s easier for me to get information if you’re alive.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he sat up. Jesus, abs like that should be illegal. He caught his breath and shook his head. “Either way, I’m grateful.” He glanced my way, his dark eyes full of secrets. “And for me, that doesn’t happen very often.” I raised a brow. “You’re usually an ungrateful bastard?” “No.” He chuckled, sucking in a pained breath before lifting his gaze to meet mine. “I rarely have anything to be thankful for.

Gunaah ka bojh kiya hota hai aur aadmi apnay gunaah kay bojh ko kiss tarah qayaamat kay din apni pusht say utaar phainkna chahay ga kiss tarah uss say door bhaagna chahay ga kiss tarah doosray kay kandhay per daal dena chahay ga,yeh uss ki samajh mai Haram Shareef mai pohanch kar aya tha.Wahan kharay ho kar woh apnay paas mojood aur anay wali saari zindagi ki daulat kay aiwaz bhi kisi ko woh guna ah baichna chahta tu koi yeh tijarat na karta.Kaash aadmi kisi maal kay aiwaz apnay gunaah baich sakta.Kisi ujrat kay taur per doosron ki naikiyaan mangnay ka haq rakhta.Laakhon loagon kay iss hujoom mai 2 sufaid chaadarain orhay,kaun janta tha kay Salaar Sikandar kaun tha?Uss ka I.Q Level kiya tha.Kissay parwah thi?Uss kay paas kaun kaunsi aur kahan ki Degree thi.Kissay hosh tha?Uss nay zindagi kay Maidaan mai kitnay taleemi record toray aur banaye thay.Kissay khabar thi woh apnay zehan kay kaun say maidaan taskheer karnay wala tha.Kaun rashk karnay wala tha?Woh wahan uss hujoom mai thokar kha kar girta,Bhagdar mai ronda jata.Uss kay ooper say guzarnay wali khalqat mai say koi bhi yeh nahin sochta kay unhone kaisay dimaagh ko kho diya hai.Kiss I.Q Level kay nayaab aadmi ko kis tarah khatam kar diya tha.Ussay duniya mai apni auqaat,apni ahmiyat ka pata chal gaya tha.Agar kuch mughaalita reh bhi gaya tha tu ab khatam hogaya tha.Agar kuch shubah baaqi tha,tu ab door hogaya tha.Fakhar,takabbur,rashk,ana,khudpasandi,khud sataayishi kay her bachay hue tukray ko nichor kar uss nay andar say phaink diya tha.Woh in hi alaaishon ko door karwanay kay liye wahan aya tha.

Dan reached out, his hand rested on the other's abs, under the blankets. Felt heat creep from the skin, feeding it back again. "How long did they have you? You look like a fair few beatings at least." Vadim looked down at his body, tensed the muscle to keep that weight there, nice and snug. "Two days. Like weekend with in-laws, eh?" Tried a smile. "Bad food, and they hate you." Nodding, Dan's eyes narrowed, could just about imagine what it had been like. "I don't take kindly to those who try to take away from me what is mine.

Of women, he’s heard it said: “She will be the end of me,” or “She will be my undoing.” None of that is true for Liska Radost. She is not the end of anything, but the beginning of everything. He has been dead a long time, and she is his resurrection.

            Tempting as it may be to draw one conclusion or another from my story and universalize it to apply to another's experience, it is not my intention for my book to be seen as some sort of cookie-cutter approach and explanation of mental illness, It is not ab advocacy of any particular form of therapy over another. Nor is it meant to take sides in the legitimate and necessary debate within the mental health profession if which treatments are most effective for this or any other mental illness.             What it is, I hope, is a way for readers to get a true feel for what it's like to be in the grips of mental illness and what it's like to strive for recovery.

Magnus stopped dead. The room was illuminated only by a reading lamp; all the other light came from outside the windows. Alec was painted with streetlights and moonlight, shadows curling around his biceps and the slender indentations of his collarbones, his torso all smooth, sleek, bare skin until the dark line of his jeans. There were runes on the flat planes of his stomach and the silvery scars of old Marks snaked around his ribs, with one on the ridge of his hip. His head was bowed, his hair black as ink, his luminously pale skin white as paper. He looked like a piece of art, chiaroscuro, beautifully and wonderfully made. Magnus had heard the story of how the Nephilim were created many times. They must have forgotten to leave out the bit that said: And the Angel descended from on high and gave his chosen ones fantastic abs.

Logan. Fucking. Matthews. I hate him. I hate his stupid smug ass of a face and that perfectly messy brown hair. I hate those stupid green eyes and those perfect teeth, and that hot as fuck panty-dropping smile. I hate his stupid deep dimples that show whenever he smirks from being an asshole—which is all the fucking time. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much, I want to push him up against the wall and punch him in the face. And then I want to lick it. Then rip his fucking shirt off and finger his abs while he does that annoyingly manly chuckle that I love. I hate him. Stupid Fucking Logan Fucking Matthews. Shit. I'm drunk. And I've turned into Lucy.

The great anxious focus on the minutiae of appetite—on calories and portion size and what's going into the body versus what's being expended, on shoes and hair and abs of steel—keeps the larger, more fearsome questions of desire blurred and out of focus. American women spend approximately $1 million every hour on cosmetics. This may or may not say something about female vanity, but it certainly says something about female energy, where it is and is not focused. Easier to worry about the body than the soul, easier to fit the self into the narrow slots of identity our culture offers to women than to create one...that allows for the expression of all passions, the satisfaction of all appetites. The great preoccupation with things like food and shopping and appearance, in turn, is less of a genuine focus on hunger—indulging it, understanding it, making decisions about it—than it is a monumental distraction from hunger.

I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT KING TRITON. Specifically, King, why are you elderly but with the body of a teenage Beastmaster? How do you maintain those monster pecs? Do they have endocrinologists under the sea? Because I am scheduling you some bloodwork... ...Question: How come, when they turn back into humans at the end of Beauty and the Beast, Chip is a four-year-old boy, but his mother, Mrs. Potts, is like 107? Perhaps you're thinking, "Lindy, you are remembering it wrong. That kindly, white-haired, snowman-shaped Mrs. Doubtfire situation must be Chip's grandmother." Not so, champ! She's his mom. Look it up. She gave birth to him four years ago... As soon as you become a mother, apparently, you are instantly interchangeable with the oldest woman in the world, and / or sixteen ounces of boiling brown water with a hat on it. Take a sec and contrast Mrs. Pott's literally spherical body with the cut-diamond abs of King Triton, father of seven.

Stell dir dein Leben vor wie ein großes Haus mit vielen Zimmern, Phil. Einige dieser Zimmer sind leer, andere voller Gerümpel. Manche sind groß und voller Licht und wieder andere sind dunkel, sie verbergen Schrecken und Kummer. Und ab und zu - nur ab und zu, hörst du ? - öffnet sich zu einem dieser schrecklichen Zimmer und du musst hineinsehen, ob du willst oder nicht. Dann bekommst du große Angst, so wie jetzt. Weißt du, was du dann tust?" Ich schüttelte den Kopf. Tereza "Dann denkst du daran, dass es dein Leben ist - dein Haus, mit deinen Zimmer. Du hast die Schlüssel, Phil. Also schließt du die Tür zu diesem schrecklichen Zimmer einfach zu" Phil "Und dann werfe ich den Schlüssel weg" Tereza "Nein, das darfst du nicht tun, niemals! Denn eines Tages spürst du vielleicht, dass nur durch dieses schreckliche Zimmer der Weg in einen größeren, schöneren Teil des Hauses führt. Und dann brauchst du den Schlüssel. Du kannst deine Angst für eine Weile aussperren, aber irgendwann musst du dich ihr stellen" Phil "Wenn ich größer bin?" Tereza "Größer und mutiger, mein Kleiner. Und vielleicht auch nicht mehr allein.

(...) the small of his back slick with sweat, the surprisingly soft hair brushing my body when he took control. And moved over me. "Stop it", Pritkin grated, his voice somehow cutting through the fog. But he didn't let go. I suppose he was afraid to, because a Pythia or one of her senior initiates could shift without him if there was no contact. But that left us stuck together, and that was becoming really, really- Awesome, my body piped up enthusiastically. "I told you, cut it out!" Pritkin said, sounding pissed. "You first," I snarled, snapping my eyes open to glare at him, because he wasn't exactly helping. Of course, neither did that. He must have been jogging, probably his usual early morning ten-mile warm-up before coming to torture me. At least, I assumed that was why the rock-hard abs were outlined by a damp khaki T-shirt, the thin old sweatpants were clinging in all the right places, and the sleeves of the hoodie had been pushed to his elbows, showing the flexing muscles in his forearms. And then there were those hands and those eyes and that mouth... I shivered again, a full-on shudder this time, and he cursed. But that didn't seem to matter. Because it had come out like a growl, and my body liked that, too. My hips shifted automatically, pressing us together, and I gave a little gasp because it felt so good. And then gasped again when I was abruptly released.

요힘베 (yohimbe) 일명 천연 비아그라라고 불리우며 Yohimbe 나무의 껍질로 만들며 그 껍질의 추출물이 최음제 및 성기능강화제로 사용된다. 정품^^요힘빈^^판매처: ★카톡:kodak8★텔레그램:Komen68★ 요힘빈(yohimbine)는 요힘베라는 나무의 껍질에서 추출되는 성분으로 성중추신경을 흥분시키는 작용이 있어 아프리카에서는 전통적으로 발기부진을 치료하고 성적욕구를 자극하는데 요힘베를 사용하였다.색은 붉은색이 도는 갈색이며 맛은 독특하다. ^^바로구입가기^^ ↓↓아래 이미지 사이트 클릭↓↓ ★카톡:kodak8★텔레그램:Komen68★ %eb%8b%a4%ec%9a%b4%eb%a1%9c%eb%93%9c-1 유럽에서도 비아그라가 나오기 전에는 남성의 성기능 이상에 요힘베를 처방하기도 하였다. 아프리카 사람들사이에서는 `악어나무’ 또는 `5시 나무’라는 별명으로 통한다. 요힘베 가루를 몇 ｇ만 마시면 “도마뱀이 악어가 되고” 새벽까지 남성의 힘이 지속되기 때문이다. 이 나무는 서 아프리카, 콩고, 카메룬의 열대 숲(아프리카 적도 해안지역) 에서 자라며, 키가15~18미터이다. 원주민들은 이 나무껍질를 혼례춤을 출 때 사용해 왔다. 반투족은 요힘베를 먹고 ’일주일 넘게’ 북을 치고 춤추며 사랑을 나누는 등 떠들썩한 잔치를 벌이곤 했다. ‘요힘빈’은 요힘베(Yohimbe) 나무의 껍질에 함유돼 있는 알칼로이드로, α-아드레날린 차단 및 혈관 확장 작용을 한다. 이 혈관 확장 작용이 발기에 도움을 주고, 또 아프리카 원주민이 최음제로 사용하는데 착안해 음위(임포텐츠) 치료에 사용하기도 한다. 비아그라가 나오기 훨씬 전부터 케냐를 비롯한 중서부 아프리카에서는 강력한 최음제로 `요힘베’ 나무껍질이 이용돼 왔다.