Bod Quotes

It's just that most really good-looking people are stupid, so I exceed expectations.' 'Right, it's primarily his hotness,' I said. 'It can be sort of blinding,' he said. 'It actually did blind our friend Isaac,' I said. 'Terrible tragedy, that. But can I help my own deadly beauty?' 'You cannot.' 'It is my burden, this beautiful face.' 'Not to mention your body.' 'Seriously, don't even get me started on my hot bod. You don't want to see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace's breath away,' he said, nodding toward the oxygen tank.

Name the different kinds of people,’ said Miss Lupescu. ‘Now.’ Bod thought for a moment. ‘The living,’ he said. ‘Er. The dead.’ He stopped. Then, ‘... Cats?’ he offered, uncertainly.

You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead, it's gone. Over. You've made what you've made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.

Bod said, 'I want to see life. I want to hold it in my hands. I want to leave a footprint on the sand of a desert island. I want to play football with people. I want,' he said, and then he paused and he thought. 'I want everything.

-I'm going to kill the kid. - Barrons says faintly. Ryodan makes a burbling sound like a bodly laught. -Get in line

Just so you know, I’m goin’ to enlist.” “I’m proud of you. But why?” I groan against the pain but manage to give him a half smile. “I want to make sure Kiara’s got a boyfriend who has more to offer than a hot bod and a face that could make angels weep.

Bod was thrilled. He imagined a future in which he could read everything, in which all stories could be opened and discovered.

Someone killed my Mother and my Father and my Sister?" "Yes, someone did." "A Man?" "A Man." "Which means," said Bod, "you're asking the wrong question." Silas raised an eyebrow. "How so?" "Well," said Bod. "If I go outside in the world, the question isn't who will keep me safe from him?" "No?" "No. It's who will keep him safe from me?

And there are always people who find their lives have become so unsupportable they believe the best thing they could do would be to hasten their transition to another plane of existence.' 'They kill themselves, you mean?' said Bod. [...] 'Indeed.' 'Does it work? Are they happier dead?' 'Sometimes. Mostly, no. It's like the people who believe they'll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn't work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.

Bod shrugged. "So?" he said. "It's only death. I mean, all of my best friends are dead.

I can only hope,” Julie said, turning back to Gus, “they grow into the kind of thoughtful, intelligent young men you’ve become.” I resisted the urge to audibly gag. “He’s not that smart,” I said to Julie. “She’s right. It’s just that most really good-looking people are stupid, so I exceed expectations.” “Right, it’s primarily his hotness,” I said. “It can be sort of blinding,” he said. “It actually did blind our friend Isaac,” I said. “Terrible tragedy, that. But can I help my own deadly beauty?” “You cannot.” “It is my burden, this beautiful face.” “Not to mention your body.” “Seriously, don’t even get me started on my hot bod. You don’t want to see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace’s breath away,” he said, nodding toward the oxygen tank. “Okay, enough,” Gus’s dad said.

But between now and then, there was Life; and Bod walked into it with his eyes and his heart wide open.

Who cares if you have a girlfriend, anyway?" "I care," Simon said gloomily. "Pretty soon the only people left without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the school janitor. And he smells like Windex." "At least you know he's still available." Simon glared. "Not funny, Fray." "There's always Sheila 'The Thong' Bararino," Clary suggested. "That is who Eric's been dating for the past three months," Simon said. "His advice, meanwhile, was that I ought to just decide which girl in school has the most rockin' bod and ask her out." "Eric is a sexist pig," Clary said. "Maybe you should call your band The Sexist Pigs." "It has a ring to it.

He’s not that smart.” “She’s right,” Augustus says. “It’s just that most really good-looking people are stupid, so I exceed expectations.” “Right, it’s primarily his hotness.” “It can be sort of blinding,” he said. “It actually did blind our friend Isaac.” “Terrible tragedy, that. But can I help my own deadly beauty?” “You cannot.” “It is my burden, this beautiful face.” “Not to mention your body.” “Seriously, don’t even get me started on my hot bod. You don’t want to see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace’s breath away,” he said, nodding toward the oxygen tank.

Seriously, don't even get me started on my hot bod. You don't want to see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace's breath away,' he said, nodding toward the oxygen tank.

The fallen autumn leaves were slick beneath Bod's feet, and the mists blurred the edges of the world. Nothing was as clean-cut as he had thought it, a few minutes before.

I want to make sure Kiara’s got a boyfriend who has more to offer than a hot bod and a face that could make angels weep.

Bod quite liked crows. He thought they were funny and he liked the way they helped to keep the graveyard tidy.

I'm a stranger," pointed out Bod. "You're not," she said, definitely. "You're a little boy." And then she said, "And you're my friend. So you can't be a stranger.

Each of the dancers took a partner, the living with the dead, each to each. Bod reached out his hand and found himself touching fingers with, and gazing into the grey eyes of, the lady in the cobweb dress. She smiled at him. “Hello, Bod,” she said. “Hello,” he said, as he danced with her. “I don’t know your name.” “Names aren’t really important,” she said. “I love your horse. He’s so big! I never knew horses could be that big.” “He is gentle enough to bear the mightiest of you away on his broad back, and strong enough for the smallest of you as well.” “Can I ride him?” asked Bod. “One day,” she told him, and her cobweb skirts shimmered. “One day. Everybody does.” “Promise?” I promise.

Mister Trod?" said Bod. "Tell me about revenge." "Dish best served cold." said Nehemiah Trot.

He's out here, somewhere, and he wants you dead,' she said. 'Him as killed your family. Us in the graveyard, we wants you to stay alive. We wants you to surprise us and disappoint us and impress us and amaze us. Come home, Bod.

There's atoms, which is things that is too small to see, that's what we're all made of. And there's things that are smaller than atoms, and that's Particle Physics." Bod nodded and decided that Scarlett's father was probably interested in imaginary things.

Do you know what you’re going to do now?” she asked. “See the world,” said Bod. “Get into trouble. Get out of trouble again. Visit jungles and volcanoes and deserts and islands. And people. I want to meet an awful lot of people.

Look. I brought you here to give you a choice-" "You didn't bring us here," said Nick. "You're here," said Bod. "I wanted you here. I came here. You followed me. Same thing.

You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change.

You need to come with us right now," one of the queen's guards said. "If you resist, we'll take you by force." "Leave him alone!" I yelled, looking from face to face. That angry darkness exploded within me. How could they still not believe? Why were they still coming after him? "He hasn't done anything! Why can't you guys accept that he's really a dhampir now?" The man who'd spoken arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking to him." "You're...you're here for me?" I asked. I tried to think of any new spectacles I might have caused recently. I considered the crazy idea that the queen had found out I'd spent the night with Adrian and was pissed off about it. That was hardly enough to send the palace guard for me, though...or was it? Had I really gone too far with my antics? "What for?" demanded Dimitri. That tall, wonderful bod of his—the one that could be so sensual sometimes—was filled with tension and menace now. The man kept his gaze on me, ignoring Dimitri. "Don't make me repeat myself: Come with us quietly, or we will make you." The glimmer of handcuffs showed in his hands. My eyes went wide. "That's crazy! I'm not going anywhere until you tel me how the hell this—" That was the point at which they apparently decided I wasn't coming quietly. Two of the royal guardians lunged for me, and even though we technically worked for the same side, my instincts kicked in. I didn't understand anything here except that I would not be dragged away like some kind of master criminal. I shoved the chair I'd been sitting in earlier at the one of the guardians and aimed a punch at the other. It was a sloppy throw, made worse because he was taller than me. That height difference allowed me to dodge his next grab, and when I kicked hard at his legs, a grunt told me I'd hit home. [...] Meanwhile, other guardians were joining the fray. Although I got a couple of good punches in, I knew the numbers were too overwhelming. One guardian caught hold of my arm and began trying to put the cuffs on me. He stopped when another set of hands grabbed me from the other side and jerked me away. Dimitri. "Don't touch her," he growled. There was a note in his voice that would have scared me if it had been directed toward me. He shoved me behind him, putting his body protectively in front of mine with my back to the table. Guardians came at us from all directions, and Dimitri began dispatching them with the same deadly grace that had once made people call him a god. [...] The queen's guards might have been the best of the best, but Dimitri...well, my former lover and instructor was in a category all his own. His fighting skills were beyond anyone else's, and he was using them all in defense me. "Stay back," he ordered me. "They aren't laying a hand on you.

Bod tried to smile, but he could not find a smile inside himself.

Repeat after me, there are the living and the dead, there are day-folk and night-folk, there are ghouls and mist-walkers, there are high hunters and the Hounds of God. Also, there are solitary types." "What are you?" asked Bod. "I," she said sternly, "am Miss Lupescu." "And what is Silas?" She hesitated. Then she said, "He is a solitary type.

You're weird,' she said. 'You don't have any friends.' 'I didn't come here for friends,' said Bod truthfully. "i came here to learn.' Mo's nose twitched. "Do you know how weird that is?' she asked. "Nobody comes to school to learn. I mean, you come because you have to.

But as soon as you saw his hot, naked bod, you must have been like Bond, what bond? Oh, you mean bondage?

And why does he talk so funny? Doesn't he mean squashed tomatoes? I don't think that they had tomatoes when he comes from, said Bod. And that's just how they talk then.

There are always people who find their lives have become so unsupportable they believe the best thing they could do would be to hasten their transition to another plane of existence." "They kill themselves, you mean?" said Bod. He was about eight years old, wide-eyed and inquisitive, and he was not stupid. "Indeed." "Does it work? Are they happier dead?" "Sometimes. Mostly, no. It's like the people who believe they'll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn't work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.

There were three of them there, then, and Amabella was introducing Bod and he was shaking hands and saying, "Charmed, I'm sure," because he could greet people politely over nine hundred years of changing manners.

Did it hurt?” asked Bod. “Letting the car hit you like that?” “Yes,” said Silas.

All the people here have had their lives, Bod, even if they were short ones. Now it's your turn. You need to live.

You’re going back?” asked Bod. Things that had been immutable were changing. “You’re really leaving? But. You’re my guardian.” “I was you’re guardian. But you are old enough to guard yourself. I have other things to protect.

How old are you?" said the girl. "What are you doing here? Do you live here? What's your name?" "I don't know," said Bod. "You don't know your name?" said the girl. "Course you do. Everybody knows their own name. Fibber." "I know my name," said Bod. "And I know what I'm doing here. But I don't know the other things you said.

You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential.

Mace had to be six foot three, had the prerequisite Nightingale Investigation Team killer bod; black hair, jade eyes and a jaw so square, it could be used in math class.

Name the different kinds of people,” said Miss Lupescu. “Now.” Bod thought for a moment. “The living,” he said. “Er. The dead.” He stopped. Then, “…Cats?” he offered, uncertainly.

Time wasn't passing so much as kneeling beside him in a torn tee-shirt disclosing the rodent-nosed tits of a man who disdains the care of his once-comely bod.

You’re weird,” she said. “You don’t have any friends.” “I didn’t come here for friends,” said Bod truthfully. “I came here to learn.

Name the different kinds of people,” said Miss Lupescu. “Now.” Bod thought for a moment. “The living,” he said. “Er. The dead.” He stopped. Then, “…Cats?” he offered, uncertainly.

Good point.” Bod was pleased with himself, and glad he had thought of asking the Poet for advice. Really, he thought, if you couldn’t trust a poet to offer sensible advice, who could you trust?

Can’t I stay here? In the graveyard?” “You must not,” said Silas, more gently than Bod could remember him ever saying anything. “All the people here have had their lives, Bod, even if they were short ones. Now it’s your turn. You need to live.

Can I hug you?" "Do you want to?"said Bod. "Yes." "Well then."He thought for a moment."I don't mind if you do." "My hands won't go through you or anything?You're really there?" "You won't go through me,"he told her,and she threw her arms around him and squeezed him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

Silas continued, in his voice like velvet, "You had parents. An older sister. They were killed. I believe that you were to have been killed as well, and that you were not was due to chance, and the intervention of the Owenses." "And you," said Bod, who had had that night described to him over the years by many people, some of whom had even been there. It had been a big night in the graveyard. Silas said, "Out there, the man who killed your family is, I believe, still looking for you, still intends to kill you." Bod shrugged. "So?" he said. "It's only death. I mean, all of my best friends are dead.

There was a passport in his bag, money in his pocket. There was a smile dancing on his lips, although it was a wary smile, for the world is a bigger place than a little graveyard on a hill; and there would be dangers in it and mysteries, new friends to make, old friends to rediscover, mistakes to be made and many paths to be walked before he would, finally, return to the graveyard or ride with the Lady on the broad back of her great grey stallion. But between now and then, there was Life; and Bod walked into it with his eyes and his heart wide open.

How old are you?" "About fifteen, I think. Though I still feel the same as I always did," Bod said, but Mother Slaughter interrupted, "And I still feels like I done when I was a tiny slip of a thing, making daisy chains in the old pasture. You're always you, and that don't change, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Bod was pleased with himself, and glad he had thought of asking the Poet for advice. Really, he thought, if you couldn’t trust a poet to offer sensible advice, who could you trust?

Face your life Its pain, its pleasure, Leave no path untaken” “Leave no path untaken,” repeated Bod. “A difficult challenge, but I can try my best.

If he didn’t care about you, you couldn’t upset him,” Liza tells Bod.

Us in the graveyard, we wants you to stay alive. We wants you to surprise us and disappoint us and impress us and amaze us. Come home, Bod.

I quite like lessons,” said Bod. “If you paid more attention to yours, you wouldn’t have to blackmail younger kids for pocket money.

Now was the time to get everything back on track, to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life before I got all distracted by a soul mate with a bod for sin.

The last guest lecturer to honor the students with her presence had been Isabelle Lightwood. And the 'lecture' had consisted of a stern and humiliating warning that every female in a ten-mile radius should keep her grubby littler hands off Simon's hot bod. Fortunately, the tall, dark-haired man who strode to the front of the classroom looked unlikely to have any interest in Simon or his bod.

Zlo jako takové neexistuje, zlé je totiž všechno. Vesmír je temný. Rodíme se zlí. Zlo je výchozí bod, přirozenost. Někdy se pak objevuje záblesk světla. Jenže je pouze dočasný, musíme zpátky do tmy.

There was something at the edge of Silas’s lips that might have been a smile, and might have been regret, and might just have been a trick of the shadows. “Good-bye, then, Silas.” Bod held out his hand, as he had when he was a small boy, and Silas took it, in a cold hand the color of old ivory, and shook it gravely. “Good-bye, Nobody Owens.

It's like the people who believe they'll be happier if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn't really work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.

Protože voda, zbabělost a chtíč si vždy hledají nejnižší bod.

Bod was obedient but curious.

You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential.

Seriously, don't even get me started on my hot bod. You don't want to see me naked, Dave. seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace's breath away

In my philosophy, the wry androgyny doesn't have any meaning. I think there is no difference between men and women. We are different in bod, but sense, spirit and soul are the same

See the world,’ said Bod. ‘Get into trouble. Get out of trouble again. Visit jungles and volcanoes and deserts and islands. And people. I want to meet an awful lot of people.

...but between now and then, there was life & Bod walked into it with his eyes and his heart open wide.

Burying that hot bod would be a disservice to mankind,” Julian responded, his tongue running away from him as per usual.

What are you?. Ghouls," said the Bishop of Bath and Wells. "Bless me, somebody wasn't paying attention, was he? We're ghouls." "Look!

...Come home, Bod.' ‘I think . . . I said things to Silas. He’ll be angry.’ ‘If he didn’t care about you, you couldn’t upset him,’ was all she said.

Mister Trot?” said Bod. “Tell me about revenge.” “Dish best served cold,” said Nehemiah Trot. “Do not take revenge in the heat of the moment. Instead, wait until the hour is propitious.

There's nothing you can do, Bod." "There is. I can learn. I can learn everything I need to know, all I can. "I learned about ghoul-gates. I learned to Dreamwalk. Miss Lupescu taught me how to watch the stars. Silas taught me silence. I can Haunt. I can Fade. I know every inch of this graveyard.

Mistress Ownens rubbed her eyes with a knuckle, then dabbed at them with her apron, and she shook her head. "Do you know what you're going to do now?" she asked. "See the world," said Bod. "Get into trouble. Get out of trouble again. visit jungle and volcanoes and deserts and islands. And people. I want to meet an awful lot of people.

You're alive, Bod.That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead,it's gone. Over. You've made what you've made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.

You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. You’ve made what you’ve made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.

Bod shrugged. ‘So?’ he said. ‘It’s only death. I mean, all of my best friends are dead.’ ‘Yes.’ Silas hesitated. ‘They are. And they are for the most part, done with the world. You are not. You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential.

There was a smile dancing on his lips, although it was a wary smile, for the world is a bigger place than a little graveyard on a hill; and there would be dangers in it and mysteries, new friends to make, old friends to rediscover, mistakes to be made and many paths to be walked before he would, finally, return to the graveyard or ride with the Lady on the broad back of her great grey stallion. But between now and then, there was Life; and Bod walked into it with his eyes and his heart wide open.

People say the beach is the great equaliser Who are they kidding? Sit at Bondi and watch the boys flex And the girls walk bolt upright It looks like a nightmare episode of Baywatch. The true equaliser is the mountain cold And stacks of cold flung together Maybe then we’d listen to what each other is saying Instead of checking out the best bods. And as I wrap another layer Around my Size 10 I think of Jack’s favourite saying: “today’s tan is tomorrow’s cancer” I walk outside And whistle at the wind.

This is what Grandma was worried about, you know.' 'Me eating a whole chocolate cake practically all by myself in a single sitting?' 'You falling in love with a computer geek. Sure, they have good stock options and smokin' hot bods, but what about that dark side of genius that reanimates the dead?

Liza Hempstock, who had been Bod's friend for the last six years, was different in another way; she was less likely to be there for him when Bod went down to the nettle patch to see her, and on the rare occasions when she was, she would be short-tempered, argumentative and often downright rude. Bod talked to Mr Owens about this, and after a few moments' reflection, his father said, "It's just women, I reckon. She liked you as a boy, probably isn't sure who you are now you're a young man. I used to play with one little girl down by the duck pond every day until she turned about your age, and then she threw an apple at my head and did not say another word to me until I was seventeen." Mrs Owens stiffened. "It was a pear I threw," she said, tartly, "and I was talking to you again soon enough, for we danced a measure at your cousin Ned's wedding, and that was but two days after your sixteenth birthday." Mr Owens said, "Of course you are right, my dear." He winked at Bod, to tell him that it was none of it serious. And then mouthed "Seventeen" to show that, really, it was.

How old are you?” “About fifteen, I think. Though I still feel the same as I always did,” Bod said, but Mother Slaughter interrupted, “And I still feels like I done when I was a tiny slip of a thing, making daisy chains in the old pasture. You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Here is a Hawaiian legend once told to me: Sometimes the dead don't want to be dead. Sometimes souls go flitting around in the air, particles of light, drifting, until a mortal crams the soul back inside its bod. The kino wailua, or spirits, can be spotted anywhere, the face of a rock, a mountainside - a Hawaiian should always look for facial features. It is the mortal's job to perform the kapuku, or resuscitation process. It is our duty to sneak the soul beneath the toenail of a body, let the body rise up like a newly watered plant.

Independent directors practice independent thinking.

Existence vyžaduje energii, plynulý pohyb vpřed, ale přesto nikdy nepřestaneme hledat bod, kde to všechno začalo, velký třesk, který nás vystřelil na nevyhnutelnou životní dráhu.

Love not with mere bod, but heart.

Mister Trod?" said Bod. "Tell me about revenge." "Dish best served cold," said Nehemiah Trot. "Do not take revenge in the heat of the moment. Instead, wait until the hour is propitious. There was a Grub Street hack named O'Leary--an Irishman, I should add--who had the nerve, the confounded cheek to write of my first slim volume of poems, A Nosegay of Beauty Assembled for Gentleman of Quality, that it was inferior doggerel of no worth whatsoever, and that the paper it was written on would have been better used as--no, I cannot say. Let us simply agree that it was a most vulgar statement.

I thought we were gonna take this relationship slow." "A back rub is harmless." My eyes roam over her kick-ass bikini-covered bod. "I'll have you know I've been intimate with girls wearin' a lot more.

And there are always people who find their lives have become so unsupportable they believe the best thing they could do would be to hasten their transition to another plane of existence.” “They kill themselves, you mean?” said Bod. He was about eight years old, wide-eyed and inquisitive, and he was not stupid. “Indeed.” “Does it work? Are they happier dead?” “Sometimes. Mostly, no. It’s like the people who believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.” “Sort of,” said Bod.

love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet and brother, arm wrapping shoulders, remember, this is important: you are worth more than who you fuck, you are worth more than a waistline, you are worth more than beer bottles displayed like drunken artifacts, you are no less valuable as a size 16 than a size 4, you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C you are worth more than any naked bod

Jesse, you're not going to lose me. I had the situation totally under control." Sort of. "But I have to say that after so many years of you keeping your feelings for me hidden out of propriety, it's really nice to hear you say all those things. Plus, it's emotionally healthy that you're letting them out this way. Keep unburdening yourself." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "What is it exactly, that you find so irresistible about me? Is it my magnetic personality? Or my emerald green eyes? Or maybe it's just my hot bod?" I felt something against my torso. "Oh, I'm getting the impression that it's my hot bod.

You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead, it's gone. Over.

Here is the first guest, a young woman in a short blue dress. Her face is a trifle on the vacant side but she’s got a knockout bod. Somewhere inside that dress, Hodges knows, there will be the sort of tattoo now referred to as a tramp-stamp. Maybe two or three. The men in the audience whistle and stomp their feet. The women in the audience applaud more gently. Some roll their eyes. This is the kind of woman you don’t like to catch your husband staring at.

If you’re ever short on cash, you could set up a booth and charge the ladies to massage your bod.” “Oh yeah?” His voice was wary. “Sure. Say, fifteen bucks for a two minute fondle. Strictly PG-13, above the waist, of course. I’ll sell the tickets, if you give me a cut.” His hands stopped moving. She babbled on, dazed and thoughtless. “The gay guys would go for it, too. We’d rake in the dough.” “I’d let you do it for free,” he said. His voice was devoid of irony. Her eyes popped open in alarm. She looked back over her shoulder. The hot glow in his eyes brought her feminine instincts to high alert. She pulled away. She and her big dumb mouth. Sexy banter with a guy she barely knew, but no nerve to back it up.

The TV screen switched back to a picture of the crime scene, just in time to capture footage of my bod being police escorted out of the building, my shirt unbuttoned sufficiently for the entire State of Israel to know that I wear pick lace, push-up bras.

No one tells you this, but when you enter your thirties, you will find vaguely in-shape bodies ridiculously attractive as opposed to your Chris Hemsworth predilections of the past. This is not to say that ripped dudes turn you off. It’s just that the DadBod signifies comfort—in one’s skin, in throwing a middle finger to vanity, and in eating what tastes good as opposed to what makes one look good—and for me, comfort equals home. DadBod is a home that smells like cinnamon and plush carpeting that you can massage your toes in.

The donkey nibbled on his butt. "What the hell!" Leaping a foot, Ozzie jerked around. The donkey was right THERE, not two inches from him, his ears laid back and his big brown eyes soulful. How had the damned thing moved so silently? "He's just being friendly." Marci shared that special smile that felt like a caress. "He likes you." Appalled, Ozzie said, "He likes my ass." And he backed out of the donkey's reach. "I do, too." No, no, no. He wasn't about to touch that one. "It'd help if you'd just be quiet, Marci." Unaffected by his dark mood, she laughed. "Lighten up, Osbourne. It's not my fault, or the donkey's that you have such an irresistible bod." -Osbourne and Marcie

You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. You’ve made what you’ve made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.” Bod

Almost 60 percent of women marry down, meaning most women go for a man with the dad bod. The guy who is more than likely going to make less than them; never work out; eat hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; and, let’s face it, need Viagra by age forty. All it takes is a simple Internet search to get the facts. Women are, by nature, insecure creatures, and if by the tender age of thirty-five they haven’t settled down, they’ll most likely marry the guy with the unfortunate bald spot and a heart of gold. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It’s kind of like when you go to the pound and pick the dog with the lazy eye because you feel sorry for it, and you know without a doubt that bastard will never stray.

Varför måste man skriva? För att ställa sig vid sidan om, som i en kokong, försjunken i ensamhet, på trots mot andras behov. Virginia Woolf hade sitt rum. Proust sina stängda fönsterluckor. Marguerite Duras sitt tysta hus. Dylan Thomas sin enkla bod. Alla var de ute efter en tomhet att fylla med ord. Orden som ska tränga in i orörda marker, uppdaga oinmutade associationer, ge uttryck åt oändligheten.

Livia, you make the rest of the beautiful things in the world cry for even trying at all. You make it hard for me to breathe.” Blake looked reluctant to move. Livia felt a pedestal forming under her feet. “Blake, I’m about to kiss the hell out of you for saying that.” She scampered around her bed to get to him and pressed her now clean, dry bod to get to him and pressed her now clean, dry body against his warm chest. Blake refused to drop her keepsake from Disney World and twirled it in her hair as he accepted her kiss. He worked hard to get every bit of vanilla gloss off her lips. “This lipstick is like icing on the most delicious Livia cupcake,” Blake murmured. Livia wanted to say something equally sexy but could only manage a small moan.