Button Button Short Story Quotes

…I do not mind odious young men; it is when they are charming that I button up the pockets of my sympathy.

You raise one eyebrow and regard me with another intense stare. “Start by stripping please Jenna.” I hear what you say and yet on some level I can’t quite process it. “Strip?” I ask, as though I don’t understand your demand. “Yes, strip. Take off all of your clothes. I want to see you naked. Now please.” I feel dazed, yet I let my jacket fall to the floor, and start work on my shirt buttons. Your eyes never leave me. I can feel them mining into me whilst I tackle the third button. Why is this so weird? You’re my husband after all. You’ve seen me undress and naked countless times. Yet this is different. I am not just undressing, I am stripping. It’s not my decision; it’s at your command. You are not just Oliver now; you’re my Husband – some dominant entity now in charge. For some strange reason, I am finding it really hot! The look in your eyes is not just appreciative; it’s carnal. Waves begin to rise in my pool of desire.

other gentlemen had come out with him. One was a low-spirited gentleman of middle age, of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who kept his hands continually in the pockets of his scanty pepper-and-salt trousers, very large and dog’s-eared from that custom; and was not particularly well brushed or washed. The other, a full-sized, sleek, well-conditioned gentleman, in a blue coat with bright buttons, and a white cravat. This gentleman had a very red face, as if an undue proportion of the blood in his body were squeezed up into his head; which perhaps accounted for his having also the appearance of being rather cold about the heart. He who had Toby’s meat upon the fork, called to the first one by the name of Filer; and they both drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly short-sighted, was obliged to go so close to the remnant of Toby’s dinner before he could make out what it was, that Toby’s heart leaped up into his mouth. But Mr. Filer didn’t eat it. “This is a description of animal food, Alderman,” said Filer, making little punches in it, with a pencil-case, “commonly known to the labouring population of this country, by the name of tripe.” The Alderman laughed, and winked; for he was a merry fellow, Alderman Cute. Oh, and a sly fellow,

He kissed the cross greedily; he made haste to kiss, as though in haste not to forget to provide himself with something in case of need; but I doubt whether he had any religious feeling at the time. And so it was till he was laid on the plank. … It’s strange that people rarely faint at these last moments. On the contrary, the brain is extraordinarily lively and must be working at a tremendous rate — at a tremendous rate, like a machine at full speed. I fancy that there is a continual throbbing of ideas of all sorts, always unfinished and perhaps absurd too, quite irrelevant ideas: That man is looking at me. He has a wart on his forehead. One of the executioner’s buttons is rusty.

The text should be bold and the statement should be short. It should be easy to read and not buried under buttons and clutter.

Catherine lived in a two-story Craftsman. It wasn’t much from the outside. No landscaping, a crumbling porch, paint chipping off the rails and trim. The windows couldn’t have done much to regulate the temperature. They had to be at least thirty years old, and only half had screens. This surprised me. Catherine was fastidious in all ways, but her house was a bit of a wreck. The neighborhood was all right. At least she wasn’t in imminent danger of being shot or mugged when she stepped outside. There were no cars in her driveway, so I wasn’t certain she was home. I reached for the doorbell but hesitated. Probably better to knock, just in case Josephine was sleeping. As I’d been told more than once, babies did a lot of that. It took a while. So long, I was about to give up when the door finally swung open. “Elliot?” Catherine stood in the open doorway, waiting for me to say something. The problem was, I’d been rendered speechless. The Catherine I knew was buttoned up to her neck, hair tied back, conservative, and almost modest in her style. The woman in front of me was barely dressed. Her shorts stopped at the top of thick, creamy, tattooed thighs. Her tank top didn’t cover any more of her. Her breasts nearly spilled out of the low neckline, belly button peeking out from the gap above her shorts. Her bare arms were covered in colorful tattoos from wrist to shoulder. Her hair, which was always tamed into submission, spilled around her shoulders and neck in a violent riot. It wasn’t curls like I’d always suspected, but wild, licking, wavy flames that shot out in all directions. I met her eyes, which were wide with alarm, and finally found my voice. “This isn’t what you look like.

He explains that we are all creations of an author named Chuck Tingle who exist in a fictional world.  He explains that, depending on how many times the button has been pressed, having sex with a dinosaur could be seen as utterly absurd, which I find to be slightly offensive.             Long story short, Buck Trungle is crazy.

A generation of Christians reared among push buttons and automatic machines is impatient with slower and less-direct methods of reaching their goals. We have been trying to apply machine-age methods to our relationships with God. We read our chapter, have our short devotions, and rush away, hoping to make up for our deep inward bankruptcy by attending another gospel meeting or listening to another thrilling story told by a religious adventurer lately returned from afar. The tragic results of this spirit are all about us. Shallow lives, hollow religious philosophies, the preponderance of the element of fun in gospel meetings, the glorification of men, trust in religious externalities, quasi-religious fellowships, salesmanship methods, the mistaking of dynamic personality for the power of the Spirit: These and such as these are the symptoms of an evil disease, a deep and serious malady of the soul.

Those buttons were experiencing a serious threat to their continued operations. She crossed her legs and swung a red-soled stiletto back and forth. Yowsers. Had I been wearing a necktie, I would have had to loosen it to swallow hard. Not that I ever swallowed.

It is a gift of God, indeed, but one which must be recognized and cultivated as any other gift if it is to realize the purpose for which it was given. Failure to see this is the cause of a very serious breakdown in modern evangelicalism. The idea of cultivation and exercise, so dear to the saints of old, has now no place in our total religious picture. It is too slow, too common. We now demand glamour and fast flowing dramatic action. A generation of Christians reared among push buttons and automatic machines is impatient of slower and less direct methods of reaching their goals. We have been trying to apply machine-age methods to our relations with God. We read our chapter, have our short devotions and rush away, hoping to make up for our deep inward bankruptcy by attending another gospel meeting or listening to another thrilling story told by a religious adventurer lately returned from afar.

The idea of cultivation and exercise, so dear to the saints of old, has now no place in our total religious picture. It is too slow, too common. We now demand glamour and fast flowing dramatic action. A generation of Christians reared among push buttons and automatic machines is impatient of slower and less direct methods of reaching their goals. We have been trying to apply machine-age methods to our relations with God. We read our chapter, have our short devotions and rush away, hoping to make up for our deep inward bankruptcy by attending another gospel meeting or listening to another thrilling story told by a religious adventurer lately returned from afar. The tragic results of this spirit are all about us. Shallow lives, hollow religious philosophies, the preponderance of the element of fun in gospel meetings, the glorification of men, trust in religious externalities, quasi-religious fellowships, salesmanship methods, the mistaking of dynamic personality for the power of the Spirit: these and such as these are the symptoms of an evil disease, a deep and serious malady of the soul. For this great sickness that is upon us no one person is responsible, and no Christian is wholly free from blame. We have all contributed, directly or indirectly, to this sad state of affairs. We have been too blind to see, or too timid to speak out, or too self-satisfied to desire anything better than the poor average diet with which others appear satisfied. To put it differently, we have accepted one another's notions, copied one another's lives and made one another's experiences the model for our own. And for a generation the trend has been downward. Now we have reached a low place of sand and burnt wire grass and, worst of all, we have made the Word of Truth conform to our experience and accepted this low plane as the very pasture of the blessed. It will require a determined heart and more than a little courage to wrench ourselves loose from the grip of our times and return to Biblical ways. But it can be done. Every now and then in the past Christians have had to do it. History has recorded several large-scale returns led by such men as St. Francis, Martin Luther and George Fox. Unfortunately there seems to be no Luther or Fox on the horizon at present. Whether or not another such return may be expected before the coming of Christ is a question upon which Christians are not fully agreed, but that is not of too great importance to us now. What God in His sovereignty may yet do on a world-scale I do not claim to know: but what He will do for the plain man or woman who seeks His face I believe I do know and can tell others. Let any man turn to God in earnest, let him begin to exercise himself unto godliness, let him seek to develop his powers of spiritual receptivity by trust and obedience and humility, and the results will exceed anything he may have hoped in his leaner and weaker days.

A young man sat in the saddle, a youth, a careless youth on a tour. He himself, great heavens, surely made no pretensions to belonging to the great and glorious one of the world! He rode a machine of middling quality—it does not really matter of what make—a wheel costing, say, about two hundred marks. And with this he went pedalling a bit through the country, fresh from the city, riding with flashing pedals into God’s green world—hurray! He wore a coloured shirt and a grey jacket, sports leggings, and the jauntiest little cap in the world—a very joke of a cap, with brown checks and a button on the top. And from under this cap a thick mop of blond hair welled forth and stood up above his forehead. His eyes were of a lightning-blue. He came on like Life itself and tinkled his bell, but Piepsam did not move a hair’s breadth out of the way. He stood there and looked at Life with a rigid stare.

At least once per week I post a giveaway, and many people like and share my post. Again, it’s another way to keep my page active. The more interesting or fun your posts are, the more readers want to hang out with you. The nicer you make your sites, the more people may want to linger. Make sure your banner is updated and eye-catching, detailing your newest release with buy or preorder buttons and links. Answer all of your messages. Create a tab where readers can purchase your books. Feature your website prominently on the page. Keep things organized. Make sure your book page shows the series order and offers lots of fun extras, like bonus short stories, book trailers, special reviews, or maps detailing the setting of your book. Keep things professional.

TAKEAWAYS FOR TEACHING YOUR DOG Model two-word phrases. Help your dog learn to combine words by talking in short phrases, and using your dog’s buttons as you talk. When your dog starts using single words frequently, be on the lookout for word combinations. Program words that your dog reacts strongly to. Are there any words that your dog waits around for you to say, or that you have to spell out so your dog doesn’t overhear your plans? If your dog understands a word, give her a chance to be able to say it too! Keep all words available for your dog to say. If you can’t say yes to what your dog is asking for, or if your dog is asking for the same thing over and over again, respond with “no,” “all done,” or “later” instead of taking your dog’s buttons away. Give your dog a chance to learn boundaries, and how frequently to ask for something. It takes time to learn the social rules of language.

the imagination of the world. Since then, dozens of similar books and short stories have followed, and feature films with time travel themes remain extremely popular. It’s clear that the idea of time travel pushes our buttons in a significant way. It’s an idea that is just too intriguing an idea to ignore. What is also difficult to ignore are the real life cases of normal everyday people reporting strange encounters with slips, shifts and spontaneous journeys in time. It is also fascinating to note that as modern physics advances, a realization is developing to suggest that time travel may be something that is real and possible, and may already be happening. The idea of time travel also straddles the fringe theories of New Agers all the way over to hard-nosed science. The world’s greatest scientists such as Stephen Hawking and Michio Kaku, are equally enamoured with time travel as is the common man on the street. Support for the possibility that time travel is real runs across a broad spectrum of human thought. Add to this the obvious fact that time travel is a highly entertaining concept – and you get a subject of endless fascination. We hope readers found this book to be an interesting and worthy contribution to time travel fact and

On December 22, 1941, both Time and Life magazines ran stories helpfully guiding readers on how to distinguish their new Chinese "friends" from the enemy "Japs." Life's story included photographs. The first featured a Chinese government official smiling humbly at the camera. The other featured a stern-looking General Hideki Tojo, the Japanese prime minister responsible for the attack on Pearl Harbor. Both portraits were covered with handwritten notes identifying defining features and racial rules. The Chinese, for example, had a "parchment yellow complexion," a "higher bridge," a "longer, narrower face," a "scant beard," and "never has rosy cheeks." In contrast, the Japanese had an "earthy yellow complexion," "flatter nose," "sometimes rosy cheeks," "heavy beard," and "broader, shorter face." Time's description of "how to tell your friends from the Japs" was even more specific. "Virtually all Japanese are short... seldom fat, [and] often dry up and grow lean as they age" whereas the Chinese "often put on weight." Chinese had more "placid, kindly, open" facial expressions, while the Japanese were "more positive, dogmatic, arrogant." Perhaps unsurprisingly, some Chinese Americans sought ways to help white Americans distinguish them from Japanese Americans and wore "I am Chinese" buttons during the war.