Cajun Man Quotes

Never underestimate a backwoods Cajun in a fight, old man.

That's man's way. To prove something. Day in, day out he must prove he is a man. Poor Fool.

The old man had been tanned by the light of too many beer signs, and it just goes to show that you can’t live on three packs of Chesterfields and a fifth of bourbon a day without starting to drift far too fuckin’ wide in the turns.

Colored or not, we all pick the white man's cotton.

Kennedy Landry wasn't really the patiently-wait-on-hold type of woman. Kennedy Landry was, however, the type of woman that made a man want to take what tiny semblance of control he could find and grab onto it like it was a lifeboat in the midst of a hurricane.

my heart breaks into a million tiny pieces for this man, who lost the love of his life.

Colored or not, we all work for the white man's cotton...

Every man who loves his country prefers its liberty to all other considerations, well knowing that life without liberty is a misery and they are mere slaves.

If you were mine, I’d make you pierce it. Just because. He shuddered, and Tom said, “Stop leaving.” Dammit. Did Cajun Voodoo Man know goddamned everything? He

Giving orders?” “You don’t like that?” Prophet rolled his eyes. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.” “Your cock likes it, though.” Tom waited, hands on his hips. “Seems to know me quite well.” Prophet’s cock was also a complete traitor . . . and a slut for the tattooed, pierced, handsome-as-fuck Cajun-drawling man in front of him. Tom

What could I say about Bellingrath Junior High? Not much, except it was named after my secret hero, Bernard Bellingrath. But Barney wasn’t the kind of hero who rescued a kid from a burning building or found a cure for a disease. Barney dropped a big load of money on our school to build the gym, stadium, and later the library annex. As his reward, a faded portrait hung on the wall of the visitors’ area inside the main entrance. But that wasn’t the reason he was my hero. According to legend, Barney had been born with a tail. A tail. Grand-mere Robichaud, who’d once seen such a tail on a baby’s pink bottom, said he could’ve been mistaken for the main course at a cochon de lait—a Cajun pig roast. But Barney’s parents were very religious, so they refused to have the tail removed. In spite of that decision, Barney grew up to be the richest and most powerful man in town. But that still wasn’t the reason he was my hero. The fact that he decided to keep the tail anyway—that was the reason. Now, all these years later, you’d think physical imperfections would be tolerated at a school practically founded by someone with a tail. But no.

We can do slow and sweet later. I want you fast and rough, and I've been begging for a while now." She hooked a leg around his, bringing their bodies together as close as possible. "If you missed the memo, buddy, I've been trying to get you inside me half the day." With a low groan, he picked her up and lowered her to the bed, his mouth and tongue setting up a rhythm to match the fingers he slid inside her. "Not that," she said. "You. Now." "Bossy Cajun woman." He gave her a tousle-haired, lopsided grin as he rolled into the cradle of her thighs, positioning himself at her 'entrance...

Adequate duct tape was not an attribute she'd ever sought in a man.

The only man I put my bra on for on a Sunday is Jesus.

Saying goodbye, Joanna hugged Esmeralda and whispered, “Be prepared. Beau Landry is beautiful.” She pulled back and chuckled. “I thought you would like to know. No one warned me.” Esmeralda covered a giggle and said, “Okay.” “I am quite serious. He is unbelievably handsome.” Joanna’s brown eyes flashed as she pretended to fan herself. Esmeralda laughed, “I’ve only ever had eyes for one man.” “He is not a man. He is a French Cajun god.” —Lady Joanna ben Luke and Esmeralda ben Claude

Beau clawed at the overturned table, pushing to his hands and knees, blood running off his beard onto the floor. The man who charged enemy lines a dozen times against overwhelming odds determined he would not die groveling on the floor. —Beau Landry

There was something about a man who could say darlin’ in a husky, slow croon that could make any girl melt.

Do you know what a woman wants, Quinn-san?” “I’m not the man to ask.” He wished Thibodaux was there. The big Cajun had barrels of philosophy about women. “I think most men believe we want to be ravished—swept off our feet.” She sat on the end of the bed, one sock on, the other in her hand. “And perhaps some of us do when we are young. But what we really want is to feel safe.