Caution Tape Quotes

You have no idea how crazy I am, I should be wearing yellow Caution tape, I'm that bonkers.

I once had a mind of quicksand, That dragged ideas into its depths, Inhaling specks of sunlight, Every time I drew a breath, But the world thought me a hazard, When every word I spoke, I meant, So around me they put caution tape, And filled me with cement.

The thoughts start gathering, butting up against the caution tape surrounding my brain, strategizing and preparing to rush in and take over.

There are three ways to say, I love you, man. The first one is an announcement, said at full volume and often accompanied by a swear word. It’s sort of Thank you, sort of You’re cool, with a little And damn, you make me look good thrown in. This is how kellen said it. The second one is a diss, said with four and a half tons of sarcasm and most likely a reference to the father, son, or Holy Ghost. There’s no sort of about it. It means I hate you right now. The third one comes wrapped in caution tape. It is said quietly and on its own, without any adjectives. There’s no ‘sort of’ to this one, either, because you mean it. Like I did.

Eleanor pushed Park's hands forward. 'Why do you want to talk about this?' He pushed back. 'Because. It's your life. Because I'm interested. It's like you've got all these weird barriers set up, like you only want me to have access to this tiny part of you . . . ' 'Yes,' she said, crossing her arms. 'Barriers. Caution tape. I'm doing you a favor.

Maybe it was time to undo the locks and open all the windows. Maybe falling in love didn’t mean you were doomed and the future couldn’t be determined by the past. Maybe I had to stop living my life through books and it was time to rip off all the caution tape and see what happened when I let myself feel. Or when I let myself fall.

At some point you have to park your past and put yellow caution tape around it so you don't keep going back to it. Because there's nothing like lounging around in your past and all that self-pity.

Now, are you ready to pay, Karen?” I ask, leaning forward. “Or are you going to continue being a miserable cunt?

Cora,” he says, grinning slightly, “we might be mutual monsters.

I’m not a naïve girl to be toyed with; I’m a caged monster lost in all of time and space who has finally gotten the strength to break free.

If I tell you that Mrs. Robbins had bad teeth and looked like a horse, you will laugh at me as a cliché-monger; yet it is the truth. I can do nothing with the teeth; but let me tell you that she looked like a French horse, a dark, Mediterranean, market-type horse that has all its life begrudged to the poor the adhesive-tape on a torn five-franc note - that has tiptoed (to save its shoes) for centuries along that razor-edge where Greed and Caution meet.

(“Use with Care!”), outlets that delivered tiny electric shocks (“Use Upper, Not Lower!”), leaky coffeemakers (“Use Sparingly!”), bikes with no brakes (“Use with Caution!”), and countless defunct blenders, tape recorders, televisions, stereo components (“DO NOT USE!”). (Years later, unconsciously at first

what if I jumped? What if I oopsie-daisied myself into oblivion without a second of introspection? What if I simply gave in to the cold part of my mind?

Touch me like that again and I’ll peel your face off to use as my next Halloween mask. Capiche?

I am nice to everyone. It’s very easy. My phone regularly buzzes with messages from friends and acquaintances, and I make a mental note to remember something specific about each of them. Jay, for example, likes the Atlanta Hawks. I don’t care about basketball, but if I want to deepen my friendship with Jay, I can simply send an Atlanta Hawks joke and he is thrilled.

when this particular mood strikes me, I tend to wind up at a store. Target. Best Buy. Sometimes a hardware store. Never a grocery store. I need clean, contrasting colors. Sharp red on white tile. Order. The reds and whites bring a sense of calm that I cannot explain, and gliding amongst the little people scurrying around, living their frantic, sweaty lives, brings me back.

I’ll be honest, I’m feeling kind of shy. I’ve never done this before.” “What—what are you talking about? Just fucking let me go. Let me go right now. Right now. Right now, please.” I shake my head. “No, I’m not going to do that. I’m going to hurt you. Very badly.

The animals were like a storm moving whole, and then breaking, every strategy falling away, all caution gone. In the last few furlongs, nothing mattered but legs and length. Dynasty sailed through the final contenders and gained on the favourite, who seemed to stand still for her alone. She ran as if she were flying. As if she were dreaming the win, or winning in someone else’s dream. Then her nose was at the tape. The crowd exploded. She’d done it. I

--I didn’t know what was more dangerous...the things he said or the way his voice seeped into the crevices of my soul. --My body liked the effect he had on me, but my mind was gathering caution tape and a hazmat suit.

The constant needle and edge in their working relationship is matched by a cloak of secrecy the warring offices throw around their rival operations. Diana had to use all her guile to tease out information from her husband’s office before she flew to Pakistan on her first major solo overseas tour last year. She was due to stopover in Oman where Prince Charles was trying to woo the Sultan to win funding for an architectural college. Curious by nature, Diana wanted to know more but realized that a direct approach to Prince Charles or his senior advisers would receive a dusty response. Instead she penned a short memo to the Prince’s private secretary, Commander Richard Aylard and asking innocently if there was anything in the way of briefing notes she needed for the short stopover in Oman. The result was that, as she was travelling on official Foreign Office business, the Prince was forced to reveal his hand. In this milieu of sullen suspicion, secrecy is a necessary and constant companion. Caution is her watchword. There are plenty of eyes and ears as well as police video cameras to catch the sound of a voice raised in anger or the sight of an unfamiliar visitor. Tongues wag and stories circulate with electrifying efficiency. It is why, when she was learning about her bulimic condition, she hid books on the subject from prying eyes. She dare not bring home tapes from her astrology readings nor read the satirical magazine Private Eye with its wickedly accurate portrayal of her husband in case it attracts unfavourable comment. The telephone is her lifeline, spending hours chatting to friends: “Sorry about the noise, I was trying to get my tiara on,” she told one disconcerted friend.

we can play in blood together.

I play music out of habit, as a way to find bands and songs that I can use to relate to others. Stockpiling references like ammo for a social battle. Talking to people is a contest to see who runs out of content first.

Are you going to stab me or fuck me, Nolan?

I want to remove the skin from her skull and run my lips along the smooth, bleached white bone.

I’ll be having too much fun fucking the gaping stab wound in your stomach. Warm, and squishy. And self-lubricated. Made just for me.

That was the most dangerous part of the block? The demolished building? There wasn’t enough caution tape in the world for our neighborhood.

was under repair, scaffolding was set up, and caution tape blocked the entrance. “How many ice cream cones did we eat on those benches in there?” Hope said as

You’ve been back over there since the night you discovered the body, haven’t you?” “Of course, she hasn’t. It’s surrounded by caution tape,” Jude points out, mid-yawn. “Yes, and I replaced it exactly as I found it,” I explain, hoping my cheerful tone will make it sound altogether less illegal.