Cute Birthday Quotes

Authors also create lovable, friendly characters, then proceed to do terrible things to them, like throw them in unsightly librarian-controlled dungeons. This makes readers feel hurt and worried for the characters. The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties.

I’m sorry I can’t do more. But happy birthday, Sadie.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.

Why this candle? Why this cake? The day of my birth is not today. I was born when you said, 'Hey.

Happy birthday, this isn't your real present, you'll get that later. (Not flowers) Love Strike x

I’m just saying, you think he’s cute. From the look in his eye, he thinks you’re cute too. You two should spend some time being cute together.

And so I thought he was cute. So what? I think Chris Hemsworth is cute. And Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, the Winchester brothers . .

In one universe, they are gorgeous, straight-teethed, long-legged, wrapped in designer fashions, and given sport cars on their sixteenth birthdays, Teachers smile at them and grade them on the curve. They know the first names of the staff. They are the pride of the school. In Universe #2, they throw parties wild enough to attract college students. They worship stink of Eau de Jocque. They rent beach houses in Cancun during Spring Break and get group-rate abortions before the prom. But they are so cute. And they cheer on our boys, inciting them to violence and, we hope, victory. They’re are our role models- the Girls Who Have It All. I bet none of them ever stutter or screw up or feel like their brains are dissolving into marshmallow fluff.

So what? I think Chris Hemsworth is cute. And Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, the Winchester brothers

Don't care,' I say, and then I'm kissing her. It's like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It's like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It's like Celine loving me.

Don’t care,” I say, and then I’m kissing her. It’s like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It’s like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It’s like Celine loving me.

Billy Bob, as though he were in pain, doubled up on the bed like a jackknife; but his face was suddenly clear, his grubby boy-eyes twitching like candles. She’s so cute, he whispered, she’s the cutest dickens I ever saw, gee, to hell with it, I don’t care, I’d pick all the roses in China. Preacher would have picked all the roses in China, too. He was as crazy about her as Billy Bob. But Miss Bobbit did not notice them.

You're beautiful, and I bet you..." He thought for a long moment and then he said, "I bet you another kiss on your eighteenth birthday, you are going to be beating guys off with a stick." "Another kiss?" I laughed and heard it echo back at me through the woods. "I haven't been kissed yet. How can there be-" Then it happened. I felt his tongue against my lips, and I panicked. What do I do? What do I do? I pulled away and exclaimed, "I don't know how!" He chuckled and brought my head back to his. Then he showed me how.

Being friends with Brad again is weird. Not bad weird. Just... you know when you were a little kid and you went to a birthday party and ate five times the amount of sugar your parents allowed, and you felt dangerously high? It's that kind of weird. And something in me is tense as if I'm waiting for the crash.

Nothing. You’re just…” He looks away as if searching for words. “You’re just kind of, like, interesting or…something?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I mean.” And then he blurts out, “Cute,” as if just remembering. “You’re cute, I mean.” My stomach flips, and heat warms my cheeks like I’m in fifth grade again when it was such a compliment for a guy you like to tell you you’re cute. I know he means my personality and not how I look, but I kind of like it.

One thing that has surprised Julie about going through the process of watching herself die is how vivid her world has become. Everything that she used to take for granted produces a sense of revelation, as if she were a child again. Tastes- the sweetness of a strawberry, it’s juice dripping onto her chin; a buttery pastry melting in her mouth. Smells - flowers on a front lawn, a colleague‘s perfume, seaweed washed up on the shore, Matt’s sweaty body in bed at night. Sounds – the strings on a cello, the screech of a car, her nephew’s laughter. Experiences - dancing at a birthday party, people-watching at Starbucks, buying a cute dress, opening the mail. All of this, no matter how mundane, delights her to no end. She’s become hyper-present. When people delude themselves into believing they have all the time in the world, she noticed, they get lazy. She hadn’t expected to experience this pleasure in her grief, to find it invigorating, in a way. But even as she’s dying, she’s realized, life goes on - even as the cancer invades her body, she still checks Twitter. At first she thought, why would I waste even ten minutes of the time I have left checking Twitter? And then she thought, why wouldn’t I? I like Twitter! She also tries not to dwell on what she’s losing. “I can breathe fine now, “Julie says, “but it’ll get harder, and I’ll grieve for that. Until then, I breathe.

Megan Meade’s Guide to the McGowan Boys Entry One Observation #1: When they’re beautiful, they know they’re beautiful. Like the second-to-oldest one, Evan. He’s a senior. He is perfection personified. And he knows it. You can tell because he just sort of smiles knowingly when you gape at him. Not that I’ve been gaping at him. Not at all. Anyway, too soon yet to tell if it negatively affects his behavior. (Like Mike Blukowsi and his Astrodome-sized ego problem.) Observation #2: They like skin. Especially skin they think they’re not necessarily supposed to be seeing. Like the space between your belly tee and your waistband. Observation #3: They have no problem bringing up events that would mortify me into shamed silence if the roles were reversed. Like Evan totally brought up the wiffleball bat incident, when if that had happened to me, I’d be wishing on every one of my birthday cakes for everyone to forget it. Observation #4: They gossip. Can you believe it? I overheard Finn and Doug in the backyard talking about some girl named Dawn who blew off some guy named Simon for some other guy named Rick for like TWENTY MINUTES! They sounded like those old mole-hair ladies at Sal’s Milkshakes. ‘Member the ones who lectured us for a whole hour that day about how young women shouldn’t wear shorts? Wait, okay, I got sidetracked. Observation #5: The older ones are so cute with the younger ones. They were playing ultimate Frisbee when I first got here and Evan totally let Caleb and Ian tackle him. It was soooooo cute. **sigh.** Observation #6: They’re cliquey. I mean, eye-rolling, secret-handshake, don’t-talk-to-us-unless-you’ve-got-an-X-and-a-Y cliquey. Very schooled in the art of the freeze-out. Observation #7: They have no sense of personal space. I need a lock on my door. STAT. Observation #8: Boys are icky. Do not even get me started on the state of the bathroom. I’m thinking of calling in a haz-mat team. Seriously. Observation #9: They have really freaky things going on down there. Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to elaborate on that one yet. Observation #10: They know how to make enemies. Big time.

The book I was reading was this book I took out of the library by mistake. They gave me the wrong book, and I didn't notice it till I got back to my room. They gave me Out of Africa, by Isak Dinesen. I thought it was going to stink, but it didn’t. It was a very good book. I’m quite illiterate, but I read a lot. My favorite author is my brother D.B., and my next favorite is Ring Lardner. My brother gave me a book by Ring Lardner for my birthday, just before I went to Pencey. It had these very funny, crazy plays in it, and then it had this one story about a traffic cop that falls in love with this very cute girl that's always speeding. Only, he's married, the cop, so he can't marry her or anything. Then this girl gets killed, because she's always speeding. That story just about killed me. What I like best is a book that’s at least funny once in a while. I read a lot of classical books, like The Return of the Native and all, and I like them, and I read a lot of war books and mysteries and all, but they don’t knock me out too much. What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though. I wouldn’t mind calling this Isak Dinesen up. And Ring Lardner, except that D.B. told me he’s dead. You take that book Of Human Bondage, by Somerset Maugham, though. I read it last summer. It’s a pretty good book and all, but I wouldn’t want to call Somerset Maugham up. I don’t know. He just isn’t the kind of a guy I’d want to call up, that’s all. I’d rather call old Thomas Hardy up. I like that Eustacia Vye.

We should show him the one where she took all her clothes off at that birthday party,” my mom said to my dad with a smile. “Oh my God! What, have you been holding on to that picture all these years just waiting for this opportunity to humiliate me?” “Oh come on! It’s so cute! She’s shaking her na**d little tuckus to Disney songs.” My dad smiled at Braden who looked like he was trying not to laugh. “What is wrong with you people? I finally bring a guy home and you immediately have to break out the kiddie porn?” “Gabby! I’m sure he’s seen you na**d before,” my mom said. Clearly my parents weren’t going to stop until I had no pride left.

I have to say I’m truly shocked at what men deem appropriate behavior in the modern dating world.” “You,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “YOU are shocked.” “I am. I’m not sure how you women put up with it.” “The struggle is real. Go on.” “Your emails all include emoticons, usually hearts and smiley faces, and your Netflix queue consists mostly of romantic comedies. Oh, and you’re a 34C. That’s just the stuff I can remember off hang. I’m sure there’s more.” She was horrified. “How do you know my bra size?” “I scrolled through your order history at Victoria’s Secret.” “Well, that’s not at all creepy,” she deadpanned. “Did you know there are items in your shopping cart? Sweaters. Lots of thick, long, skin-covering sweaters. Frankly, it confused me.” “”Maybe I already own plenty of lingerie. Considering I walk to work, sweaters are more practical. Plus, they’re awfully cute.” “I added a few things to your cart and checked out for you. I paid for it with my credit card. Expedited the shipping too, so you should have it by Monday.” “You ADDED a few thing?” “One hint: not sweaters.” “How wildly inappropriate.” “Kid in a candy store. Couldn’t help myself.” “How?” “Excuse me?” “You obviously hacked into my computer. How did you do it?” “I came in your backdoor.” “I’m certain you did not.” “I assure you that I did.” “Without even discussing it with me first? No preparation? No warning? Don’t you think that’s incredibly bad form?” He grinned. “Are we still talking about your computer? Because I find you utterly delightful right now?” ….. “Get out of my computer immediately, I’m willing to move past the fact that you hacked me, but it ends now.” “No more backdoor?” “No more backdoor.” He appeared crestfallen. “Ever?” “Never,” she said firmly. “Not even on my birthday or like a special occasion?” “Are we still talking about my computer?” she asked. “You probably are." ~ Heart-Shaped Hack: Kate and Ian #1

Sorry about that. For years, my sister has labored under the impression that she’s funny. My father and I have humored her in this.” Rylann waved this off. “No apology necessary. She’s just protective of you. That’s what siblings do—at least, I assume it is.” “No brothers or sisters for you?” Kyle asked. Rylann shook her head. “My parents had me when they were older. I asked for a sister every birthday until I was thirteen, but it wasn’t in the cards.” She shrugged. “But at least I have Rae.” “When did you two meet?” “College. We were in the same sorority pledge class. Rae is…” Rylann cocked her head, trying to remember. “What’s that phrase men always use when describing their best friend? The thing about the hooker and the hotel room.” “If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, he’d be the first person I’d call. A truer test of male friendship there could not be.” Rylann smiled. “That’s cute. And a little scary, actually, that all you men have planned ahead for such an occasion.” She waved her hand. “Well, there you go. If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, Rae would be the first person I’d call.” Kyle rested his arms on the table and leaned in closer. “Counselor, you’re so by the book, the first person you’d call if you woke up next to a dead hooker would be the FBI.” “Actually, I’d call the cops. Most homicides aren’t federal crimes, so the FBI wouldn’t have jurisdiction.” Kyle laughed. He reached out and tucked back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You really are a law geek.” At the same moment, they both realized what he was doing. They froze, eyes locked, his hand practically cupping the side of her cheek. Then they heard someone clearing her throat. Rylann and Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing at their table. “Wine, anyone?” With her blue eyes dancing, she set two glasses in front of them. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves now.” Rylann watched as Jordan strolled off. “I think you’re going to have some explaining to do after I leave,” she whispered to Kyle. “Oh, without a doubt, she’s going to be all up in my business over this.

On her twenty-ninth birthday, Zephyr stood in front of the mirror, watching herself in the cute white sundress with embroidered flowers, her sister’s reflection in a pale green dress behind her. “I can’t believe you’re marrying Alpha,

To her delight, a tiny fairy tumbled through the letterbox and landed on the doormat with a bump and a merry laugh. "Oh dear," she said. "I keep hoping that I'll learn to be graceful, but I'm not so sure! Hello, Kirsty. I'm Niamh the Invitation Fairy.

I didn't expect this day was like this. I should be there with u now but I can't n just d thing I can only do is praying god to keep u happy n healthy my love. Every year, I used to wish u a happy birthday at 12 am. But, I lost that chance today. Anyways I wish my sweet heart always be active like deer, lovable like dog, cute like our babies, clever like fox, daring like lion, pure like dove, handsome like harry potter, creative like dolphin, romantic like love birds, being with me like my heart. Ur gonna be such responsible n challenging husband in our life. I wish all the happiness, joy n love to u. We will travel with what we face struggles or sufferings whatever it may be, But only together I promise u. This promise is d the only one gift I can give u many more times throughout our life my dear platinum. Finally, my words are waiting to wish u a many more happy returns of the day

One thing that has surprised Julie about going through the process of watching herself die is how vivid her world has become. Everything that she used to take for granted produces a sense of revelation, as if she were a child again. Tastes - the sweetness of a strawberry, its juice dripping onto her chin; a buttery pastry melting in her mouth, Smells - flowers on a front lawn, a colleague's perfume, seaweed washed up on the shore, Matt's sweaty body in bed at night. Sounds - the strings on a cello, the screech of a car, her nephew's laughter. Experiences - dancing at a birthday party, people-watching at Starbucks, buying a cute dress, opening the mail. All of this, no matter how mundane, delights her to no end. She's become hyper-present. When people delude themselves into believing they have all the time in the world, she's noticed, they get lazy. p310

you’re so cute. You look just like her right now. The most beautiful baby in the city. Maybe the entire state? The world? You’re the sweetest little bird. Though you’re more like a tree, though that’s not as great of a nickname, huh? Maybe we should change your name. I think I’m going to start calling you Robin. Blue Jay? How about Pigeon?” Unable

It's like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It's like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It's like Celine loving me.

When we’re young, everything is new and exciting, and everything seems to matter so much. Therefore, we give tons of fucks. We give a fuck about everything and everyone—about what people are saying about us, about whether that cute boy/girl called us back or not, about whether our socks match or not, or what color our birthday balloon is.

Kneeling down next to an article of clothing, Kevin looked up to see Christine a few feet away, gathering up one of her extravagant lolita dresses. Looking at her like this, the girl really did look cute, like a fragile porcelain doll. As he continued to watch her, his eyes landed on the black choker around her neck. “Isn’t that the choker that I bought you for your birthday a while back?” Kevin asked. Christine paused in her work. Her hand went to her choker. “A-ah, um, yes, it is. I… well, this is my… my favorite choker, so I like to wear it a lot…” Christine’s cheeks flushed once more, but she at least didn’t seem to be blowing her top. “After you, Iris, and Lilian left, I was really lonely. I hadn’t realized how important all of you were to me until you were gone. Ever since that day, ever since you three went off to Greece, I’ve taken to wearing this, because it reminded me of all the good times we’ve shared together.” That was probably the most honest thing he’d ever heard Christine say since she’d confessed her feelings for him. He’d noticed it before, but Christine really was a tsundere. She rarely ever told anyone what she was really thinking, and she covered up her embarrassment with bluster and violence. Moments like this were rare for her. He could count the number of times where she’d been honest with her feelings on one hand and still have fingers left over. “I’m sorry we left you like that,” Kevin apologized. Christine shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. I know that you didn’t have much of a choice. Had you not left, then…” Then he, Lilian, and Iris would have put everyone in danger. Back then, Lilian had been targeted by the Shénshèng Clan. One of its members, a three-tailed kitsune named Fan had attacked them during Lindsay’s soccer game. Iris had nearly been killed and Kevin had destroyed an entire school building just to defeat Fan. Christine had been there when it happened, so she understood why they had to leave. “Thank you for being so understanding,” he said. Christine quickly turned her back to him. “T-there’s no need to thank me. We’re friends. I-I was only doing what any good friend would do.” Tsundere until the end, Kevin thought with an amused chuckle. “Then, Christine, I’m very glad that you’re my friend.” Christine squeaked. As she sputtered incoherently, Kevin finally grabbed the article that he’d been kneeling over. Blinking when he realized that it felt different than everything else that he’d picked up thus far, he held the article up to study it. “What is this…?” He trailed off. The object in his hands… was Christine’s panties. “Uh…” Kevin could hear his brain sizzling. “W-what are you doing, idiot!? Don’t stare at those!” Christine leapt at him, and Kevin, too shocked by the object in his hands to do anything, let her tackle him to the ground. The panties were thrown from his hands as his back slammed into the floor. Spots appeared in his vision, but they were soon replaced by Christine’s face, which hovered not two inches from his own. Their noses were almost touching. “C-Christine?” He felt his eyes widen as Christine’s face inched a little closer to his. This was bad. This was a very bad situation. Christine was straddling him, and he could feel her thighs touching him, and her body was pressed against him, and… and… Oh, no… Perhaps it was the result of him still being horny because Christine had interrupted him and Lilian while they were having sex, but Kevin felt his arousal skyrocket. Christine felt it, too, because her eyes went even wider and she looked down. He also looked down. Then he looked back up. Their eyes met. Christine’s face was the brightest blue that he’d ever seen. “I can explain this,” Kevin said calmly. “KYA!” The sound of Christine’s scream was followed by a loud slap.

I look away when the Russian nurse comes in, holding a tray with Mom’s dinner on it. “Good evening, Mrs. Messing,” she says, her accent thick. Mom eyes her suspiciously. “I hope there’s plenty of sauce this time.” The nurse is polite and patient, even goes back to the kitchen to see if they have cracked pepper instead of the little packets. While Mom eats she talks about the parties she and Dad used to throw at the house. Those were the days, she says, sighing. Composers and producers; actresses like her and screenwriters like Dad, all of them vibrating with youth and beauty. The world was going to be ours. I readjust the napkin so that it covers a larger section of her blouse. How cute the two of you were in your matching outfits, she says about Emily and me. I refill her water cup, ask the nurse for more Parmesan cheese. Everyone said I was crazy to have daughters so close in age, but I thought one could watch out for the other. And you were always so mature, so it worked out. I dress her salad, tossing it with the flimsy plastic fork. Do you remember demanding white wine spritzers at your twelfth birthday party? Yes. I nod.

I was walking all along just going for a walk outside after the party, I just felt good, I didn’t know if I wanted to sing, dance, and or cry; I was that happy getting to be with Marcel, so I went to my spot in the old car in the junkyard. I have to jump the face and rip my tank top or something like that yet it worth it, to see my dream car, sitting there I not a girlie girl but I love this cute thing it's sex looking like me. I found this old car at colleen’s junkyard it like right next door, I freak’n loved this old piece of crap, I even had sex with myself in the back seat, I took the old hood ornament off myself and keep it, my dad said it was off of Neveah’s dad's car, yet it was given to my mom and that why it just sitting outside for all the kids like me to rip the parts off of and sell on eBay. My stepmom hated Kristen, my real mother, so that is why the car ended up where it’s at, it was passed down yet the step-monster made sure I would never have it. My stepdad said the emblem is of a 1950 Nash that I found, little did I know it doesn’t go on that car yet, I think it’s a good fit, I was getting the car on my eighteenth birthday- I freaked up and had to die, just like me in the graveyard we both are retreating away. My stepdads had the 1950 Nash which he said was the first real sports car and it’s all steel, so I put it back on without him knowing that I did, funny maybe that's why I passed doing something like that… it was like it was meant for that car, or so he said and I did also. There is an old fender off what likes to be some old ford over there too that is rusty red, I am not sure of the year it’s too damn old for me to know. I remember right my dad said that grand-ma Nevaeh went to school in something like a 1965 Cadillac Deville convertible, yet, I don’t see that she had like nothing, I don’t know what that thing is. Like with these old cars, don't think you have a seat belt, you just cracked your head off the dash of the Nash and then they wiped it off, and sold it to some other poor ass hole.

I put one of my headphones back in, watch the road drift by, and try not to think about how Eric couldn’t hear me at the water park, and how my secret is still safe, and how Eric looked cute without a shirt on, and how I wish I didn’t even think that. It had been a mistake to think to tell him. I push the truth down. Bury it. Stick a grave marker on top. What’s one more year of life as a boy?

personal email address, too. I knew that was not the official school email he had on his revised syllabus. I studied the email for a moment and wondered what the “J” stood for in “ajstone.” The last four numbers looked like they could possibly be his birthday. That meant he was an Independence Day baby. How cute. Bringing myself out of my mental tangent, I focused back on the topic of his email. I was planning on meeting up with Maddy

Oh. My. God. Are the two of you wearing matching cardigans?" I had gotten so used to Longganisa dressing in cutesy outfits and doing multiple costume changes in a day that I had to glance down at her to remind myself of what she was wearing. "Yeah, Adeena has been obsessed with crochet lately and made these for us. It was Longganisa's birthday last month and this was her present. Well, one of them." Adeena, who loved colors and patterns as much as Ninang Mae did, had also been trying to get me to incorporate more color into my wardrobe. The chunky burnt orange cardigan with oversize buttons was a nice compromise for us, and looked absolutely adorable on Longganisa as well. She knew I couldn't turn down a cute matching outfit. Longganisa cautiously approached Cleo, who hadn't moved from her position at Quinn's feet. There was something regal about the older dog, as if she were waiting for Longganisa to present herself and curtsy. The two sniffed each other for a moment and, after a quick glance at me, Longganisa kneaded the blanket that Cleo was lying on into a little nest before curling up next to her. Cleo must've accepted her because she just laid her head on Longganisa and the two of them promptly fell asleep. Cue me and Quinn whipping out our phones to take pictures and trying not to sob from the cuteness.