Folding Bike Quotes

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Barrons stood inside the front door, dripping cool old-world elegance. I hadn’t heard him come in over the music. He was leaning, shoulder against the wall, arms folded, watching me. “ ‘One eye is taken for an eye . . .’ ” I trailed off, deflating. I didn’t need a mirror to know how stupid I looked. I regarded him sourly for a moment, then moved for the sound dock to turn it off. When I heard a choked sound behind me I spun, and shot him a hostile glare. He wore his usual expression of arrogance and boredom. I resumed my path for the sound dock, and heard it again. This time when I turned back, the corners of his mouth were twitching. I stared at him until they stopped. I’d reached the sound dock, and just turned it off, when he exploded. I whirled. “I didn’t look that funny,” I snapped. His shoulders shook. “Oh, come on! Stop it!” He cleared his throat and stopped laughing. Then his gaze took a quick dart upward, fixed on my blazing MacHalo, and he lost it again. I don’t know, maybe it was the brackets sticking out from the sides. Or maybe I should have gotten a black bike helmet, not a hot pink one. I unfastened it and yanked it off my head. I stomped over to the door, flipped the interior lights back on, slammed him in the chest with my brilliant invention, and stomped upstairs. “You’d better have stopped laughing by the time I come back down,” I shouted over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure he even heard me, he was laughing so hard.
Karen Marie Moning (Faefever (Fever, #3))
Hope you got your things together.’” I sang, stabbing a pillow with my spear. Feathers exploded into the air. “‘Hope you are quite prepared to die!’” I spun in a dazzling whirl of lights, landed a killer back-kick on a phantom Shade, and simultaneously punched the magazine rack. “‘Looks like we’re in for nasty weather!’” I took a swan dive at a short, imaginary Shade, lunged up at a taller one— —and froze. Barrons stood inside the front door, dripping cool-world elegance. I hadn’t heard him come in over the music. He was leaning, shoulder against the wall, arms folded, watching me. “‘One eye is taken for an eye . . .’” I trailed off, deflating. I didn’t need a mirror to know how stupid I looked. I regarded him sourly for a moment, then moved for the sound dock to turn it off. When I heard a choked sound behind me I spun, and shot him a hostile glare. He wore his usual expression of arrogance and boredom. I resumed my path for the sound dock, and heard it again. This time when I turned back, the corners of his mouth were twitching. I stared at him until they stopped. I’d reached the sound dock, and just turned it off, when he exploded. I whirled. “I didn’t look that funny,” I snapped. His shoulders shook. “Oh, come on! Stop it!” He cleared his throat and stopped laughing. Then his gaze took a quick dart upward, fixed on my blazing MacHalo, and he lost it again. I don’t know, maybe it was the brackets sticking out from the sides. Or maybe I should have gotten a black bike helmet, not a hot pink one. I unfastened it and yanked it off my head. I stomped over to the door, flipped the interior lights back on, slammed him in the chest with my brilliant invention, and stomped upstairs. “You’d better have stopped laughing by the time I come back down,” I shouted over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure he even heard me, he was laughing so hard.
Karen Marie Moning (Faefever (Fever, #3))
Blue had two rules: Stay away from boys, because they’re trouble, and stay away from raven boys, because they were bastards. But those rules didn’t seem to apply to Adam. Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out a tissue and wrote her name and the phone number for 300 Fox Way on it. Heart thumping, she folded it up and handed it to him. Adam said only, “I’m glad I came back.” Turning his long self around, he began to push his dolefully squeaking bike back the way he’d come. Blue pressed her fingers to her face. I gave a boy my number. I gave a raven boy my number. Hugging her arms around herself, she imagined a future argument with her mother. Giving someone your number doesn’t mean you’re going to kiss him.
Maggie Stiefvater (The Raven Boys (The Raven Cycle #1))
Despite an icy northeast wind huffing across the bay I sneak out after dark, after my mother falls asleep clutching her leather Bible, and I hike up the rutted road to the frosted meadow to stand in mist, my shoes in muck, and toss my echo against the moss-covered fieldstone corners of the burned-out church where Sunday nights in summer for years Father Thomas, that mad handsome priest, would gather us girls in the basement to dye the rose cotton linen cut-outs that the deacon’s daughter, a thin beauty with short white hair and long trim nails, would stitch by hand each folded edge then steam-iron flat so full of starch, stiffening fabric petals, which we silly Sunday school girls curled with quick sharp pulls of a scissor blade, forming clusters of curved petals the younger children assembled with Krazy glue and fuzzy green wire, sometimes adding tissue paper leaves, all of us gladly laboring like factory workers rather than have to color with crayon stubs the robe of Christ again, Christ with his empty hands inviting us to dine, Christ with a shepherd's staff signaling to another flock of puffy lambs, or naked Christ with a drooping head crowned with blackened thorns, and Lord how we laughed later when we went door to door in groups, visiting the old parishioners, the sick and bittersweet, all the near dead, and we dropped our bikes on the perfect lawns of dull neighbors, agnostics we suspected, hawking our handmade linen roses for a donation, bragging how each petal was hand-cut from a pattern drawn by Father Thomas himself, that mad handsome priest, who personally told the Monsignor to go fornicate himself, saying he was a disgruntled altar boy calling home from a phone booth outside a pub in North Dublin, while I sat half-dressed, sniffing incense, giddy and drunk with sacrament wine stains on my panties, whispering my oath of unholy love while wiggling uncomfortably on the mad priest's lap, but God he was beautiful with a fine chiseled chin and perfect teeth and a smile that would melt the Madonna, and God he was kind with a slow gentle touch, never harsh or too quick, and Christ how that crafty devil could draw, imitate a rose petal in perfect outline, his sharp pencil slanted just so, the tip barely touching so that he could sketch and drink, and cough without jerking, without ruining the work, or tearing the tissue paper, thin as a membrane, which like a clean skin arrived fresh each Saturday delivered by the dry cleaners, tucked into the crisp black vestment, wrapped around shirt cardboard, pinned to protect the high collar.
Bob Thurber (Nothing But Trouble)
Biking through it, Kane thought about how the complex was, in some ways, its own reverie. An entire city imagined into being, then abandoned to the slow melt of neglect, then forgotten altogether as the world folded over it. Connecticut was full of these lost worlds, and the more Kane thought to look for them, the more certain he was that they slumbered everywhere. Just across this river, or beyond that hill, or behind that curtain. In many ways, the Cobalt Complex was the perfect place to bait nightmares into the light.
Ryan La Sala (Reverie)
adventure. Or maybe it’s just because I’m dumb. “No. I don’t know anything about Linus that might help you.” Colton folded his hands and exhaled slowly. “That’s a shame, because you seemed like a kid with common sense.” He stood from the desk and cracked his knuckles. I didn’t know what he was planning on doing, and luckily I didn’t have to find out. The speaker by the door crackled, and a girl’s voice spoke loud and clear. “Colton, to the front office please. Your bike is parked in a tow away zone. Colton, to the front office immediately.” “Blazes!” Colton shouted as he hopped off his seat. “My bike is in trouble?” As Colton started walking to the front door of the art room, I managed to sneak a peek at the page he had written notes on. The manila folder was open on the desk next to me. The paper on top was filled with chicken scratched words and doodles that looked like blueprints. Paper clipped to that sheet was my school picture. What the heck was my picture doing in his folder? Stopping at the door, Colton flipped around and headed back to the desk. Slapping the folder shut, he slid it along until it fell into his hand. “Don’t want to leave this thing sitting out, do we?” I didn’t answer, watching as he left the room. Before he disappeared out of view, I saw him say something to the
Marcus Emerson (Secret Agent 6th Grader (Secret Agent 6th Grader, #1))
AGES 8 TO 9: PRIDE IN PERSONAL BELONGINGS. By this time, your child should take pride in her personal belongings and take care of them properly. This includes being able to: • fold her clothes • learn simple sewing • care for outdoor toys such as her bike or roller skates • take care of personal hygiene without being told to do so • use a broom and dustpan properly • read a recipe and prepare a simple meal • help create a grocery list • count and make change • take written phone messages • help with simple lawn duties such as watering and weeding flower beds • take out the trash
Julie Lythcott-Haims (How to Raise an Adult: Break Free of the Overparenting Trap and Prepare Your Kid for Success)
A person who exercises frequently in zone 2 is improving their mitochondria with every run, swim, or bike ride. But if you don’t use them, you lose them. This is another reason why zone 2 is such a powerful mediator of metabolic health and glucose homeostasis. Muscle is the largest glycogen storage sink in the body, and as we create more mitochondria, we greatly increase our capacity for disposing of that stored fuel, rather than having it end up as fat or remaining in our plasma. Chronic blood glucose elevations damage organs from our heart to our brain to our kidneys and nearly everything in between—even contributing to erectile dysfunction in men. Studies have found that while we are exercising, our overall glucose uptake increases as much as one-hundred-fold compared to when we are at rest. What’s interesting is that this glucose uptake occurs via multiple pathways. There is the usual, insulin-signaled way that we’re familiar with, but exercise also activates other pathways, including one called non-insulin-mediated glucose uptake, or NIMGU, where glucose is transported directly across the cell membrane without insulin being involved at all. This in turn explains why exercise, especially in zone 2, can be so effective in managing both type 1 and type 2 diabetes:
Peter Attia (Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity)
My eyes widened at that offer. I’d missed riding since coming to the Academy and I hadn’t really thought I’d be able to get out again any time soon. But I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know quite how much this meant to me. Every other piece of information the Heirs had gotten on me up until now had been twisted against me in some way and I didn’t want them trying to take this from me too. “I’m not really dressed for it,” I said slowly though in all honesty I had no issue with tying my dress in a knot around my waist if that was what it took to get me out on the road. “I’m sure I could lend you my shirt if you want to take it off,” he replied. “That would require both of us taking off rather a lot of our clothes.” There was a dare hanging in the air between us and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to resist it much longer. I eyed the line up of bikes, my heart beating a little faster as I tried to decide which one I’d choose. In all honesty I was too drunk to ride, although the sandwich was mopping up some of the excess alcohol and I was feeling a little less dizzy... It still wouldn’t have been the best idea though. “Why do you have the same bikes that that they have in the mortal world?” I asked as I began to wander between the immaculate machines. Some of the badges were different, I read names like Yamaharpy, Sphinxzuki, Hondusa, Harley Dragonson and I couldn’t keep the smirk from my lips but the actual bikes were definitely mortal models. “There are several permanent rifts between our world and the mortal world where we import all sorts of goods like these. The importers like to change the names as a kind of in-joke but a hell of a lot of our products come straight out of Taiwan or China, direct to Solaria,” Darius explained. “Why?” I asked. “Can’t Fae invent their own bikes and cars?” “I guess we could... but why bother? We’ve got better things to do with our time and it makes sense to use the mortals like our own personal goods suppliers. The Fae they deal with even manage to Coerce the best prices for everything we import. No Fae vendor would create any of the things we desire so cheaply.” Darius folded his arms and leaned back to perch on the saddle of a stunning green bike as he watched my exploration. “So you basically abuse the mortals with your power?” I asked. “We use our power to take what we want from them,” he agreed. “Just the same as we do with other Fae.” He had a point there; Fae were equally asshole-like to their own kind. (Tory)
Caroline Peckham (Ruthless Fae (Zodiac Academy, #2))
I was the one who found Daddy dead, crammed in the little space where my old bike’s training wheels turned rusted. I hadn’t ever seen a dead body before, cept one funeral when all I really saw was one dead arm folded cross a still chest,
Kai Harris (What the Fireflies Knew)
He was a kid with a paper route when the 1976 outbreak hit the news. Every day when he folded his papers prior to delivering them on his bike, he read the headlines. He saw frightening stories of bleeding, suffering, and of whole African villages wiped out. And an American media, in the infancy of its sensationalist tendencies, taught him a new phrase for fear—hemorrhagic fever.
Bobby Adair (Ebola K (Ebola K, #1))
I don't need a babysitter." She huffed. "I can take care of myself." "No, you can't," Sky and I both replied together. I'd been saying the same thing to Solange and Lucy since they were barely old enough to talk. She glowered at us both and folded her arms. Lucy once poured honey all over my favorite bike; a little glower didn't faze me.
Alyxandra Harvey (Sound and Fury (Drake Chronicles, #5.5))