Gel Pen Quotes

There are the boys for whom the ink of a million glittery gel pens was spilled.

Gel pens weren’t invented until the mid-eighties. Still, think of how they might’ve jazzed up historical documents had they dawned in an earlier era. Imagine if the Founding Fathers had asserted man’s inalienable rights in bubble gum–scented gel ink.

Practice quizzes corrected with her purple gel pens. She never used red because she said it was demoralizing. Andrew tried to explain it was still demoralizing when she wrote Nothing You've Written Here Even Remotely Makes Sense in the margins.

A Zentangle® Art Kit To make your own little art kit you will need: Zentangle squares cut from black and white paper A Micron 01 and 05 Pen A Sakura White Gel Pen A White Pencil A Soft Lead Pencil A Box to house all your treasures. All you have to do is gather your materials and put them in a box. You can decorate the box as you like. Maybe you would like to draw Zentangles all over it. I like to carry my kit in my purse and so a box is quite cumbersome. I use a small plastic pouch. It very easily houses all my Zentangle squares, pencils and pens.

You brighten up my darkest days and give me purpose when everything feels hopeless. At the core of all that I am, there is you. Until I breathe my last breath, that will be true. If you let me, I will do everything in my power to make you smile every single day. I’ll carry your burdens like they are my own and I’ll stand by you no matter what we face. I’ll supply you with an endless stack of pink sticky notes and I’ll even throw in some pink gel pens. For the rest of our lives, will you let me be the man that gets to call you his? Will you let me be the one that you lean on, the one that gets to love you?

...I drag the kids to the farmers' market and fill out the week's cheap supermarket haul with a few vivid bunches of organic produce...Once home, I set out fresh flowers and put the fruit in a jadeite bowl. A jam jar of garden growth even adorns the chartreuse kids' table...I found some used toddler-sized chairs to go around it...It sits right in front of the tall bookcases...When the kids are eating or coloring there, with the cluster or mismatched picture frames hanging just to their left, my son with his mop of sandy hair, my daughter just growing out of babyhood...they look like they could be in a Scandinavian design magazine. I think to myself that maybe motherhood is just this, creating these frames, the little vistas you can take in that look like pictures from magazines, like any number of images that could be filed under familial happiness. They reflect back to you that you're doing it - doing something - right. In my case, these scenes are like a momentary vacation from the actual circumstances of my current life. Children, clean and clad in brightly striped clothing, snacking on slices of organic plum. My son drawing happy gel pen houses, the flourishing clump of smiley-faced flowers beneath a yellow flat sun. To counter the creeping worry that I am a no-good person, I must collect a lot of these images, postage-stamp moments I can gaze upon and think, I can't be fucking up that bad. Can I?

I need to get my shit together for sure. Pink gel pen can’t be the cause of death listed in my obituary. Maybe black would be acceptable.

Loddie Doddie sells craft and art supplies including chalk markers, chalkboards, dry erase boards, dry erase markers, gel pens, sidewalk chalk and more. Loddie Doddie products are perfect for young kids, homeschoolers, elementary educators, and anyone that loves to explore their creativity.

She wasn’t that kind of person, of course. But maybe she would become that kind of person if she bought gel pens and a new planner with stickers that said Dentist Appointment! and Vacay! in enthusiastic letters shaped like margarita glasses. Or if she created a Family Organization Command Center with rustic chalkboard calendars from Pottery Barn. She just needed to download an app, or find a planner she actually remembered to use, or read the right book about decluttering and organization, possibly involving color-coded chore charts and sticker incentive systems for the children. But she could change, if she tried hard enough. She would change.

The humidity in particular had been like nothing he’d ever encountered. Mel, trying to take notes for his article, had had to give it up. First, the ink from his gel pen wouldn’t dry on the page, but ran down it in streaks instead. Then, when he’d borrowed a pencil from Scofield, the point tore through the limp sheets. And as the last straw, by the end of the first hour, the glue in the binding of his notepad had liquefied and the pages had come apart in his hand.

The M1A3 Abrams was a man-killer. Colonel J. “Lonesome” Jones thanked the good Lord that he had never had to face anything like it. The models that preceded it, the A1 and A2, were primarily designed to engage huge fleets of Soviet tanks on the plains of Europe. They were magnificent tank busters, but proved to be less adept at the sort of close urban combat that was the bread and butter of the U.S. Army in the first two decades of the twenty-first century. In the alleyways of Damascus and Algiers, along the ancient cobbled lanes of Samara, Al Hudaydah, and Aden, the armored behemoths often found themselves penned in, unable to maneuver or even to see what they were supposed to kill. They fell victim to car bombs and Molotovs and homemade mines. Jones had won his Medal of Honor rescuing the crew of one that had been disabled by a jihadi suicide squad in the Syrian capital. The A3 was developed in response to attacks just like that one, which had become increasingly more succesful. It was still capable of killing a Chinese battle tank, but it was fitted out with a very different enemy in mind. Anyone, like Jones, who was familiar with the clean, classic lines of the earlier Abrams would have found the A3 less aesthetically pleasing. The low-profile turret now bristled with 40 mm grenade launchers, an M134 7.62 mm minigun, and either a small secondary turret for twin 50s, or a single Tenix-ADI 30 mm chain gun. The 120 mm canon remained, but it was now rifled like the British Challenger’s gun. But anyone, like Jones, who’d ever had to fight in a high-intensity urban scenario couldn’t give a shit about the A3’s aesthetics. They just said their prayers in thanks to the designers. The tanks typically loaded out with a heavy emphasis on high-impact, soft-kill ammunition such as the canistered “beehive” rounds, Improved Conventional Bomblets, White Phos’, thermobaric, and flame-gel capsules. Reduced propellant charges meant that they could be fired near friendly troops without danger of having a gun blast disable or even kill them. An augmented long-range laser-guided kinetic spike could engage hard targets out to six thousand meters. The A3 boasted dozens of tweaks, many of them suggested by crew members who had gained their knowledge the hard way. So the tank commander now enjoyed an independent thermal and LLAMPS viewer. Three-hundred-sixty-degree visibility came via a network of hardened battle-cams. A secondary fuel cell generator allowed the tank to idle without guzzling JP-8 jet fuel. Wafered armor incorporated monobonded carbon sheathing and reactive matrix skirts, as well as the traditional mix of depleted uranium and Chobam ceramics. Unlike the tank crew that Jones had rescued from a screaming mob in a Damascus marketplace, the men and women inside the A3 could fight off hordes of foot soldiers armed with RPGs, satchel charges, and rusty knives—for the “finishing work” when the tank had been stopped and cracked open to give access to its occupants.

Elle set the bags on the floor beside the coffee table. From the first bag she withdrew two notebooks, one black and the other white, and a twelve pack of gel pens. “Facts we can write down in these handy notebooks. I brought gel pens in case you want to color code anything. Because if there’s one thing you should know about me—okay, there are a lot of things you should know about me. But right now, it’s important to know I don’t have much Virgo in my chart. I mean, there’s Jupiter and it’s retrograde and my seventh house is in Virgo, but that’s a whole other story.” And too much to unpack in one night. “However, I aspire to Virgo-level detail orientation and I do it through color-coordinated crafts. Got it?” That was an ultrasimplification, but it was doubtful Darcy wanted details. Elle believed in astrology, believed the cosmos controlled more than met the eye and that was what Darcy needed to know if this was going to work, if this fake relationship of theirs would ever fool a single soul. She needed to know it, and inside it might make her roll her eyes and despair at how silly Elle was, but outwardly Darcy needed to not scoff at it. Even if this entire charade was pretend, Darcy needed to respect Elle’s beliefs. Respect Elle, or no dice.

She wasn’t that kind of person, of course. But maybe she would become that kind of person if she bought gel pens and a new planner with stickers that said Dentist Appointment! and Vacay! in enthusiastic letters shaped like margarita glasses. Or if she created a Family Organization Command Center with rustic chalkboard calendars from Pottery Barn.

They’re my special collector’s edition of One Direction gel pens. And, FYI, they’re super-valuable now that the band has broken up.

...it was so hard for Pearl to find something with a character who looked like her..." And after thirty minutes of watching her flip through all the books with white kids or animals, only to spend a small fortune on erasers and light-up gel pens, I may have made a snarky comment to the mom at the register.