Harley Quotes

God, if he wasn’t so handsome, strong, sometimes sweet, didn’t have a Harley, that beard, a tendency to play with my hair, didn’t look so good in jeans and wasn’t so danged good in bed, he would seriously not be worth it.

And I look at Harley, and the billions of stars are in his eyes, and he's drinking them up, pouring them into his soul.

Whose SUV is this?” I asked once we were out of Carnal. “Mine.” He answered. I looked at him. “You drive a Harley.” “Not big on puttin’ bad guys on the back of my bike when I hunt them down, Ace. Fucks with my street cred.

Welcome to my nightmare,” Elvira muttered. “Though you got yourself a biker who fills his Levi’s so well he should be in Harley Davidson ads and has an off-the-charts ability to give pleasure so you can’t really understand my pain.

Maybe one day the smears of paint Harley left throughout Godspeed will fade, and maybe the stars never will, but i'd rather have Harley's colors.

I feel the healing hands of God touch my heart and kiss my soul.

Sometimes we fight who we are, struggling against ourselves and our natures. But we must learn to accept who we are and appreciate who we become. We must love ourselves for what and who we are, and believe in our talents.

I scoffed. “Why would I fall in love with you? You’re just a hot, closet-nerd vampire with a bazillion dollars and a Harley. There’s absolutely nothing attractive about you.” “I’m repulsive, I know.

Harley-Davidson," she said. "Sweet.

May your dreams be larger than mountains and may you have the courage to scale their summits.

We fear what we most desire.

And don’t try to make yourself an extended family out of ghosts on the Internet. Get yourself a Harley and join the Hell’s Angels instead.

True love is finding someone whose demons play well with yours" - The Joker

When writing the story of your life, don't let anyone else hold the pen<3

I’ll rip Heaven and Hell and this goddamn Earth apart before I let them steal you from me.

You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I'd feel better if I could guard your back." You're going to do that with a rifle from the closest hill, remember." Night vision and scope, fine, but I can't kill them all from a distance." You couldn't kill them all if you were johnny on the spot, either," I said. No but I'd feel better." Worried about me?" He shrugged. I'm your bodyguard. If you die under my protection, the other bodyguards will make fun of me." It took me a second to realize he was making a joke. Harley looked back at him with an almost surprised look. I don't think either of us heard humor from Edward much.

May your heart be lighter today.

How little we understand of the gifts we have been given or the shape of the path we took to reach our salvation.

Vic’s father was badass. Other dads built things. Hers blew shit up and rode away on a Harley, smoking the cigarette he used to light the fuse. Top that.

There’s nothing like a Harley-Davidson for getting around mud holes, rocks, and wagon ruts on dirt roads—or for making an impression on girls.

From her desk, she observed Willy demonstrating his ability to blow snot bubbles out of his slightly runny nose. Emma politely ignored him; Maggie’s face showed disgust at his grossness; Harley giggled; and competitive Joseph tried his best, with no luck, to make something, anything come out of his nose.

May your journey through life be vibrant and full of colorful rainbows.

One must give himself completely to his art and not hold back. Throw caution to the wind. Embrace the muse. Make love to your art.

Sometimes that which we fear strengthens our spirit and gives us a splash of hope.

In French, there’s a phrase for the random urge to jump from high places, the irrational desire to swerve into traffic despite imminent destruction: l'appel du vide, the call of the void.

Love. What an awful, beautiful, terrifying word.

I’d gladly admit I was generally a dick, but Rae made me want to be...nice...to her. Only to her. Everyone else could get fucked.

The roar of an engine blasted from his left—and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle with flame decals jumped the sidewalk in front of him. A small crowd of travelers scattered. "How do you say, 'You jerk!' in Turkish?" Jake asked. "Erasmus!" Dan cried with relief. Jake balled his fist angrily and shouted, "Erasmus!"

Longevity-and sanity. Eccentric old ladies on Harleys I can deal with.

Harley Quinn: Have you ever loved someone you knew was wrong for you? Someone who hurt you over and over again but you could forgive them because losing them would hurt even more?

Fix you? Ah, little wolf, I have no desire to fix you. I just want to see all your broken edges shine. I want to feel how sharp you are.

John Longridge, the cook at Harley-street, had suffered from low spirits for more than thirty years, and he was quick to welcome Stephen as a newcomer to the freemasonry of melancholy.

Story is a butterfly whose wings transport us to another world where we receive gifts that change who we are and who we want to be.

There was a roar from the shadow-tiger mask around the Harley, and Murphy swept up alongside the boat. I leapt down onto the back of the bike in a single smooth motion, which I felt was cool, and landed with too much of my weight on my genitals, which I felt was not.

Do you remember what I used to tell you?” Manson said. “When we were teenagers and we’d drive out here to talk about shit…you’d tell me you didn’t want to see another day…” I remembered that, of course I did. I remembered the despair I felt, the pain we shared, how hopeless I’d been. “If you can get through the night, you’ll see the sun again,” I said, repeating the words he’d told me back then. “Keep chasing the next sunrise.” I closed my eyes as I exhaled. “The night feels really fucking dark, Manson, but I’m still chasing sunrises.

All things old become new again. In my youth the athletes had crew cuts and the hippies had long hair. Now the athletes have long hair and the hippies are bald.

If something happens and I explode or something …”“You love me, want me to drive your Harley and take care of Summer.” Beck rolled his eyes to ease the tension. “Okay.”“More or less,

You’re Hell’s little whore, aren’t you?

I tried to play by the rules, but no! They wouldn't let me go straight! Society is to blame!

Service to others in their time of need is a privilege and an honor.

I'd steal her from the hands of God itself if I had to.

Carefully, with the sharpness of the knife tucked within the curved grip of his hand, he began to probe my entrance with the handle. It was hard, but warm from his hand. The edges were rounded, smooth as it rubbed over my wet, swollen flesh. "You're going to get off on this knife, Jess," he said. "And I'm going to hold you open, nice and still, so you don't get hurt.

Humans and Gods were a bad combination. Give a human knowledge, and he thinks he’s wise. Give a human magic, and he thinks he’s strong. Give a human religion, and he’ll think he’s right.

Is death the greatest evil that can happen to anyone?

Hope is a rainbow of thought.

Okay," I said to Karrin. "Let's move." "Uh," she asked, without turning her head. "move where?" "The island," I said. "Harry, this is a motorcycle." "It'll work," I said. "Look at it." Karrin jerked as she noted the appearance of the Harley. "You want me to drive into the lake." "You have to admit," I said, "it isn't the craziest thing I've ever asked you to do. It isn't even the craziest thing I've asked you to do tonight.

We're bad guys, it's what we do.

I guess if I'd wanted a nice, biddable wife, I should've looked somewhere other than a tattooed, sharp-tongued, Harley-riding, motorcycle designer.

It’s a Harley Night Rod. She’s the love of my life, so don’t scratch the paint when you get on.

All primitive people are frightened of owls,' said Harley. 'The villagers here are scared to death of the gufo. Birds of ill omen. If they see one, they think they'll die. But they never do. See one, I mean, of course,' he added with a laugh.

Absolutely. I love all those bastards, obviously, but love is a little different with every person you share it with. Sometimes it’s passionate and romantic, or deep and platonic, or any combination in between. A lot of people don’t understand it, but I don’t need anyone’s understanding. I accepted that a long time ago

God is taking a nap within my soul. I ponder whether to wake Him or not.

you live in the dark long enough, you’ll forget what the light feels like.

Well, shifters aren't. Shifters are happy. They're people; then they're animals; then they're people again. What's not to be happy about? They live with their friends. They drink. They ride their Harleys. They party in Alaska. They have hot shifter sex." At that revelation, Jeff winged up his eyebrows at me, an invitation in his eyes. I bit down on a grin and shook my head sternly in response. Apparently unruffled, he shrugged and turned back to his computer. Happily.

Nooooooooooo!" Screaming the word, Amy and Dan moved as one. Time slowed down, which, Dan knew from experience, often happened when you were in midair. By the time they leaped onto the hood of Fiske's car (oops, dents), and Dan had ripped off a windshield wiper to use as a weapon (probably not the best idea, but hey, he was improvising), Scarey Harley Dude had turned around. He strode off in his motorcycle boots, moving swiftly to his bike without seeming to hurry. His helmet back on, sunglasses adjusted, he roared off straight into the road, weaving through the thick traffic like smoke. Amy's face was squashed against the windshield. Dan held the wiper aloft like a club. And Evan Tolliver stood on the sidewalk, blinking at them. Dan waved the windshield wiper at him. "Hey, bro. We didn't want to miss our ride.

No one should ever have to justify a fake mustache

Sometimes memory is the only gift we give ourselves and the only hope we have of finding our way home.

I climb aboard my tricycle and pedal my heart to the stars.

And that was it. He needed me. This scarred, broken man needed me... And I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to smile for him... I needed to.

Manson would wait for you in the dark and you’d never see him coming; while Lucas would come in broad daylight, smash your windows out, and set your house on fire.

I wanted to ride this man like a goddamn rollercoaster and then take his friends for a spin too.

You’re a light in the dark, and I’ve been in the dark a very long time.

I want you. Irrevocably.

Do something?” He shot me a narrow-eyed glare, and said mockingly, “Oh Leon, do something! Save me, please, oh please! What happened to Be gone, demon? What happened to trying to bash my head in with a crucifix?

This doesn’t depend on you saying anything. I love you. I’ve loved you. For so long. And I’ll love you, even if you don’t love me back. I’ll love you even if this is the last day I ever see you.

It's amazing how we push against things, things that in our depths we know we want, we know are good for us, yet we continue to deny ourselves with a conviction unmatched. Maybe we do it because we don't think we deserve that one true, good thing. Are we worthy? It's the most extraordinary thing, to embrace the life you never saw yourself living." -Harley LeBeau, The Boots My Mother Gave Me

The more I try to be perfect; the more I fail.

Easy, man." He slowly turned and his dark eyes narrowed. "Don't mess up your house. Or my face. You like us both. We'll deal with how to handle this as soon as you calm down.

JADE: but it makes me sad to think i would act like this JADESPRITE: act like what? JADE: i would like to think that even if i was sad and scared, if i was put in a position where everyone depended on me, i could put all those feelings aside and do whats right! JADESPRITE: but i dont know whats right JADE: yes you do! JADE: even though you dont want to be, youre here now, and there are still people who need you JADE: there is still something worth fighting for!

If you don't think I'm a princess then you're 100% right, I'm the fucking queen.

Survival is messy. Survival has no morals or kindness. Survival isn’t black and white, good versus evil. Survival is shades of red; it’s blood taken and blood lost.

A home isn't just a place - sometimes a home is a person; sometimes a home is flesh and blood.

I leaned into Karrin a little and said, next to her ear, "You ready for this?" "Only a lunatic is ready for this," she said. I could hear her smile as she spoke. Then she turned her head and, before I could react, planted a kiss right on my mouth. I almost fell off the Harley. She drew her head back, flashed me a wicked little smile, and said, "For luck. Star Wars-style." "You are so hot right now," I told her.

Why would she risk her life to come back for me, or offer her soul when I’d already given all I could to protect her, when I had nothing more to give in return? Love. Because she...loved me.

We walked to his Harley, and when I wrapped my arms around him, he rested his hand on mine. “I’m glad you were there tonight, Pidge. I’ve never had so much fun at a fight in my life.” I perched my chin on his shoulder and smiled. “That was because you were trying to win our bet.” He angled his neck to face me. “Damn right I was.” There was no amusement in his eyes, he was serious, and he wanted me to see it. My eyebrows shot up. “Is that why you were in such a bad mood today? Because you knew they’d fixed the boilers, and I would be leaving tonight?” Travis didn’t answer; he only smiled as he started his motorcycle. The drive to the apartment was uncharacteristically slow. At every stoplight, Travis would either cover my hands with his, or he would rest his hand on my knee.

Because you were my glimpse of heaven from hell,” he said. “You were the sun in my sky, and now you’re like a comet sent to earth. A wildfire I can touch…kiss…hold…

An environment of carping and criticism is dangerous to your mental health, whereas those who support and encourage you bring out your true potential and spark your genius.

I talk about a life that I pretend to live and you ask me what I’m talking about. But when I finally tell, you regret finding out.

Stars shine their brightest in the dark. So take this opportunity, and supernova the shit out of it.

Hee…That’s so cute. You think you’re scary. But mister, I’ve seen scary. And you ain’t got his smile.

His taste was violence, his blood the sweetest sin I’d ever consumed.

Say mercy if you want our play to end. But beg for me to stop and plead for your life if you want to continue

I’ve never given anyone permission to summon me. But if you can, bring me back to you.

No human is ready for forever, and forever is all I have. But you gave me a part of your life, when mortal lives are so short.

The darkness that surrounded us could have stretched on forever, a void in which everything I'd thought I knew had been turned on its head. We were in some other world, a world where pleasure and pain, fear and excitement, were all the same.

So I don’t know why you’re trying to talk yourself out of it now. The hard stuff is over. You dumped the groom, ran out on your wedding reception, and jumped on the back of a Harley in your slip. Then you got drunk and flew to Puerto Rico with your best friend’s older brother, who, incidentally, thinks you look smoking hot. Who’s got more balls than you?

Sometimes your destiny has to change. Sometimes life gets in the way, and you have to change your plans.

Every time we parted, I felt as if I was breaking the surface of a pool: I gasped for air, vision blurred, my body light.

Memory is a sly devil that pretends to wear the cloak of truth, but deceives us both in our youth and our age.

Let go of your old tired habits and plant new habits in fertile soil.

The first two times, I said "Sorry" just out of habit, and then decided that being a hostage means never having to say you're sorry.

Some people are just meant to break your heart, as if it were their sole mission here on earth to teach you not to fall in love with the wrong person.

Before she leaves, my new friend tells me to look out of the big picture window at the parking lot. "See that purple Harley out there—that big gorgeous one? That's mine. I used to ride behind my husband, and never took the road on my own. Then after the kids were grown, I put my foot down. It was hard, but we finally got to be partners. Now he says he likes it better this way. He doesn't have to worry about his bike breaking down or getting a heart attach and totaling us both. I even put 'Ms.' on my license plate—and you should see my grandkids' faces when Grandma rides up on her purple Harley!" On my own again, I look out at the barren sand and tortured rocks of the Badlands, stretching for miles. I've walked there, and I know that, close up, the barren sand reveals layers of pale rose and beige and cream, and the rocks turn out to have intricate womblike openings. Even in the distant cliffs, caves of rescue appear. What seems to be one thing from a distance is very different close up. I tell you this story because it's the kind of lesson that can be learned only on the road. And also because I've come to believe that, inside, each of us has a purple motorcycle. We have only to discover it—and ride.

In French, there’s a phrase for the random urge to jump from high places, the irrational desire to swerve into traffic despite imminent destruction: l'appel du vide, the call of the void. Those sudden feral impulses tend to be shoved away immediately, but humans still experience them. What if you jumped? What if you touched the fire? What if? What if? When I looked at him, staring at me, the void called.

If a guy couldn’t play with my masochism as enthusiastically as he played with my pleasure, then I didn’t want it. There simply wasn’t a nice way to tell your mother that you wanted a guy who could spank you as well as he could fuck. A man who was as comfortable with whips and chains as he was at candlelit dinners. Someone who wasn’t afraid to take control but wasn’t going to make the relationship feel like a cage. Laroux, Harley. Losers: Part I (p. 34). Kindle Edition.

California, Labor Day weekend...early, with ocean fog still in the streets, outlaw motorcyclists wearing chains, shades and greasy Levis roll out from damp garages, all-night diners and cast-off one-night pads in Fricso, Hollywood, Berdoo and East Oakland, heading for the Monterey peninsula, north of Big Sur...The Menace is loose again, the Hell's Angels, the hundred-carat headline, running fast and loud on the early morning freeway, low in the saddle, nobody smiles, jamming crazy through traffic and ninety miles an hour down the center stripe, missing by inches...like Genghis Khan on an iron horse, a monster steed with a fiery anus, flat out through the eye of a beer can and up your daughter's leg with no quarter asked and non given; show the squares some class, give em a whiff of those kicks they'll never know...Ah, these righteous dudes, they love to screw it on...Little Jesus, the Gimp, Chocolate George, Buzzard, Zorro, Hambone, Clean Cut, Tiny, Terry the Tramp, Frenchy, Mouldy Marvin, Mother Miles, Dirty Ed, Chuck the Duck, Fat Freddy, Filthy Phil, Charger Charley the Child Molester, Crazy Cross, Puff, Magoo, Animal and at least a hundred more...tense for the action, long hair in the wind, beards and bandanas flapping, earrings, armpits, chain whips, swastikas and stripped-down Harleys flashing chrome as traffic on 101 moves over, nervous, to let the formation pass like a burst of dirty thunder...

Reality has a way of bursting the bubble of illusion, and an affair is one of the biggest illusions that anyone can experience in life. It’s based almost entirely on emotions with almost no logic to support it. That fact becomes clear when children, employers, clergy, family, and friends all hear about the affair. Because they are not in the fog, they see the affair for what it really is: the cruelest, most devastating, and selfish act anyone can ever inflict on a spouse. With so many people seeing the situation logically and not emotionally, the unfaithful spouse has an opportunity to be advised and influenced by these people. Furthermore, the betrayed spouse gains support when he or she needs it the most.

Wanting his mind on other matters, she deliiberately challenged his statement. "You don't know so much about me. There was a man once. He was crazy about me." She tried to look wordly. "Absolutely crazy for me." His answering laughter was warm against her neck, her throat. His lips touched the skin over her pulse and skimmed lightly up to her ear. "Are you, by any chance, referring to that foppish boy with the orange hair and spiked collar? Dragon something?" Savannah gasped and pulled away to glare at im. "How could you possibly know about him? I dated him last year." Gregori nuzzled her neck, inhaling her fragrance, his hand sliding over her shoulder, moving gently over her satin skin to take possession of her breast. "He wore boots and rode a Harley." His breath came out in a rush as his palm cupped the soft weight, his thumb brushing her nipple into a hard peak. The feel of his large hand-so strong, so warm and possessive on her-sent heat curling through her body. Desire rose sharply. He was seducing her with tenderness. Savannah didn't want it to happen. Her body felt better, but the soreness was there to remind her where this could all lead. Her hand caught at his wrist. "How did you find out about Dragon?" she asked, desperate to distract him, to distract herself. How could he make her body burn for his when she was so afraid of him, of having sex with him? "Making love," he corrected, his voice husky, caressing, betraying the ease with which his mind moved like a shadow through hers."And to answer your question, I live in you, can touch you whenever I wish.I knew about all of them. Every damn one." He growled the worrds, and her breath caught in her throat. "He was the only one you thought of kissing." His mouth touched hers. Gently. Lightly. Returned for more. Coaxing, teasing, until she opened to him. He stole her breath, her reason, whirling her into a world of feeling.Bright colors and white-hot heat, the room falling away until there was only his broad shoulders,strong arms, hard body, and perfect,perfect mouth. When he lifted his head, Savannah nearly pulled him back to her.He watched her face,her eyes cloudy with desire, her lips so beautiful, bereft of his. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Savannah? There is such beauty in your soul,I can see it shining in your eyes." She touched his face, her palm molding his strong jaw. Why couldn't she resist his hungry eyes? "I think you're casting a spell over me. I can't remember what we were talking about." Gregori smiled. "Kissing." His teeth nibbled gently at her chin. "Specifically,your wanting to kiss that orange-bearded imbecile." "I wanted to kiss every one of them," she lied indignantly. "No,you did not.You were hoping that silly fop would wipe my taste from your mouth for all eternity." His hand stroked back the fall of hair around her face.He feathered kisses along the delicate line of her jaw. "It would not have worked,you know.As I recall,he seemed to have a problem getting close to you." Her eyes smoldered dangerously. "Did you have anything to do with his allergies?" She had wanted someone, anyone,to wipe Gregori's taste from her mouth,her soul. He raised his voice an octave. "Oh, Savannah, I just have to taste your lips," he mimicked. Then he went into a sneezing fit. "You haven't ridden until you've ridden on a Harley,baby." He sneezed, coughed, and gagged in perfect imitation. Savannah pushed his arm, forgetting for a moment her bruised fist. When it hurt, she yelped and glared accusingly at him. "It was you doing all that to him! That poor man-you damaged his ego for life. Each time he touched me, he had a sneezing fit." Gregori raised an eyebrow, completely unrepentant. "Technically,he did not lay a hand on you.He sneezed before he could get that close.

But, as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep. She lay curled up on the sofa in the back drawing-room in Harley Street, looking very lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons. If Titania had ever been dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, and had fallen asleep on a crimson damask sofa in a back drawing-room, Edith might have been taken for her. Margaret was struck afresh by her cousin's beauty. They had grown up together from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked upon by every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness; but Margaret had never thought about it until the last few days, when the prospect of soon losing her companion seemed to give force to every sweet quality and charm which Edith possessed. They had been talking about wedding dresses, and wedding ceremonies; and Captain Lennox, and what he had told Edith about her future life at Corfu, where his regiment was stationed; and the difficulty of keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which Edith seemed to consider as one of the most formidable that could befall her in her married life), and what gowns she should want in the visits to Scotland, which would immediately succeed her marriage; but the whispered tone had latterly become more drowsy; and Margaret, after a pause of a few minutes, found, as she fancied, that in spite of the buzz in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up into a soft ball of muslin and ribbon, and silken curls, and gone off into a peaceful little after-dinner nap.

Before she could say anything more, Sabella swung around at the sound of Noah’s Harley purring to life behind the garage. God. He was dressed in snug jeans and riding chaps. A snug dark T-shirt covered his upper body, conformed to it. And he was riding her way. “Is there anything sexier than a man in riding chaps riding a Harley?” Kira asked behind her. “It makes a woman simply want to melt.” And Sabella was melting. She watched as he pulled around the side of the garage then took the gravel road that led to the back of the house. The sound of the Harley purred closer, throbbing, building the excitement inside her. “I think it’s time for me to leave,” Kira said with a light laugh. “Don’t bother to see me out.” Sabella didn’t. She listened as the Harley drew into the graveled lot behind the house and moved to the back door. She opened it, stepping out on the back deck as he swung his legs over the cycle and strode toward her. That long-legged lean walk. It made her mouth water. Made her heart throb in her throat as hunger began to race through her. “The spa treated you well,” he announced as he paused at the bottom of the steps and stared back at her. “Feel like messing your hair up and going out this evening? We could have dinner in town. Ride around a little bit.” She hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle since she was a teenager. She glanced at the cycle, then back to Noah. “I’d need to change clothes.” His gaze flickered over her short jeans skirt, her T-shirt. “That would be a damned shame too,” he stated. “I have to say, Ms. Malone, you have some beautiful legs there.” No one had ever been as charming as Nathan. She remembered when they were dating, how he would just show up, out of the blue, driving that monster pickup of his and grinning like a rogue when he picked her up. He’d been the epitome of a bad boy, and he had been all hers. He was still all hers. “Bare legs and motorcycles don’t exactly go together,” she pointed out. He nodded soberly, though his eyes had a wicked glint to them. “This is a fact, beautiful. And pretty legs like that, we wouldn’t want to risk.” She leaned against the porch post and stared back at him. “I have a pickup, you know.” She propped one hand on her hip and stared back at him. “Really?” Was that avarice she saw glinting in his eyes, or for just the slightest second, pure, unadulterated joy at the mention of that damned pickup? He looked around. “I haven’t seen a pickup.” “It’s in the garage,” she told him carelessly. “A big black monster with bench seats. Four-by-four gas-guzzling alpha-male steel and chrome.” He grinned. He was so proud of that damned pickup. “Where did something so little come up with a truck that big?” he teased her then. She shrugged. “It belonged to my husband. Now, it belongs to me.” That last statement had his gaze sharpening. “You drive it?” “All the time,” she lied, tormenting him. “I don’t have to worry about pinging it now that my husband is gone. He didn’t like pings.” Did he swallow tighter? “It’s pinged then?” She snorted. “Not hardly. Do you want to drive the monster or question me about it? Or I could change into jeans and we could ride your cycle. Which is it?” Which was it? Noah stared back at her, barely able to contain his shock that she had kept the pickup. He knew for a fact there were times the payments on the house and garage had gone unpaid—his “death” benefits hadn’t been nearly enough—almost risking her loss of both during those first months of his “death.” Knowing she had held on to that damned truck filled him with more pleasure than he could express. Knowing she was going to let someone who wasn’t her husband drive it filled him with horror. The contradictor feelings clashed inside him, and he promised himself he was going to spank her for this.