Likes Insta Quotes

Real love ought to be more like a tree and less like a flower. That's the kind of love my parents had. Not so consuming and more everlasting. And you see that tree over there? Now it's only showing green leaves, but during the spring it's covered in flowers. Because as reliable as trees are, they can also speak of beauty and passion.

Real love ought to be more like a tree and less like a flower

I think my show was more beautiful. Like, it would have made for prettier pictures on Insta. But now, we're gonna have way better memes.

Ten Best Song to Strip 1. Any hip-swiveling R&B fuckjam. This category includes The Greatest Stripping Song of All Time: "Remix to Ignition" by R. Kelly. 2. "Purple Rain" by Prince, but you have to be really theatrical about it. Arch your back like Prince himself is daubing body glitter on your abdomen. Most effective in nearly empty, pathos-ridden juice bars. 3. "Honky Tonk Woman" by the Rolling Stones. Insta-attitude. Makes even the clumsiest troglodyte strut like Anita Pallenberg. (However, the Troggs will make you look like even more of a troglodyte, so avoid if possible.) 4. "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard. The Lep's shouted choruses and relentless programmed drums prove ideal for chicks who can really stomp. (Coincidence: I once saw a stripper who, like Rick Allen, had only one arm.) 5. "Amber" by 311. This fluid stoner anthem is a favorite of midnight tokers at strip joints everywhere. Mellow enough that even the most shitfaced dancer can make it through the song and back to her Graffix bong without breaking a sweat. Pass the Fritos Scoops, dude. 6. "Miserable" by Lit, but mostly because Pamela Anderson is in the video, and she's like Jesus for strippers (blonde, plastic, capable of parlaying a broken nail into a domestic battery charge, damaged liver). Alos, you can't go wrong stripping to a song that opens with the line "You make me come." 7. "Back Door Man" by The Doors. Almost too easy. The mere implication that you like it in the ass will thrill the average strip-club patron. Just get on all fours and crawl your way toward the down payment on that condo in Cozumel. (Unless, like most strippers, you'd rather blow your nest egg on tacky pimped-out SUVs and Coach purses.) 8. Back in Black" by AC/DC. Producer Mutt Lange wants you to strip. He does. He told me. 9. "I Touch Myself" by the Devinyls. Strip to this, and that guy at the tip rail with the bitch tits and the shop teacher glasses will actually believe that he alone has inspired you to masturbate. Take his money, then go masturbate and think about someone else. 10. "Hash Pipe" by Weezer. Sure, it smells of nerd. But River Cuomo is obsessed with Asian chicks and nose candy, and that's just the spirit you want to evoke in a strip club. I recommend busting out your most crunk pole tricks during this one.

I think true love transcends tiem. The thunderbolt does not. Not if it strkes men the way you described." I start a sprint toward a glade where my favorite orange flowers grow. He catches up with me easily. "Most girls prefer flowers over trees." I brush my fingers on the petals."These flowers blossom quickly. They speak of passion, of beauty." I take a witheting flower that had dropped to the ground and fondle it between my fingers. "But flowers don't last. They wither easily and have limited growth. A tree might not speak of passion but sturdiness. Yet, it grows higher and lasts longer. Some of these trees were here before I was born and they'll be here once I'm gone." My heads falls back as I look at the highest tree. "Real love ought to be more like a tree and less like a flower. That's the kind of love my parents had. It wasn't as consuming as it was everlasting. And you see that tree over there? Now it's showing only green leaves, but in spring it's covered in flowers. Because as reliable as trees are, they can also speak of beauty and passion.

Because I already have one sister, Lauren? She’s like their miracle baby—they had her right after me, oh joy—and sometimes she’s crazy annoying and I was like, ‘Another one? I don’t know about this.’ But then they told me about you, too? And I was like, ‘Get. Out.’ I mean, it’s like insta-family, right? Just add water. Like sea monkeys.

Insta-love isn’t something that happens in real life. It happens in the books I read, but not in the world I live. Though here stands this beautiful, sexy, funny, sweet and amazing guy who has done everything short of professing love at first sight to me and I’m still standing here like a pair of lungs suffocating, needing him in order to breathe.

People will do some things for great sums of money that they would not do for smaller amounts.

There is no proven connection between being serious and being effective.

Paul Slovic: Slovic is a psychologist who has proposed that people let their likes and dislikes determine their beliefs about the world without really seeking out the truth.

By the gods, Erik, you didn't tell me you were bringing one of them with you.” I instantly disliked her, not that I'd had any plans of liking her, but there it was. Insta-hate.

This book is short and right to the point—like the kind of story that gives you whiplash. If you enjoy unbelievable plots, and insta-everything going on, you may enjoy this dirty little read.

I don’t believe in true love and I certainly don’t believe in love at first sight. Insta-love isn’t something that happens in real life. It happens in the books I read, but not in the world I live. Though here stands this beautiful, sexy, funny, sweet and amazing guy who has done everything short of professing love at first sight to me and I’m still standing here like a pair of lungs suffocating, needing him in order to breathe. I’m not running, I’m here, submerged in all of my vulnerability, taking the biggest chance I ever have with my heart and soul. I hope I’m choosing wisely. I stared at the ground and felt his eyes on the top of my head.

Is there anything you would like to say to the man who nominated you?” “Yes, actually. There is.” I turn slightly to face my boyfriend in the audience where he is just basking in the attention. “Clyde? We’re over. Done. Caput.” Clyde’s smug smile deflates and I turn to face the frozen host. “Also, I’m so not doing this.” Panic cracks like lightning across his features when I start to remove my apron. “Uhhh. B-but…don’t you want to meet our celebrity judges first?” “Nope.

Alice. This girl has turned me inside out. From her humor, to her beauty, to her backbone, to the way she submits to me. Trusts me. She’s a treasure that I might have never discovered if I’d stayed in London. The mere thought causes panic to well up like a geyser in my chest and I have to stroke my hands down her smooth back to remind myself she’s here.

He reached out—almost like he wanted to make sure I was real—and slid his fingers across my cheek and curved his hand around my neck. He’d barely begun to draw me towards him when I rushed to close the space between us, reaching his lips with a yearning I didn’t know I had in me.

It’d break my heart if you didn’t like me because I kind of love you more than anything on earth.

it’s literally better to have ONE email subscriber than ONE THOUSAND likes on your Facebook page.

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Like so much else in L.A., the district had been intellectually downscaled, the bookstores of my college days surrendering to games arcades, gyro shacks, and insta-latte assembly-line franchises.

It’s an Insta-bloody-gram world out there, baby, where everyone looks like they’re having a good time except you. And it ain’t true. Folks are desperate to put up photos of themselves having super fun on social media because their conscience knows those times don’t last.

Then she'll drink. Sometimes it's like there's this well of sadness inside her, and she has to drink to fill it up. And then sometimes it's like there's a monster inside of her, and drinking's the only thing that will calm it down. And sometimes she drinks just because.

But maybe you’d like to ride a different stallion.

I guess it's like seeing beauty in simplicity and nature. In fleeting moments and even in decay.

I felt so sad that it felt like my rib cage was collapsing in on itself.

But what I really need is to fucking SCREAM because this feels like a war that I got thrown into, and I don't know how I can be so tired and mad at the same time.

Now people nowadays, especially the younger ones, they don’t have an ounce of romance in their soul. It’s all zombies and video games, shallow celebrities. They love insta-sex but make fun of what they call insta-love. They get a few minutes pleasure out of the foolin’ around, but don’t have the depth of heart to fall in love like a romantic will, so they scoff at it. Real love is like that sometimes.

Time-wasting, or a desire to lose our sense of the passage of time, is evidence that we want to be like God in an unhealthy way. We subconsciously covet his eternality. We tell ourselves that there's plenty of time and we can spend it without thought. -Social Sanity in and Insta World

We are so much more than our social media profiles, and it’s important to always remember that, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

In order for us to feel like we have the time, energy, money, and space to create the lives we really want to live, we need to create and enforce healthy boundaries that enable us to experience a sense of balance. From this open space, we can truly bloom.

I hate her. Unapologetically Alex sucking up all the air in every room, turning every subject back to her, hijacking every conversation. This woman and her Insta-perfect life, treating every moment like it’s a colorful little window into her vacuous life. Even more than Patrick, I fucking hate her so much.

Only a million times. She looks at us like we’re crazy. She says something like ‘Every kid wants to be Insta-famous. You’re welcome.’ But, like, I never asked for this. Why can’t she have a normal job?

She bites her lip to stop her grin. 'I like your logic. You know how much I dislike insta-love.' 'Oh, it was still insta-love,' I tell her. 'But ours is legit.

Yeah, we threw some shit at her, but so what? Happens every day in the caf and nobody else goes crying over it. No one shoved her into a locker, made her drink piss, posted naked pics of her on Insta, or anything like that.” Wendy cocked her head to the side with a raised eyebrow.

I wasn’t all that sure God existed because there was no explaining why He hated me so much. It wasn’t as though He’d learned not to like me; it was more like one of those insta-hates that only intensified without any reason. And He loved screwing me over. Like it was His favorite pastime or something. Like He really had nothing else better to do than fuck with my life. Just when I thought there wasn’t one more obstacle He could throw my way, He proved me wrong. More than God loved screwing me over, He really loved proving me wrong.

The metric in this case is “your goal” with a specific story or post. What is it that you would like to achieve? Once you are clear on your metric, you form a hypothesis. The little factor that might influence the outcome of your goals. This can be tone of voice, changing how you appeal to people, changing the verbiage, changing colors or buttons or stickers. Then you experiment. Again, Instagram Stories is the fastest platform for insta-feedback. According to Kaushik,