Matte Nails Quotes

Then I said, “Matt’s got a big mouth.” “They all got big mouths, girl, learn that quick. These boys talk more than a pack of women. I lost fifty bucks on you.” I was stunned speechless again, this time it didn’t last as long. “What?” “See, Lee nailed Indy the first night they were together. Not nailed her nailed her but she was in his bed. Eddie, with Jet, it took a few days. Hank and Roxie, like, a day. Vance, like three, but Jules was a virgin and he had to interrupt the festivities once to go out and shoot someone.” I was blinking rapidly and feeling kind of faint at the amount and sensitivity of information Shirleen was imparting, not to mention what it might mean to me. “So we had a pool. Everyone threw down money on when they thought Luke would nail you. Mace won five hundred dollars.” Ho-ly crap. “So,” she went on. “Did he nail you nail you or did you two just sleep?” For some reason, I answered her unbelievably nosy question. “We just slept.” “New pool!” she shouted.

You see, Marriage is like a Coffin, and each Kid is another Nail.

He'd give anything to be out there playing instead of standing here watching. Trying to maintain this smile out of respect. He digs into his wrists some more with his nails. Breaks previously broken skin and pulls away. A smear of blood he wipes away with his other hand, rubs off across his dark jeans. Back home his mom is always on him to stop digging, but that only makes him want to dig more." -exerpt from "Mexican White Boy

As for asking Tam Lin, Matt didn’t know how to bring up the subject. By the way, is anyone planning to cut me up into T-bone steaks? Even more terrifying was the bodyguard’s possible answer: You hit the nail on the head there, laddie. I always said you were bright as a button.

I hope she can’t tell that I’m appraising her and that I’m completely worried by what I see. She’s excitable and strange. She’s ten. What do people do during the day when they’re ten? She runs her fingers along the window and mumbles, “This could give me bird flu,” and then she forms a circle around her mouth with her hand and makes trumpet noises. She’s nuts. Who knows what’s going on in that head of hers, and speaking of her head, she most definitely could use a haircut or a brushing. There are small tumbleweeds of hair resting on the top of her head. Where does she get haircuts? I wonder. Has she ever had one before? She scratches her scalp, then looks at her nails. She wears a shirt that says I’M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL. BUT I CAN BE! I’m grateful that she isn’t too pretty, but I realize this could change.

Getting the two chompers on him had been easier than I had expected... ...He’d patiently allowed me to do it, whimpering like a dog getting his nails clipped. It’d only taken about five seconds. Now when he snapped his teeth, little tendrils of electricity exploded from his mouth. It’d scared him so much at first he’d actually peed himself...

Right after Matt died, I was afraid to do basically everything. I couldn’t even bite my nails or sniff my shirt to see if I needed deodorant without feeling like he was watching me. I willed and prayed and begged him to give me a sign that he was watching, that he was with me, so I would know. But he never did. Time moved on. And I stopped being afraid. Until right now, vulnerable and insecure and a little bit drunk. Lying in the sand and falling in crazy love with someone I just met. Matt is watching me. Observing. Possibly judging. And the worst part of it is, I don’t want to wake up under his landslide of sad rocks anymore. I don’t want to taste the marzipan frosting and the clove cigarettes. I don’t want to think about the blue glass necklace or the books he read to me on his bed or the piles of college stuff or some random boy in the grocery store wearing his donated clothes. I don’t want to be the dead boy’s best-friend-turned-something-else. Or the really supportive neighbor friend. Or the lifelong keeper of broken-hearted secrets.

And it has stayed there, calmly in its spot, growing slowly, producing leaves, losing leaves, producing more, as those mammoths became extinct, as Homer wrote The Odyssey, as Cleopatra reigned, as Jesus was nailed to a cross, as Siddhartha Gautama left his palace to weep for his suffering subjects, as the Roman Empire declined and fell, as Carthage was captured, as water buffalo were domesticated in China, as the Incas built cities, as I leaned over the well with Rose, as America fought with itself, as world wars happened, as Facebook was invented, as millions of humans and other animals lived and fought and procreated and went, bewildered, to their fast graves, the tree had always been the tree. That was the familiar lesson of time.

A train horn blew, but it seemed a little distant, like it was coming from somewhere up ahead. It blew again, louder this time. “There’s another train coming!” shouted Ruby. “We’re going to crash!” “Don’t worry,” said the captain cheerfully. “Vermillion knows what to do.” Matt closed his eyes and waited for impact, but it never came. The train picked up speed, faster and faster. It roared so loud Matt couldn’t even hear his own voice. He covered his ears. The whole train was vibrating violently, and then it lurched forward with such a jolt that the three Hudsons toppled over each other and landed hard on the floor. Ruby gasped. “The floor!” she said. “What the . . . what?” said Corey. Matt looked down. He could hardly believe his eyes. The floor appeared to be melting, morphing from the smooth worn floors of the subway car to cracked and rough wooden planks. A nail head poked at his hand. Matt looked up. All around him the train car was altering, growing, transforming. The walls expanded, and the windows shrank. Lacy curtains unfurled and crawled down the sides of the windows like fast-growing vines. The hard plastic benches of the subway swelled into plush chairs and tables with white tablecloths. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling contracted and then dropped, forming crystal chandeliers. A plush rug sprouted beneath him. It grew through the floor as though it were a carpet of grass pushing through dirt. Matt picked himself up, then helped Corey and Ruby, who had somehow gotten tangled in the rug. It seemed to have grown up and around Ruby’s wrists and ankles, as though it were trying to weave her into itself. Matt and Corey helped free her, and then Ruby yelped as the white rat leaped across their faces and landed on a little table. It pulled a match out of the table drawer with its tail, struck it against the wall, and began lighting lanterns and sconces, then the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, until the space was well lit once again. It was not at all like the train they had been in before. The subway car no longer looked like a subway at all. Rather, it looked like a very old-fashioned train, but one for rich passengers.

COUNTERFEIT CROSS Jesus said, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me” (Matt. 16:24). A misunderstanding of this call has led many to follow His life of self-denial, but to stop short of His life of power. For them the cross-walk involves trying to crucify their sin nature by embracing joyless brokenness as an evidence of the cross. But, we must follow Him all the way—to a lifestyle empowered by the resurrection! Most every religion has a copy of the cross-walk. Self-denial, self-abasement, and the like are all easily copied by the sects of this world. People admire those who have religious disciplines. They applaud fasting and respect those who embrace poverty or endure disease for the sake of personal spirituality. But show them a life filled with joy because of the transforming power of God, and they will not only applaud but will want to be like you. Religion is unable to mimic the life of resurrection with its victory over sin and hell. One who embraces an inferior cross is constantly filled with introspection and self-induced suffering. But the cross is not self-applied—Jesus did not nail Himself to the cross. Christians who are trapped by this counterfeit are constantly talking about their weaknesses. If the devil finds us uninterested in evil, then he’ll try to get us to focus on our unworthiness and inability. This is especially noticeable in prayer meetings where people try to project great brokenness before God, hoping to earn revival. They will often reconfess old sins searching for real humility. In my own pursuit of God, I often became preoccupied with ME! It was easy to think that being constantly aware of my faults and weaknesses was humility. It’s not! If I’m the main subject, talking incessantly about my weaknesses, I have entered into the most subtle form of pride. Repeated phrases such as, “I’m so unworthy,” become a nauseating replacement for the declarations of the worthiness of God. By being sold on my own unrighteousness, the enemy has disengaged me from effective service. It’s a perversion of true holiness when introspection causes my spiritual self-esteem to increase, but my effectiveness in demonstrating the power of the gospel to decrease. True brokenness causes complete dependency on God, moving us to radical obedience that releases the power of the gospel to the world around

That even those very sins that Satan paints, and puts new names and colors upon, cost the best blood, the noblest blood, the life-blood, the heart-blood of the Lord Jesus. That Christ should come from the eternal bosom of his Father to a region of sorrow and death; that God should be manifested in the flesh, the Creator made a creature; that he who was clothed with glory should be wrapped with rags of flesh; he who filled heaven and earth with his glory should be cradled in a manger; that the almighty God should flee from weak man—the God of Israel into Egypt; that the God of the law should be subject to the law, the God of the circumcision circumcised, the God who made the heavens working at Joseph's homely trade; that he who binds the devils in chains should be tempted; that he, whose is the world, and the fullness thereof, should hunger and thirst; that the God of strength should be weary, the Judge of all flesh condemned, the God of life put to death; that he who is one with his Father should cry out of misery, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46); that he who had the keys of hell and death at his belt should lie imprisoned in the sepulcher of another, having in his lifetime nowhere to lay his head, nor after death to lay his body; that that HEAD, before which the angels do cast down their crowns, should be crowned with thorns, and those EYES, purer than the sun, put out by the darkness of death; those EARS, which hear nothing but hallelujahs of saints and angels, to hear the blasphemies of the multitude; that FACE, which was fairer than the sons of men, to be spit on by those beastly wretched Jews; that MOUTH and TONGUE, which spoke as never man spoke, accused for blasphemy; those HANDS, which freely swayed the scepter of heaven, nailed to the cross; those FEET, "like unto fine brass," nailed to the cross for man's sins; each sense pained with a spear and nails; his SMELL, with stinking odor, being crucified on Golgotha, the place of skulls; his TASTE, with vinegar and gall; his HEARING, with reproaches, and SIGHT of his mother and disciples bemoaning him; his SOUL, comfortless and forsaken; and all this for those very sins that Satan paints and puts fine colors upon! Oh! how should the consideration of this stir up the soul against sin, and work the soul to fly from it, and to use all holy means whereby sin may be subdued and destroyed!

So you should continually keep in mind the great humiliation which the Lord took upon Himself in His ineffable love for us: how the divine Logos dwelt in a womb; how He took human nature upon Himself; His birth from a woman; His gradual bodily growth; the shame He suffered, the insults, vilification, ridicule and abuse; how He was scourged and spat upon, derided and mocked; the scarlet robe, the crown of thorns; His condemnation by those in power; the outcry of the unruly Jews, men of His own race, against Him: 'Away with him, away with him, crucify him' (John 19:15); the cross, the nails, the lance, the drink of vinegar and gall; the scorn of the Gentiles; the derision of the passers-by who said: 'If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross and we will believe you' (cf Matt. 27:39-42); and the rest of the sufferings which He patiently accepted for us: crucifixion; death; the three-day burial; the descent into hell.

Tim Ferriss nails it when he says that “people are smarter than you think. Give them a chance to prove themselves.

Wow,” he breathes. “You like her that much.” I nod. “Yeah.” I scoff. “I’m not in love with her or anything”—I might as well be honest—“but I can’t get her off my mind.” “You done her yet?” Pete asks. “Done her?” I repeat. He makes a crude gesture with his hands. “Done her,” he says again. “God, no,” I breathe. “I haven’t even kissed her.” “Wow,” Logan says again. “Would you stop saying that?” I gripe. “You want to kiss her,” Pete says. “I want to do all sorts of things with her,” I admit. “But she’s special.” “Wow,” Logan says again. “Cut it out!” I shove his shoulder. “I remember when I brought Emily home. She slept in my bed for a long time before we ever had sex. It wasn’t about that. It was about those quiet, intimate moments. Those were what mattered. They fed my soul.” Leave it to Logan to hit the nail on the head. “Yeah,” I say. “Like that.” “I wanted to fuck her, too, but not until I knew it was permanent.” His comment is crass, and someone else might find it crude and uncaring, but I find it honest. “Same here,” Pete tosses out. “That’s how you know she’s the right one. When you would take hearing her voice over getting your rocks off.

Yes?” “Um…” the receptionist says. “What is it?” I bark. But then my office door opens, and Matt steps through. “He’s on his way to you,” the receptionist says. “Thanks for the warning,” I mutter. Matt closes my office door behind him and approaches me. I stand, and he tips my chin up toward his face. “I forgot something,” he says. He’s breathless, and his eyes search mine. “I forgot to tell you that I want your heart more than I want your body,” he says. His eyes are flitting all over my face. “I fucked that up, but I’m not done yet. And I know how to say I’m sorry.” “Matt—” I start. But he cuts me off. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and it’s difficult to even walk when I’m around you, because my dick gets so hard I could pound nails with it.” Heat creeps up my cheeks, but he doesn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have gone there with you yet, but I can’t help it. I’m fucking dying to be inside you. I’m fucking dying to hold you close to me, hopefully when we’re both naked.” He grins. “But even more than that, I want you to love me. I want you to love me a lot, and I went about it the wrong way. Please forgive me.” He finally stops and draws in a deep breath. “Please.” “Matt…” I say. “When I saw your boyfriend, all I could think was that I could satisfy you so much more, mainly because I was jealous as hell that he’s been close to you. Maybe I was trying to get him off your mind and put myself there. Or maybe I’m just an idiot. It’s probably the latter. I admit it. I’m an idiot when it comes to you. But that’s okay with me. I hope it’s okay with you, too.” “Matt,” I say again. “Forgive me,” he urges. “I won’t ever do it again.” I bracket his face with my hands. “Would you shut up for a minute?” I say. He breathes out a sigh. “Okay.” “I’m not mad. Well, a little annoyed that Seth repeated something to you that he overheard in a private conversation. That’s about me and Seth, though, not about you. I’ll deal with him about that. And no, I’m not mad at you. There’s nothing to forgive.” He doesn’t say anything. He just looks into my eyes. “Really, Matt,” I say to assure him. “You completely shut me down, which I deserved. But I already miss you.” “I haven’t gone anywhere.” I laugh.

We ask the girls still below to come up with weapons. “Anything,” I hiss to Heidi through the crack. “Nail files. Scissors. String. Forks. I mean, someone has to have pepper spray, at least.” I can hear the call going around down there. Surely they must be able to conjure up something. In the end I have a surprising amount of string, but no scissors and no forks. I guess everyone was taken by surprise when they were kidnapped and didn't have time to get anything other than what they had in their pockets. “Is that it?” I hiss to Heidi. “String?” “That's what you asked for,” she says indignantly. “Some of the women here took the drawstring out of their sweatpants and now they have to hold them up with their hands. Oh, wait ...” She disappears and comes up again with something black in her hand. “How about this?” I take the thing in both hands. It's heavy. “Oh my fuck ...” It's a gun. Very black and matte and ugly. And I can't help but notice that it fits my hand perfectly. It's pretty small. Heidi is talking to someone down there and relaying information to me. “Glock twenty-six,” she says. “Nine millimeter, which I hope is not how far it can shoot ... what? Okay, it's the diameter of the bullet? Sounds kind of small to me. But whatever. You have ten shots.” She peers up at me. “Is that good enough, or do you need more string?

Six-time Ironman winner Mark Allen hit the nail on the head when he described endurance racing as “a test of you as a person on top of a test of you as an athlete.” But

Matt- ‘If you run from me, I will get you; but you know that I love you! Do not stray away because if you do, I will nail every one of your toes and wrists to this tree right here, and you can hang from it, in the air, and you can think about what you did wrong- my baby.’ He said- (In a spineless, bone-chilling, creeper voice!) Matt- ‘Truly, I will do it, and you will be awake to see it all, as well as feel it go through one by one, and swing by hammering swing. You see all of these corroded nine-inch nails there for you- my baby!’ He said- (I did not think his voice could get any creepier, however, it did! As he was showing me the hammer and nails. He was utterly insane and mad.)

Want Could Kill Me Xandria Phillips for Dominique I know this from looking into store fronts taste buds voguing alight from the way treasure glows when I imagine pressing its opulence into your hand I want to buy you a cobalt velvet couch all your haters’ teeth strung up like pearls a cannabis vineyard and plane tickets to every island on earth but my pockets are filled with lint and love alone touch these inanimate gods to my eyelids when you kiss me linen leather gator skin silk satin lace onyx marble gold ferns leopard crystal sandalwood mink pearl stiletto matte nails and plush lips glossed in my 90s baby saliva pour the glitter over my bare skin I want a lavish life us in the crook of a hammock incensed by romance the bowerbird will forgo rest and meals so he may prim and anticipate amenity for his singing lover call me a gaunt bird a keeper of altars shrines to the tactile how they shine for you fold your wings around my shoulders promise me that should I drown in want-made waste the dress I sink in will be exquisite