Mma Fighter Quotes

I feel like I'm stuck in a bad movie, with a little devil sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other. But the goddamn devil is twice the size and my angel is a fucking mute. Great, I have a fucking mute angel.

The warrior guided by the spirit serves humanity, the warrior without, serves the ego

Glad I coated you with my sweat now. It'll keep the other lions away.

I quickly scoop up the rest of my personal life on display on the sidewalk and I'm relieved that I had removed the flavored condoms that Regina had shoved into my purse before I left yesterday. Bacon Flavor. What woman wants to taste meat while, you know, tasting meat?

When we met, we were two injured souls. But keeping the real out of our lives for fear of what we might find. But nothing could have kept us apart. I never believed in destiny. Thought that was a bunch of crap for people who read too many books. Until you.

Perfect is highly overrated. I'm a character in my story, going through the chapters of my life as if it was written by an imaginary person, when I should be the author. - Elle

Ride me. You're so tight and wet. I'm going to fill up that pretty little pussy and make it mine. In you. So that the whole god damn world knows you're mine.

You ever met one of those guys who, in a totally calm and composed way, can scare the shit out of you? Like an MMA fighter, or the fat Kardashian sister who married Lamar Odom?

The best fighter is not a Boxer, Karate or Judo man. The best fighter is someone who can adapt on any style. He kicks too good for a Boxer, throws too good for a Karate man, and punches too good for a Judo man.

I’m going to bury myself so deep inside of you it’ll leave you feeling hollow when I’m not with you. ~Vince

There's serenity in the stillness of the water and my body absorbs it through my pours, desperate to find its peace.

Elle: "You really think there's no forgiveness in what happened?" Nico: "Forgiveness from who, Elle?

Trust me about one thing, Liv…whatever is going on between us, it’s going to happen.  You can make it as difficult as you want, but we, Liv, are going to happen.  Neither one of us can stop it.” 

Love isn’t something you can turn off. When it happens, it takes a little piece of who you are. I think sometimes people keep fighting because they’re more afraid to lose that piece of them, rather than lose the person they love.

You're smart and confident and the people around you seem to love you." He stops and watches me, I can tell he is deciding to continue. "And when I look into your eyes I see a little light flicker..." He pauses for a second. I look at him, but still don't speak. "And for the last twenty four hours all I could think about was what it would take to turn that flicker into a flame.

The way that Nico looks at me makes me high. It’s like a drug I crave desperately to have again. His pleasure is my reward, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn it.

An hour later I'm on my way back to the office, with Nico's scent on my clothes and inside of me. I have a sneaking suspicion that Nico wanted it that way, knowing that I was seeing William.

You're here." I look up at him. "I am." My voice is soft, but I can tell by the smirk on his face that he hears me just fine. "Does that mean not really is a no then?" His face is serious now. "Ask me again." I grin up at the handsome face that is towering over me, invading my personal space. "Are you seeing anyone?" "No." My response is assertive. "Yes. You are." I'm confused. "I am?" "I don't share Elle." "Oh." Oh my.

No one’s ever looked at me the way he looks at me.  I feel a silent rumble in my gut and I know something’s just changed in me forever.  I’ll never be able to go back to comfortable and nice after feeling whatever it is burning between us.  It scares the hell out of me and draws me in at the same time.

I smell you when you’re nowhere near me. I feel you, without touching. When you walk into a room, I know you’re there even before I look up. Every time I see you smile, I smile. Your happiness has become my happiness. Either I’m in love with you, or you really are my very own angel. Either way, we were meant to be.

I can't stall any longer. I think of what my therapist would tell me to do if she was sitting right next to me, watching me act like a coward. She'd say rip the Band-Aid off. Allow the wound to breathe..to heal itself. The worst part is in the anticipation of the tear, not the tear itself.

You’re killing me, Elle. I feel like I’m fourteen with you. I’m walking around with a hard-on half the time from just thinking about you. I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight now.

Nico: By the time I drove back home last night, I’d gotten myself under control. I’d reasoned with my hard-on until it finally saw my way. Who knew you could reason with a fucking hard-on. I guess I never tried. I just took care of it, did what it wanted me to.

When we met, we were two injured souls. Both keeping the real out of our lives for fear of what we might find. But nothing could have kept us apart. I never believed in destiny. Thought that was a bunch of crap for people who read too many books. Until I met you. You’re it for me, Babe. I didn’t even know I was missing something until I found you, but now I don’t know how I got through a day without what you’ve given me. You’re my soul mate. As sappy as it sounds, it’s god damn true. Nothing has ever been truer in my life. So no, I’m not worried about this fight not helping me heal from my past, because it’s you who does that for me. You’ve filled all the cracks in my heart and made me better. I never thought I’d say this after what I went through, but I’m the luckiest bastard on this earth.

I feel like I am stuck in a bad movie, with a little devil sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other. But the goddamn devil is twice the size and my angel is a fucking mute. Great, I have a fucking mute angel.

I feel like I’m stuck in a bad movie, with a little devil sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other.  But the goddamn devil is twice the size and my angel is a fucking mute.  Great, I have a fucking mute angel.

The moment comes back to haunt you when you least expect it. Just when you think you've finally found a way to bury it somewhere deep inside yourself, it rears its ugly head and then you're back to square one. Back to relive the pain. The regret. THe guilt. And the healing has to start all over again.

The man may well be my kryptonite.

When times are good be grateful, when times are bad be graceful

An exceptional Sensei has traits such as patience and integrity. Otherwise, natural fighting ability, cruelty and aggressive behavior may be observed in most animal predators.

Soon, Liv,” he mutters between impatient kisses when we come up for air. “I want you in my bed. Underneath me, on top of me, bent over…fuck, we’re going to invent new ways for me to have you. ~Vince

For some reason, her features soften at that. “You don’t spend much time around women, do you?” I shrug. “They are around once in a while, but they do not have eyes that hurt my stomach. In truth, I don’t care enough to look at them.” I grunt, bundling her closer. “You…you will be major distraction, kotik. Bad for my career.” -Whitney & Maxim

Sober for seven years, Spencer had replaced his heroin and methamphetamine addiction with martial arts even before he’d left for federal prison. The jujitsu practice had sustained him throughout his incarceration—even when his girlfriend dumped him and when his former martial-arts teacher and onetime father figure was arrested and jailed for taking indecent liberties with a teenage female student. Spencer stuck to his recovery and to his prison workouts, ignoring the copious drugs that had been smuggled inside, and he read voraciously about mixed martial arts. Using the Bureau of Prisons’ limited email system, he had Ginger copy articles about various MMA fighters—laboriously pasting in one block of text at a time—so he could memorize pro tips and workout strategies and, eventually, through her, reach out directly to fighters and studio owners for advice.

I’ve wanted to come inside of you so badly it hurts. Feel that clenching little pussy slide up and down my bare cock. I need in. Now

If you wanted me out of my clothes, you could have just asked.

There’s only two choices with a man. Forgive him or forget him. If you can’t do the latter, then you need to forgive him because he’s already stolen your heart.

I lean my head into his chest, still feeling conflicted, although the close proximity tips the scale slightly on the side of seeing this beautiful man naked. ~Vi

Boxing creates fighters. This is not a place for showoffs or inflated influencers.

Why did you pick me up on a motorcycle if you had an SUV in the garage?" Nico looks down sheepishly and then I see the cocky lopsided smile that just melts me somehow. "I wanted to feel your arms wrapped around me tightly." Right. Damn. Answer

That’s good.  Because you’re going to be my assistant.”  He grins like a Cheshire cat.  I raise my eyebrows in surprise.  “I am?” “Yep, I’m going to put my hands all over that body of yours in the front of the room and you’re going to kick my ass.

I love the pink that creeps up your cheeks when I say something dirty. The way your pussy throbs when I mention what I’m going to do to you later, and you wiggle in your seat trying to control it. So yeah, I guess I do like watching you flustered. You sit and give your attention to the waiter, trying to pretend you’re listening to whatever he’s saying instead of thinking of me feeding you my cock later, but we both know you didn’t hear one word he said. Hell I didn’t hear one word watching you, just knowing what you were thinking about.

You're certainly not dressed like you're running a business." Eyes blazing, she glared. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" "An apron and a pink tracksuit with Juicy written across the ass are hardly serious business attire and they certainly don't scream swipe right on desi Tinder." Sam didn't know if there was such a thing as Tinder for people of South Asian descent living abroad, but if it did exist, he and Layla would definitely not have been a match. Layla gave a growl of frustration. "You may be surprised to hear that I don't live my life seeking male approval. I'm just getting over a breakup so I'm a little bit fragile. Last night, I went out with Daisy and drank too much, smoked something I thought was a cigarette, danced on a speaker, and fell onto some loser named Jimbo, whose girlfriend just happened to be an MMA fighter and didn't like to see me sprawled on top of her man. We had a minor physical altercation and I was kicked out of the bar. Then I got dumped on the street by my Uber driver because I threw up in his cab. So today, I just couldn't manage office wear. It's called self-care, and we all need it sometimes. Danny certainly wouldn't mind." "Who's Danny?" The question came out before he could stop it. "Someone who appreciates all I've got going here-" she ran a hand around her generous curves- "and isn't hung up on trivial things like clothes." She tugged off the apron and dropped it on the reception desk. "I'm not hung up on clothes, either," Sam teased. "When I'm with a woman I prefer to have no clothes at all." Her nose wrinkled. "You're disgusting." "Go home, sweetheart." Sam waved a dismissive hand. "Put your feet up. Watch some rom-coms. Eat a few tubs of ice cream. Have a good cry. Some of us have real work to do.

Steve was a warrior in every sense of the word, but battling wildlife perpetrators just wasn’t the same as old-fashioned combat. Because Steve’s knees continued to deteriorate, his surfing ability was severely compromised. Instead of giving up in despair, Steve sought another outlet for all his pent-up energy. Through our head of security, Dan Higgins, Steve discovered mixed martial arts (or MMA) fighting. Steve was a natural at sparring. His build was unbelievable, like a gorilla’s, with his thick chest, long arms, and outrageous strength for hugging things (like crocs). Once he grabbed hold of something, there was no getting away. He had a punch equivalent to the kick of a Clydesdale, he could just about lift somebody off the ground with an uppercut, and he took to grappling as a wonderful release. Steve never did anything by halves. I remember one time the guys were telling him that a good body shot could really wind someone. Steve suddenly said, “No one’s given me a good body shot. Try to drop me with a good one so I know what it feels like.” Steve opened up his arms and Dan just pile drove him. Steve said, in between gasps, “Thanks, mate. That was great, I get your point.” I would join in and spar or work the pads, or roll around until I was absolutely exhausted. Steve would go until he threw up. I’ve never seen anything like it. Some MMA athletes are able to seek that dark place, that point of total exhaustion--they can see it, stare at it, and sometimes get past it. Steve ran to it every day. He wasn’t afraid of it. He tried to get himself to that point of exhaustion so that maybe the next day he could get a little bit further. Soon we were recruiting the crew, anyone who had any experience grappling. Guys from the tiger department or construction were lining up to have a go, and Steve would go through the blokes one after another, grappling away. And all the while I loved it too. Here was something else that Steve and I could do together, and he was hilarious. Sometimes he would be cooking dinner, and I’d come into the kitchen and pat him on the bum with a flirtatious look. The next thing I knew he had me in underhooks and I was on the floor. We’d be rolling around, laughing, trying to grapple each other. It’s like the old adage when you’re watching a wildlife documentary: Are they fighting or mating? It seems odd that this no-holds-barred fighting really brought us closer, but we had so much fun with it. Steve finally built his own dojo on a raised concrete pad with a cage, shade cloth, fans, mats, bags, and all that great gear. Six days a week, he would start grappling at daylight, as soon as the guys would get into work. He had his own set of techniques and was a great brawler in his own right, having stood up for himself in some of the roughest, toughest, most remote outback areas. Steve wasn’t intimidated by anyone. Dan Higgins brought a bunch of guys over from the States, including Keith Jardine and other pros, and Steve couldn’t wait to tear into them. He held his own against some of the best MMA fighters in the world. I always thought that if he’d wanted to be a fighter as a profession, he would have been dangerous. All the guys heartily agreed.

our three basic categories of an MMA fighter.

Nate had written this long essay. I’ll be honest, I don’t remember all the words and he even admitted in his paper he needed some help from his girlfriend to fully express how he felt about us, but the conclusion remains with me to this day. He said our friendship had taught him how to live, love and matter. He was this star athlete who stood six foot five inches tall—a beefy guy with more muscle mass than any champion MMA fighter—and he was describing our friendship with such depth. Jasmine asked me to honor her son’s memory by living, loving and by only doing meaningful things. Those three simple wishes I took to heart and I’ve been on a crusade ever since to make good on my promise to her. Even though she died two years ago, I’ve still kept my word to her.

Fighting over who paid the check was a time-honored Asian tradition, and akin to two MMA fighters in a no-holds-barred death match. It could get loud, physical, and potentially violent. There was a whole list of stratagems one learned through osmosis to employ to ensure you got to the check first. Like pretending you had to use the restroom halfway through the meal, but instead you sneak over to the waitress and hand over your credit card.

I mean, look at you.” She rubbed her hand over his shoulders. “What, did you discover steroids? Are you an MMA fighter or something?” “You don’t like it?” Just to mess with her, he flexed his pecs, enjoying the way her eyes popped at the motion. “Holy cannoli,” she chirped, then grinned. “I think I just got wet!” “Oh, gross,” Billy groaned, rubbing his good hand over his face. “New rule: if Jericho’s going to work here, you guys can’t do that shit again.” “Do what?” Jericho exchanged a grin and wink with Kyla.

We don’t believe in luck. We believe in training.

God, he wanted this woman. Was there a chance in hell she could fit into his world? Not the business man by day or the MMA fighter by evening, but the Dom by night.

Here’s a pro tip for you. Almost everyone you fight will be better than you at something. If you always approach the fight from a position of honorable fighting, you’ll get creamed. In boxing, there are rules, designed to make sure the better fighter wins. Sure, the rules get broken, heads get butted, ears get bitten, but mostly boxing and MMA are rules-oriented sports. In a fight, especially a sword fight, there is no such thing as a dirty move, there’s only survival. Real fighting encourages the head-butt and the ear bite. It also smiles favorably on fingers in eyes, strikes to throats and kicks to knees. He

Now, as I was folding laundry and watching the tail end of a new cable show called Vampire Love Story about, of all things, MMA fighters who happened to be vampires,

Love isn't something you can turn off. When it happens, it takes a little piece of who you are. I think sometimes people keep fighting because they're more afraid to lose that piece of them, rather than lose the person they love.

They wore the uniform of the desert bro. Think frat boy who never went to college. Jersey Shore without the water. Farmer’s tans made by the sun instead of a cancer machine. Ed Hardy shirts and backward baseball caps. Oakley sunglasses, even at night. Goatees or shaped three-day growth. Essentially they all looked like middle relief pitchers on vacation. The kind of guys that thought they looked like MMA fighters, but really looked like assholes.

Fighters find solace in the boxing ring.

I bet you’d need both hands to fist him and that he fucks like an MMA fighter on crack: hard, fast, and so, so good.

The last thing Cole needed was Puff the Magic MMA Fighter showing up at his door breathing fire. By five o’clock, Pandora had finally begun to feel human again.

In the ring of life, remember, no one can strike you harder than life itself.

In the realm of boxing and life, the most formidable blows are dealt not by opponents in the ring but by the challenges life throws at you.

I may not be ‘the prettiest' or have ‘big boobies,' but I want people to remember me as the best.

Some of Batista’s followers intimidated jailed and even killed political opponents. One of the pro-Batista paramilitary thugs was Rolando Arcadio Masferrer Rojas, who was born in Holguín on July 12, 1918. He had been a member of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, organized in 1936 by the Communist International during the Spanish Civil War. Returning to Cuba, Masferrer became a staunch supporter of Batista, who at that time had the backing of the Communist Party. Masferrer was by no means the average run of the mill thug and, in addition to being a lawyer, he ran for office and won a seat in the Cuban Senate. He was also a guerrilla leader, political activist, a member of the Cuban Communist Party, a newspaper publisher, and responsible for the founding of “Los Tigres de Masferrer,” a guerrilla organization he organized to support Batista militarily. He also published two newspapers, Tiempo in Havana and Libertad in Santiago de Cuba. Becoming a radical anti-communist, he was ousted from the Cuban Communist Party. Regardless, Masferrer was a dangerous man and people learned to keep their mouths shut and play it low key when he was around. As a pro-Batista political activist, he took credit for supposedly attacking Castro’s rebels in the Sierra Maestra Mountains. Actually, in most cases his group of not-so-fierce fighters stayed safely within the city limits of Santiago de Cuba, extorting money from the residents. In 1959, after Castro’s entry into Havana, Masferrer fled to the United States where he befriended American union bosses such as Jimmy Hoffa and got to know Mafia leaders such as Santo Trafficante in Tampa, Florida. Masferrer worked with Richard Bissell of the Central Intelligence Agency, planning another assassination attempt on Castro. He was seen at a ranch owned by multi-millionaire Howard Hughes, where he was training paid assassins, and he even met with President Kennedy in Washington. With money contributed by fellow Cubans living in Florida, he later planned to carry out the assassination of Fidel Castro by attacking him from a distant base in Haiti. It all ended when, on October 31, 1975, Masferrer was killed by a car bomb in Miami. Although his figures may be somewhat exaggerated, Castro claimed that Masferrer was responsible for the death of as many as 2,000 people during the Batista era.

On a shit ton of painkillers and with enough tape on his hand that looked like an MMA fighter’s, Grayson felt only a dull throb. To an outsider, it was stupid to play this way, but it actually made perfect sense. The Sinners had given up a few draft picks and some good players for him. He wasn’t about to miss his first game for a bruise.