Oversized Framed Quotes

Wait long enough, and what was once mainstream will fall into obscurity. When that happens, it will become valuable again to those looking for authenticity or irony or cleverness. The value, then, is not intrinsic. The thing itself doesn’t have as much value as the perception of how it was obtained or why it is possessed. Once enough people join in, like with oversized glasses frames or slap bracelets, the status gained from owning the item or being a fan of the band is lost, and the search begins again. You would compete like this no matter how society was constructed. Competition for status is built into the human experience at the biological level. Poor people compete with resources. The middle class competes with selection. The wealthy compete with possessions. You sold out long ago in one way or another. The specifics of who you sell to and how much you make—those are only details.

Behind Desi was a long, polished end table bearing several silver-framed photos. In the center was an oversize one of Desi and Amy back in high school,

Project Princess Teeny feet rock layered double socks Popping side piping of many colored loose lace ups Racing toe keeps up with fancy free gear slick slide and just pressed recently weaved hair Jeans oversized belie her hips, back, thighs that have made guys sigh for milleni year Topped by an attractive jacket her suit’s not for flacking, flunkies, junkies or punk homies on the stroll. Her hands mobile thrones of today’s urban goddess Clinking rings link dragon fingers no need to be modest. One or two gap teeth coolin’ sport gold initials Doubt you get to her name just check from the side please chill. Multidimensional shrimp earrings frame her cinnamon face Crimson with a compliment if a comment hits the right place Don’t step to the plate with datelines from ‘88 Spare your simple, fragile feelings with the same sense that you came Color woman variation reworks the french twist with crinkle cut platinum frosted bangs from a spray can’s mist Never dissed, she insists: “No you can’t touch this.” And, if pissed, bedecked fists stop boys who must persist. She’s the one. Give her some. Under fire. Smoking gun. Of which songs are sung, raps are spun, bells are rung, rocked, pistols cocked, unwanted advances blocked, well stacked she’s jock. It’s all about you girl. You go on. Don’t you dare stop.

Those eyes in real life were weapons, or possibly anti-weapons. They had kept her out of prison, he was sure of it. Wide-set and oversized and almond-shaped, little picture-boxes of innocence. Frames that made a mockery of everything concealed within.

Little Marjorie was born an only child some forty years ago. She had lost her mother at a young age and her father never remarried. All her life she had been cursed with the need for her ‘coke-bottle’ glasses with the practical over-sized frames. And then there was the unfortunate appearance of her protruding front teeth. She had always been a slight child, but when children begin to grow into young men and women, slight becomes scrawny and her lack of fashion-sense and self-worth had sealed her social fate. Marjorie had never gone to Prom, nor any dance for that matter, and when the boys chose mates and began the next phase of the great circle of life…little Marjorie Morningstar had not been included. --From The Great Northern Coven

Knightmare. Breezeo’s archenemy. Where Breezeo is light, a breath of fresh air, the nice breeze on a warm summer day, Knightmare is the storm that rolls in and takes it all away. Darkness, thick and suffocating, the shadows you can’t escape in the night in back alleyways. Black leather framed with dark armor, head to toe, from the combat boots the whole way up to the oversized black hood with a metal mask covering part of the face, rendering him unrecognizable. I’ve always been envious of the costume. Beats the damn pseudo-spandex, that’s for sure. “I, uh, wow.” Kennedy stands in the doorway of her apartment with a look of awe as her eyes scan the costume. “That’s just… wow.” “Wow, huh?” I glance down. “Good or bad?” “It’s just, uh, you know…” “Wow?” I guess. She nods, fighting off a smile. “Wow.” I smirk. “It’s the original.” “Seriously?” “Straight from the second movie,” I say, touching an armored chest plate with a fingerless glove-clad hand. “Well, except for these gloves. The real ones wouldn’t fit because of the cast, so I had to improvise.” “It’s, uh…” “Wow?” “Nice,” she says, touching the costume, fingertips grazing the armor. “Kind of weird seeing you like this, but still, it’s nice.” “Thanks,” I say as she steps aside for me to come in the apartment. “I talked them into letting me borrow it. Might not give it back, though. I’m kind of enjoying it.” “You should keep it,” she says, her eyes still scanning me as she closes the door. “It’s, uh…” “Nice?” “Wow.” She smiles playfully as she walks away. “I need to finish getting ready for work. Maddie, you've got a visitor!” A moment after Kennedy disappears, Madison runs in. She skids to a stop when she spots me, eyes wide, mouth popping open. “Whoa.” I push the hood off, shoving the mask up, her expression changing when she sees it’s me, face lighting up. She runs right at me, slamming into me so hard I stumble. I laugh as she hugs me. “Hey, pretty girl.” She looks up at me. “You think I’m pretty?” “What? Of course.” I kneel next to her, grinning as I press a finger to the tip of her nose. “You look like your mom.” “You think Mommy’s pretty, too?” “I think she's the most beautiful woman in the world.” Her expression shifts rapidly when I say that before her eyes widen. “Even more beautifuler than Maryanne?” I lean closer, whispering, repeating her words. “Even more beautifuler than Maryanne.” “Whoa

The bell over the front door chimed, and I caught my breath as Simon walked in. After all this time, we hadn’t interacted much outside of Faire. (Unless you counted one pretty significant interaction in his bedroom the night before last. I for one counted the hell out of it.) He looked like a strange amalgamation of his identities: the crisply ironed shirt and immaculate jeans of Simon Graham, but with the longer hair and face-framing beard of Captain Blackthorne. The juxtaposition was . . . well, I squirmed a little and fought the urge to hop the counter and wrinkle that shirt in the best possible way. Simon stopped short inside the doorway when he saw me, and Chris nudged me with her shoulder. “Now, I know for a fact you can handle him.” While my face flamed with mortification and Simon’s eyebrows knit in confusion, she snickered at her own joke and walked out of the store with a wave. Simon held the door for her, then turned back to me. “Hey.” “Hey.” I dropped my head to the counter and let the cool glass soothe my forehead. “God, it’s like working for my mother.” “What was that about?” I shook my head as I stood back up. “She knows.  Apparently, the whole town does.” “Knows?” After a beat his expression cleared and his eyes widened. “About us?” “Yeah.” I bit the inside of my cheek and waited for his reaction. “Huh.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction Chris had gone, as if he could still see her. “Well, if Chris knows, that’s as good as taking an ad out in the paper.” He tilted his head, thinking. “Do people still do that?” “Do what?” “Take ads out in the paper. Do people still even read the paper?” “I . . . I guess?” I was a little confused by the direction the conversation had gone, but now that he mentioned it I was curious too. “I mean, my mother does. The Sunday paper has coupons, you know.” Coupons that she still clipped and sent once a week to April and me, inside greeting cards where the coupons fell out like oversized confetti when we opened them. He considered that. “Seems like a dying thing, though. So will the idiom change? Should we start saying things like ‘posting it online’?” “‘Create a banner ad’?” I suggested, leaning my elbows on the counter. “See, I like that better.” He mirrored my pose and he was  close, so close to me that my heart pounded. I was no match for his smile. “Close to the original idiom, and it implies the same thing—spending money to make an announcement.” I allowed myself a second to be lost in his smile before I laughed. “Good God. Once an English teacher, always an English teacher.

Jada strutted into the parking lot with the Grim Reaper. He was dressed in all black oversized sweats that hung on his skeletal frame like he was trying to take her soul. She swung her Monica from Love & Basketball ponytail as far as she could throw it, putting on a display of teen fastness. This was exactly what he was afraid of.

I feel like a clown in these oversized clothes. I’m wearing someone else’s T-shirt. Someone else’s pajama pants. Someone else’s slippers. Kenji says they had to destroy the clothes in my duffel bag, too, so I have no idea whose outfit is currently hanging on my frame. I’m practically swimming in the material.

moved back home. But I had never lived near the water or thought about a job where you could just hop in a boat and find something that looked appealing. It wasn’t all scenery though. He had shots from weddings, including one of a flower girl pouting in her poufy dress that I couldn’t help but smile at, and several of Jax that emanated happiness. Then an older man, silhouetted against the water, and I knew before I looked at the title card that it was Tony. I studied him for a moment. “You look a little like him.” “A little.” He shrugged. “We have the same nose. But so does everyone in our family.” “At least it’s a nice nose.” I bit the inside of my cheek, but he didn’t say anything. When we got closer to one of the two doors, he turned to me. “I wanted to ask you something. But it’s okay to say no. I won’t be weird about it.” A nervous anticipation tingled in my stomach. This was where it was going to get weird. Saying that meant it would. Oh no. What was he about to ask? “Okay.” He led me through one of the doors into a workroom, with a large table covered in framing supplies in the center, a computer desk with two oversized monitors

Bloody show offs,’ Reg commented, as the three men pulled ahead, their arms swinging energetically by their sides. ‘Come on, we can’t let the new lads see that we’re struggling,’ Jack said, as two more soldiers pushed in front of him. ‘Who bloody can’t?’ Reg grumbled. Jack glanced to his right and saw the company’s captain motioning the men forward, his lean frame wrapped in an oversized Battledress tunic. ‘There will be passes tonight for the first platoon to the top,’ the captain shouted. ‘Oh, Christ, come on you lot,’ Reg yelled, before leaping forward with a burst of speed, his arms pushing past the young soldiers who stared after him with expressions of amazement on their faces. Jack forced himself forward, his lungs burning within his chest as he ran to the front of the section, before drawing level with Reg who was staring at the crest of the hill with a burning look of concentration on his sweat glazed face.

Yancy surveyed the items on the sheriff’s desk: a glass leaping-dolphin paperweight from the Kiwanis Club, an oversized Rubik’s Cube, a MacBook, a coffee mug from America’s Most Wanted and a half dozen photographs featuring Mrs. Summers and their three children, the youngest of whom wore in every frame the hollow stare of a future serial killer.