Poses Cute Quotes

Hey, Tink," Reed called to his wife. He'd given up on the poker game and was cradling the little pink handle that was Mariah Savage in his arms. "Look how cute she is. I think I want one. S'pose we can stop by Walmart and pick up one just like her.?" Chrystal glanced up from her cards and gave her husband a look. "Three o'clock feedings. Smelly diapers. Responsability." "Oh. Right. I'd have to grow up.

I hold up my hands, posing and teasing, “So do I look cute?” He steps in and walks up to me, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “That’s not the word I would use,” he whispers. “You both look great,” my mom chimes in. “You don’t match,” my sister retorts, and I look up to see her entering the foyer. She’s dressed in her skimpy sleep shorts, probably for Misha’s benefit, and I fantasize about putting vinegar in her mouthwash. Match? Like his tie and my dress? But Misha looks at her and places his hand on his heart, feigning sincerity. “We match in here.” I snort, breaking into quiet laughter. My sister rolls her eyes, and my mom shakes her head, smiling. “Alright, let’s go,” I say.

You make out with a boy because he’s cute, but he has no substance, no words to offer you. His mouth tastes like stale beer and false promises. When he touches your chin, you offer your mouth up like a flower to to be plucked, all covered in red lipstick to attract his eye. When he reaches his hand down your shirt, he stops, hand on boob, and squeezes, like you’re a fruit he’s trying to juice. He doesn’t touch anything but skin, does not feel what’s within. In the morning, he texts you only to say, “I think I left the rest of my beer at your place, but it’s cool, you can drink it. Last night was fun.” You kiss a girl because she’s new. Because she’s different and you’re twenty two, trying something else out because it’s all failed before. After spending six weekends together, you call her, only to be answered by a harsh beep informing you that her number has been disconnected. You learn that success doesn’t come through experimenting with your sexuality, and you’re left with a mouth full of ruin and more evidence that you are out of tune. You fall for a boy who is so nice, you don’t think he can do any harm. When he mentions marriage and murder in the same sentence, you say, “Okay, okay, okay.” When you make a joke he does not laugh, but tilts his head and asks you how many drinks you’ve had in such a loving tone that you sober up immediately. He leaves bullet in your blood and disappears, saying, “Who wants a girl that’s filled with holes?” You find out that a med student does. He spots you reading in a bar and compliments you on the dust spilling from your mouth. When you see his black doctor’s bag posed loyally at his side, you ask him if he’s got the tools to fix a mangled nervous system. He smiles at you, all teeth, and tells you to come with him. In the back of his car, he covers you in teethmarks and says, “There, now don’t you feel whole again.” But all the incisions do is let more cold air into your bones. You wonder how many times you will collapse into ruins before you give up on rebuilding. You wonder if maybe you’d have more luck living amongst your rubble instead of looking for someone to repair it. The next time someone promises to flood you with light to erase your dark, you insist them you’re fine the way you are. They tell you there’s hope, that they had holes in their chest too, that they know how to patch them up. When they offer you a bottle in exchange for your mouth, you tell them you’re not looking for a way out. No, thank you, you tell them. Even though you are filled with ruins and rubble, you are as much your light as you are your dark.

It’s only sixteen ninety-five," I say with a flutter of my lashes. "You’re serious." I prop my hands on my waist and stick out a hip, striking a pose worthy of a supermodel. "Look at me. Don’t I look serious?" She collapses into the chair outside the dressing room in a fit of giggles so cute they make my insides fizz. "No! You must be stopped," she says. "Why?" I strut down an aisle of yellowed lingerie, swiveling my hips, batting bras with flicks of my fingers. "I will be the king of the disco. I will be—" I spin and strike another pose. "An inspiration." She sniffs and swipes at her eyes. "The real Dylan would die before he’d be seen in public in something like that." "The real Dylan is boring." I brace my hands on the arms of her chair and lean down until our faces are a whisper apart. "And he’s not one fourth the kisser I am." "Is that right?" Her lips quirk. "You know it is." Her smile melts, and her breath comes faster. "Yeah. I do.

After we've been dancing awhile and need a breather, we walk off the dance floor. I whip out my cell and say, "Pose for me." The first picture I take is of him trying to pose like a cool bad boy. It makes me laugh. I take another one before he can strike a pose this time. "Let's take one of the both of us," he says, pulling me close. I press my cheek against his while he takes my cell and puts it as far away as he can reach, then freezes this perfect moment with a click. After the picture is taken, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

Ben had the most expressive face I’d ever seen. When he told a story, he dove into it, re-enacting each character with a new set of his jaw and cast of his brow. His eyes shone vibrantly, and every time he laughed, it showed in his whole body. Just watching him made me smile. I felt warm around him, and happy, and comfortable. I felt like flannel pajamas, hot cocoa, a teddy bear, and my favorite comedy on DVD. I felt like home. I loved Ben, that’s what I felt. It popped into my head, and I didn’t doubt it for a second. I loved Ben. Well that was settled then, wasn’t it? Then my eyes darted to Sage, and I noticed he wasn’t focused on Ben’s story either. He was watching me. He was watching me watch Ben, to be precise, leaning back on his elbows and staring so fixedly that I could practically hear him scratching his way into my brain to listen to what I was thinking. And the minute I felt that, I was desperate to take back what I’d thought, and make sure he hadn’t understood. Especially since I had this strong feeling that if he believed I loved Ben, he’d disappear. Maybe not right away, but as soon as he could. And that would be the end of the world. “Okay, Sage, your turn,” Rayna said. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in the middle of a social function?” Instantly Sage’s intense stare was gone, replaced by a relaxed pose and a charming smile. “Um, I would say doing a spit take in front of Clea’s mom, several senators, and the Israeli foreign minister would probably cover it.” “You did that?” I asked. “Oh yes, he did,” Rayna nodded. “And the minister still offered you his house in Tel Aviv for the honeymoon? That’s shocking.” “Rayna is particularly charming,” Sage noted. “Thank you, darling.” She batted her eyes at him like a Disney princess. “What happened?” Ben asked. “Piri spiked your drink with garlic?” “You say that like it’s a joke,” Sage said. “I’m pretty sure she did.” “She must really have it out for you,” Ben said. “Palinka’s Hungarian holy water. You don’t mess with that.” “Speaking of holy water, I so did not get that on our trip,” Rayna put in. “Clea and I were touring one of the cathedrals in Italy, and in front of the whole tour I go, “That’s too cute! Look, they have birdbaths in the church!

By posing climate change as a battle between capitalism and the planet, I am not saying anything that we don't already know. the battle is already under way, but right now capitalism is winning hands down. it wins every time the need for economic growth is used as the excuse for putting off climate action yet again, of for breaking emission reduction commitments already made. it wins when Greeks are told that their only path out of economic crises is to open up their beautiful seas to high-risk oil and gas drilling. it wins when Canadians are told our only hope of not ending unlike Greece is to allow our boreal forests to be flayed so we can access the semisolid bitumen from the Alberta tar sands . it wins when a park in Istanbul is slotted for demolition to make way for yet another shopping mall. it wins when parents in Beijing are told that sending their wheezing kids to school in pollution masks decorated to look like cute cartoon characters is an acceptable price for economic progress. it wins every time we accept that we have only bad choices available to us: austerity or extraction, poisoning or poverty.

Wow,” he says, looking around. “You’ve redecorated.” “When was the last time you were in here?” I search my memory, browsing through images of a much smaller, shaggy-haired Ryder in my room. Eight, maybe nine? “It’s been a while, I guess.” He moves over to my mirror, framed with photos that I’ve tacked up haphazardly on the white wicker frame. Mostly me, Morgan, and Lucy in various posed and candid shots. One of Morgan, just after being crowned Miss Teen Lafayette Country. A couple of the entire cheerleading squad at cheer camp. I see his gaze linger on one picture in the top right corner. Curious, I move closer, till I can see the photo in question. It was taken on vacation--Fort Walton Beach, at the Goofy Golf--several years ago. Nan and I are standing under the green T-Rex with our arms thrown around each other. Ryder is beside us, leaning on a golf club. He’s clearly in the middle of a growth spurt, because he looks all skinny and stretched out. I’d guess we’re about twelve. If you look through our family photo albums, you’ll probably find a million pictures that include Ryder. But this is the only one of him in my room. I’d kind of forgotten about it. But now…I’m glad it’s here. “Look how skinny I was,” he says. “Look how chubby I was,” I shoot back, noting my round face. “You were not chubby. You were cute. In that, you know, awkward years kind of way.” “Thanks. I think.

I realize that wherever I am, I arrived. Lessons from the Mat How to Know if You are Not a Yogi (yet)  You think your practice is better than the person next to you.   You think you rpractice is worse than the person next to you.   Your clothes are super cute, but you are kind of mean.   You make the finger Mudra of connecting Pointer to Thumb Man on every pose. Meanwhile your back is killing you.   You are still whining over stupid shit. Come on, really? Is it ever going to end?   You see what’s wrong with everything, and everyone.   And lastly, if you think you are a yogi, then you may not be. But if you think are never going to learn it all, then you probably are a yogi. Welcome to the path!

I smiled engagingly and showed her my investigator license. A hell of a picture. “Doesn’t look like you.” “It’s me, I swear.” I struck a similar pose, turning my head a little to the side, and blasted her with the same full wattage smile. “See?” She shrugged. “The guy in the picture is cuter.” I wasn’t sure if I should be offended. After all, it was me in the picture, and she was calling that guy cute. “So

I took a black and white photograph, which I also posted on Instagram. Her New Balance shoes and her feet crossed, hanging as she sat atop the pile of aluminum chairs, against the backdrop of the many legs of the chairs shining in the street lights in contrast to her dark shoes and leggings, were so captivating. There was a lightness in the way she sat there with her crossed legs dangling, as if she was perched on a cloud and it was the most natural thing as she was my angel. I was still unsure if she really existed or if I had only made her up with Pinto cat one night. It was all like a lucid dream. I was so glad for us and for us becoming rich soon too. I was so glad I could provide her with a future in Europe. I was so glad we would be rich and happy and we would be able to make all our dreams come true and travel the world freely together. I can show her Italy and Hungary and Europe. We can pick where do we want to live or make family. I knew all my life, all my work had led to this girl, this moment, and this future. Ours. She started to rap in Spanish in the Rioplatense dialect as I started to record her. „Loco, loco…” - she was so cute, it sounded like she had learned it on the streets of Buenos Aires, skipping school. She was amazing - so young, so true, so natural and pure and cute. I couldn't get enough of her. I wanted to make kids with her. With only her. Nobody else. By the wall of the church and the bar tables, there were a bunch of metal mobile railings with the Ajuntamiento de Barcelona logo in the middle of each of them. I told Martina to squat down to the level of the Ajuntamiento sign, and before I could finish my sentence, she was already doing it. She posed with the mobile railings, making a funny, cool and happy face while squeezing the Ajuntamiento logo between two of her fingers and pointing at it with her other hand, as if we were mocking the authorities of the Ajuntamiento. She was reading my mind. Like she knew magic. She was such a good girl. She was so pretty, smart and sexy. She was smiling, biting her lower lip, excited, turned on, and in love, I thought, looking like a bunny, or like Whitney Houston on the Brazilian live concert video, so I began to call her “Bunny”. I showed her how Whitney was smiling the same way. I was so blind to see the connection. (“The Cocaine Queen”) I was so much in love with her, so under her spell, I just really wanted her to be the One, I guess. I explained to her that the Camorra was one of my costumers and they had a club close by too and they were taking away other people's coffeeshops, menacing their lives and their families'. I explained to her that we were going to do all demolition and remodeling without any permit, without telling a word to anyone. I told her that we would lie to the residents of the building above us about what we were going to do there for months and months. I told her that she must keep it as our secret. She was nodding happily and she seemed happy that I trusted her. I explained everything to her, I told her about Rachel and Tom and I signing the founding document at Amina's office at the beginning of the same year, 2013. She seemed to understand the weight of all I told her and the reasons why I told her about it all, so she would know, so she wouldn't make a mistake saying the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time. I asked her to pay attention to her surroundings in Barcelona from then on, as there were a lot of criminals, and she was a very pretty girl - not only my girlfriend. She seemed to take it as a privilege to be my girlfriend, and she seemed eternally happy, as was I. I told her that she was the only person I fully trusted. I wanted to send the video of Martina rapping on WhatsApp to Adam, but Martina told me I shouldn't because it was late and, at the end, Adam was my boss. “Yeah but he is not really my boss, in Spain, I am the boss.

Look, I said to him one day in October, while I sat in an armchair and he relaxed on the divan, posing for me. I turned my sketchbook toward him. You're going to color me in, right? he asked. Of course I'm going to color you in. Whatever happened to that picture of Jake you did? Burned it, I said. Really? No, I tore it out and threw it away. But I burned it in my heart. Good enough. I moved over to sit next to him. How are you going to do a picture of me from that close? he asked. I'm getting the details, I said. What details? My giant nose? Your nose is perfect. I'm talking about stuff like...the hairs in your eyebrows. Do people look that closely at portraits? No. I just really like your eyebrows. In that case, have some. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to my cheek. I laughed and pushed him away.

Sean told her about the question Rosie had posed while they were in the parking lot of the grocery. Franci had to lean against the counter, laughing so hard she was doubled over, yet trying to keep quiet lest Rosie come running soaking wet to the kitchen to see who would dare have fun without her. “Yeah, funny,” Sean said. “What would you have said?” She wiped her eyes. “Well, I have a special book about all that. It’s right about time to look at it together, but I didn’t know how to explain you to Rosie, so I’ve been putting it off. I guess I can go ahead with it now.” “A book? Come on!” “No, really. It talks about all the differences in the mommy’s and daddy’s bodies—it’s very cute. Sweet. Non-threatening.” She smiled at him. “If you’re very good, I’ll read it to you later.” “If you’re very good, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He leered at her. “By the way,” he said. “How was it done in this case? We were always very careful. Do you remember?” “Every detail,” she said, turning away from him to put away dishes. He turned her back. “Could I have a couple of details, please?” She took a breath. “Remember I used to go off the pill for a couple of months a year and your job was to be very good about the condoms? Well, there were a couple of times you got real worked up and just let it slide.” She shrugged. “It was as much my doing as yours. I was also a little worked up.” Silence enveloped them for a moment. He leaned forward and kissed her brow. “We were like that,” he whispered. “I’m not sorry about that. Big accident. Huge reward. She’s awesome.” Franci

There you two are,” Nina calls. She offers a smile almost identical to Chiara’s when she’s up to something. Nina drops Tate’s hand and presses the power button on her point-and-shoot camera. She motions for Darren and me to get closer together, but we’re like rocks. “Come on, I want a picture,” she prompts. Darren doesn’t move, so I walk over to him and leave a few inches between us. Nina huffs and reaches for Darren’s arm, wrapping it behind my head and resting his hand on my shoulder. My bare shoulder! “Nina--” Darren starts to gripe. “Shut up, I’m giving you direction. You two are pathetic.” She stands by Tate again and takes a picture of us. “Smiling won’t kill you, doll.” “I am smiling,” I say through gritted teeth, Darren’s hand burning into my skin. She puts a fist on her hip and shifts her weight impatiently. “Not you. Him.” I turn to look at Darren, but he’s still holding on to me and my body sort of melts into his. He turns his face to mine too and I bite back a nervous laugh, which makes him crack a smile. “Finally,” Nina says as she takes a couple more pictures. My smile stretches ear to ear and I’m completely lost in Darren’s deep eyes. Nina’s still chattering on, probably asking us to change poses, but I don’t hear any of it and Darren doesn’t seem to either. It’s just us. Me and the boy I watched fall asleep last night. The same cute face I stared at until my eyes burned with heaviness and forced me to close them. The hand on my bare shoulder is the same one that still held a loose grip on mine this morning when I woke up. My head is light and my fingers shake, but I can’t stop smiling. He’s so close. All he has to do is lean-- “Where’s the mistletoe when you need it?” Nina’s voice cuts through my thoughts. His eyes dart to my lips for an instant and his smile falls. “I think you got enough pictures, Nina,” Darren says.

I think…someone needs to go.” As the three of them stared at one another, Etienne pushed away from the wall. “No.” Parker grabbed Etienne’s arm. “I’ll go.” Surprise crept slowly over Etienne’s face. Instinctively, Miranda glanced at Ashley, who seemed oddly frozen. “Parker--” Ashley began, but Etienne interrupted. “I know the way better than you do,” he said firmly. “Like I haven’t been to your house a million times?” Grinning, Parker shrugged and jerked his chin in Gage’s direction. “You got one too sick to go, two too tired to go, and her”--he winked at Miranda--“too damn cute to go. And besides, who’s the athlete around here anyway?” “No, Parker. I--” “Look.” The grin faded from Parker’s lips. He moved closer to Etienne, putting his back to Roo and Ashley so they couldn’t hear. His voice was soft now, and serious. “You and Gage, you’re each other’s family. If something happened to you--” He broke off, glanced away, then pulled his eyes back to Etienne. “What would Gage do if something happened to you? Hell, what would any of us do if something happened to you?” Their gazes held steady. Parker swallowed…gave a slight nod. “Let me do this, Etienne. I want to.” Silence fell between them. A silence louder, wider, deeper than any storm. It was Ashley who broke it. “Parker, what’s happening?” Almost guiltily, Miranda jumped. She’d been so engrossed in the boys’ conversation, she hadn’t noticed Ashley approaching. At once Parker and Etienne turned toward Ashley, their expressions somber. “Parker?” Ashley asked again. But then, as she stared long and hard at the boys, a slow dawn of awareness crept over her. “No, Parker. Please don’t be stupid.” Miranda waited for Roo’s usual insults. Roo kept silent. “Hey, I’m up for this.” Grin firmly back in place, Parker struck a heroic pose. “Parker Wilmington--explorer, adventurer, and super-swimmer!