Sassy Girl Quotes

And Nate? You kiss like a slobbering dog, you have bad breath, and you wouldn't know how to punch the right buttons on a girl if we came with manuals. Happy Thanksgiving, Jackass.

Is all pink entirely banned?' 'Not if it's like a sassy pink,' I say. 'But if it's a sweet, girl pink, yes. Maybe some shade of sarcastic pink if it isn't too abrasive.

You wanted to ride, my nasty girl, so fucking ride,” Sander challenged.

What you are is an inteligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical, neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl. That's what you are, OK? You're not a slut or a whore or anything remotely similar. Just because you have some secrets and some screwups...You're just confused...like the rest of us.

Is this the girl?” Kieran’s voice was very different: It sounded like waves sliding up the shore. Like warm water under pale light. It was seductive, with an edge of cold. He looked at Emma as if she were a new kind of flower, one he wasn’t sure he liked. “She’s pretty,” he said. “I didn’t think she’d be pretty. You didn’t mention it.” Iarlath shrugged. “You’ve always been partial to blondes,” he said. “Okay, seriously?” Emma snapped her fingers. “I am right here. And I was not aware I was being invited to a game of ‘Who’s the Hottest?'" I wasn’t aware you were invited at all,” said Kieran. His speech had a casual edge, as if he was used to talking to humans. “Rude,” said Emma.

Channing, come back here.” “No,” she tossed off over her shoulder. “I’m warnin’ you, girl, you don’t want to make me mad.” “Tough shit, tough guy. Suck it up and walk it off.” People around them stopped and stared, nudged each other and chuckled, giving Colby a wide berth. “Last chance,” he yelled. Channing flipped him the bird without turning around. In fact, she ran away from him like her boot heels were smoking. He was going to paddle that sassy little ass but good.

Who are you?’ Gaia gasped. The girl froze for a moment. Looked at her. Smiled and said, ‘Who am I? I’m the Breeze, bitch!

I never know which Starr I should be. I can use some slang, but not too much slang, some attitude, but not too much attitude, so I’m not a 'sassy black girl.' I have to watch what I say and how I say it, but I can’t sound 'white.

There’s nothing like a Harley-Davidson for getting around mud holes, rocks, and wagon ruts on dirt roads—or for making an impression on girls.

You’re a first place girl…not a “just in case” girl!

As I consider myself nothing nor nobody more than Peter Sellers in Being There or at my liveliest as Inspector Clousseau, it is difficult to make “Susie” sound interesting?

And there’s no synthetic owners manual?” His lips twitched, smile threatening to break into a grin. A joke. He wasn’t funny. “Do you come with an owners’ manual, Captain? Because I’d like to study your troubleshooting section.” “Would you like to strip me down to my nuts and bolts, and figure out what makes me tick?” “I knew what made you tick from the moment we first met. That’s why I punched you between the legs.” ~ #1001 & Caleb

But this girl, the gorgeous woman in my lap—I’m definitely in love with her. I love everything about her. Her intelligence, her sassiness, her craziness. She has the most dynamic personality. There are so many different facets to Demi Davis, and the more I learn about her, the more I love her.

Not everything in life has to be about finding The One. Sometimes a girl just wants to have fun.

Oh, you poor, dear, old boy…come here for a pat on the head.” We encountered a very ancient-appearing, dejected Australian Shepherd mix of a dog whose eyes squinted tightly as he faced into the frigid gusts and who shyly skittered the opposite direction as we approached him.

You are not a whore. Are you listening, Bianca? What you are is an intelligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical, neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl. That’s what you are, okay? You’re not a slut or a whore or anything remotely similar. Just because you have some secrets and some screwups… You’re just confused… like the rest of us.

Boy, girl, you just better not try me.” He made her swear on the Bible never to tell and never to follow, but still he lay awake a long time. How could he trust everything that mattered to him to a sassy six-year-old? Sometimes it seemed to him that his life was delicate as a dandelion. One little puff from any direction, and it was blown to bits.

A girl should be sassy, classy, and ballsy with a touch of badassy.

The girls head went high. "There could be but one suitable reply to your assertion, Mr. Clayton," she said icily, "and I regret that I am not a man, that I might make it." She turned quickly and entered the cabin.

And she shows this from the very first second they meet. She’ll be sassy in her responses when he teases her. She’ll be assertive and strict when he tries to push or play her. She’ll stop giving him attention altogether when he shows undesirable behavior.

He pointed a clawed finger at me. “That one is mine.” “Sorry, I’m already taken.” I swung the crossbow up and aimed it, earning a laugh from him. He bared his fangs at me. “You took me by surprise the first time. Do you really think you can hit me in the heart with that thing before I get to –?” Trevor let out an earsplitting shriek and doubled over, clutching at the arrow protruding from his smoking crotch. “I wasn’t aiming for your heart.” Jordan whistled. “Damn, girl, you do have an evil streak after all.” “If he can’t walk, he can’t attack.

The fairy- again, Wendy assumed- was an angry tinkling ball of light with the prettiest girl imaginable inside. Diminutive but... solid, with a scandalous lack of decorous dress. All she wore was a ragged green shift which barely covered her hips and thighs and breasts and was gathered dangerously over only one shoulder. This was both shocking and delightful; it made the tiny creature resemble statues of ancient nymphs and nereids Wendy had seen. Her hair was even done up in classical style, a goddess-like bun of hair so golden it glowed. Tiny pointed ears curved their way through the few dangling tresses. Her eyes were enormous and not even remotely human: they were far apart and glaring. The crowning glory was, of course, a pair of delicate iridescent wings sprouting from her back. Their shape was somewhere between butterfly and dragonfly. They were clear as glass and thin as onion skin.

Even at Hoffman Junior High School, Ivory Mae resisted working in the garden because only the girls were required to do so. Look like I was always in a beating way. Ivory Mae was sassy mouthed. “She’ll answer back if it kills her,” Grandmother was always saying. Elaine was the tomboy, playing marbles, climbing trees, breaking her collarbone and leg. “I was a whip.” She could fight the boys, too, defending her baby sister who she thought “let people walk all over her.

I decided to channel my inner “smart reporter” so I would feel more confident. A pencil behind the ear for emergency notes and flair? Check. Shimmery Savvy Girl lip gloss? Check. Spearmint-fresh breath for interviews? Check. Notepad for capturing my brilliant thoughts (and awesome doodles)? Check. Intellectual-looking and slightly uncomfortable pumps? Check. I was trying my hardest to be a sassy, journalistic girl genius and NOT the slightly illiterate writer I felt like inside.

i think any poem worth its salt, if poems can indeed be salty, should allow the reader to think. this poem is of course a chronological poem tracing the development of humans through the movement of black women. i have no feelings that the poem is exclusive of any one but i wanted to write a sassy hands-on-the-hips poem from the understanding that i am a woman and indeed was once a girl. i think it works because the more you know about anthropology and history the more you can follow what i am saying; on the other hand you can be a little child with no previous experiences and catch the joy of the poem. it goes from the first human bones discovered all the way to the space age. what has been included is as important to me as what has been excluded. what i strove to do was show progress, movement, humor and a bit of pride. this is the most i’ve ever commented on any poem of mine since i tend to agree with t.s. eliot when he said a poet was the last person to know what the poem was/is about.

The booty call Commandments:” Thou shall get out before the sun rises. Thou shalt not ask “can we can go out to eat?” Thou shalt never ask, “can we see each other from now on?!” Thou shalt not kiss and hold hands. Thou shall refrain from using the terms “make love, in love and I love.” Thou shalt not ever cuddle. Thou shall never come over unexpected. Thou shall scream my name. Thou shalt not ask to walk thee to thy car. If someone cometh over whilst thou art there, thou art my cousin from out of town.

She enjoyed making people smile. She always hoped to leave them thinking, What a crackerjack that girl is, what a sassy piece of work. By sassy, of course, she wanted them to mean “pert, smart, jaunty” rather than “insolent, rude, impudent.” Walking the line between the right kind of sassy and the wrong kind was tricky, but if you pulled it off, you would never leave them thinking, What a sad little crippled girl she is, with her little twisted leg and her little gnarled hand. This evening, she suspected that she’d crossed the line between the wrong and the right kinds of sassy, and in fact walked out of sassy altogether, leaving them feeling more pity than delight.

Sassy had worked in El Paso, Texas as a waitress in a small café, a toll-booth cashier in Houston, Texas, posed nude for magazine photos in Reno, Nevada and even was a ski instructor in Granby, Colorado for a few years. Sassy was always looking. She was looking for something that she couldn’t find. Sassy wanted to go where the road led. She walked past other people’s dreams and security and followed the twisting snake through deserts and mountains, big cities and cow towns. Sassy was on a quest and she didn’t even know it. She would take her small earnings and saddle-up, following fate or hope or desire into new horizons with new promises--a skinny green-eyed girl carrying a backpack full of her life, down the roads of America.

Sometimes I feel like I have a sassy big girl inside of me. Her name is LaShonda, and she makes me buy cupcakes.

The vibration of his cell phone broke his reverie. “Doucette,” he answered. “Meet me at the Lamothe House,” Sassy replied. “Sassy, I told you I’m not that kind of girl.” “Very funny, Mr. Smart Ass. Looks like we have another body.” “I’m almost there,” Michel said quickly, then hung up.

You’re approaching these men and relationships as projects. You can’t fix assholes, baby girl. Move on and find a real man—one who doesn’t come with an airplane full of baggage.” “Do men like that actually exist? They sound like mythical creatures, even in our magical world. I’d probably have more luck finding a unicorn-shifter or dragon-shifter.” Her

Here are a handful of positive, high-energy “happy girl” words men love to read in texts from women: Fun, Girl, Love, Like, Play, Pretty, Happy, Laugh, Funny, Friends, Family, Excited, Enjoy, Yes, Sweet, Good, and Great.

My sassy one-liners were only working with the cafeteria employees, whom I was visiting all too frequently, tacking

Jessica, Willow, and Abby burst through the door in a loud explosion of giggles and then stop at the counter to get their Diet Cokes before heading to the back to join us. I don’t really like these girls—I have never liked these girls—and yet somehow they are on the periphery of our friend group. Okay, fine, we are actually on the periphery of their friend group, since as a trio, Jessica, Willow, and Abby are by far the most popular girls in the junior class. I have no idea how they’ve managed to swing it—popularity is an undefinable thing at Mapleview, which as best I can tell involves a whole lot of unearned, effortless confidence and the ability to get other people to look at you for no reason at all. Jessica is a blonde, Willow is a brunette, and Abby is a redhead, just like every teen friend group on television (except, in this case, sans a sassy black sidekick). Boom! Best friends for life. I assume there’s more to their friendship than hair-color optics and an affinity for thong underwear. That taken individually there is the distant possibility they might actually be interesting people. I doubt I will ever know, though, since they travel as a pack

was in love with her. There was no denying it. The girl with the Skittles. The sassy redhead who was terrible at ballroom dancing. The loving woman with her arms wrapped around my sister. She owned me. Heart. Body. And soul. She just didn’t know it yet and I was done waiting on her to realize it.

One of the women shoved the door open the rest of the way, and they all stared at her, looking utterly indignant that another female had beaten them to the punch. "Why, that blue-eyed devil! He's with someone already!" "Warrington, you Beast! Oh, let us in, old man. We know he's in there!" "Mesdames!" Kate flung out sharply, unable to stand another moment of their intrusion. One hand on her hip, she lifted her chin and summoned up every ounce of elegant French hauteur that she had inherited from her mama. "His Grace is not at home," she clipped out. "Leave your cards, please, and I will make sure he receives your--- well-wishes," she finished cynically.

If Aisha was indeed married so young, however, others would certainly have remarked on it at the time. Instead, more restrained reports have her aged nine when she was betrothed and twelve when she was actually married, which makes sense since custom dictated that girls be married at puberty. But then again, to have been married at the customary age would make Aisha normal, and that was the one thing she was always determined not to be. Tart-tongued and quick-witted, she would, at least by her own account, tease Muhammad and not only get away with it but be loved for it. It was as though he had granted her license for girlish mischief. Much as a fond father might indulge a spoiled daughter, he seemed diverted by her sassiness and charm.

Three girls walking down the ramp Oh yeah, three girls who just wanna have some fun! Sassy and classy girls you can't stop admiring Oh yeah, three girls walking down the ramp Oh yeah, three girls who just wanna have some fun! Exquisite and enticing girls, you get captivated by, Oh yeah, three girls walking down the ramp Oh yeah, three girls who just wanna have some fun!

She glared at me as if I’d accused her of something, which I only occasionally did and never to her face. 

Thadred exhaled out his nose. “You know, all those times I said you needed to find yourself a girl? I didn’t mean one that tried to kill you.

Yes,” she sniffles. “I’m so good, Keller.” She pulls away, and I catch sight of a single tear cascading down her cheek. I swipe it away. My strong, sassy, confident girl . . . crying. Maybe she isn’t as tough as she seems. “Why are you crying?” “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . that was so intense.” “Intense is good.” “I know, I just wasn’t expecting to feel like . . .” She looks away, but I gently force her to look me in the eyes by touching her jaw. “You didn’t expect it to feel like what?” Her beautiful eyes shine up at me. “To feel like coming home.

Your parents and Ellie are the only ones who have been on my side before I met any of the other girls. I’m broken.” She wasn’t broken. She was scared. Pain fisted around his heart in a vice grip.

With the sounds of Rock and Roll and Sherry’s intoxicating laugh moving you though every memory—you’re sure to be captivated by this one-­‐of-­‐a--kind, episodic memoir. Even Rock and Roll has Fairy Tales: The Flight of the Shiny Happy Sherry Fairy” by Sherry Carroll is a coming of age memoir that the features love, humor, Rock and Roll, and a woman in love with life. This woman is ballsy, and takes no-­‐prisoners when it comes to love and life. Sherry Fairy’s dreams have the unique ability to carry her to places that the average person wouldn't imagine—living vicariously through her life of mayhem, music, and madness is completely energizing and fun. It seems that the music, wind, and passion carry her to places that birth terrific stories for a memoir. And in this biographical account, you won’t have to “just wonder” about the things that happen when a big-­‐time rock star and a small town girl meet. Leaving you with the idea that dreams, no matter how ridiculous, are worth pursuing. Sherry is ridiculously,fun,smart,and sassy.Her memoir,overall,is funny,fast-­‐paced and episodic.

It makes me want a sassy beautiful little girl who will be a cheerleader and Homecoming Queen and Sigma Chi Sweetheart, all of the things I rejected outright because they weren’t options.

With a short sigh, the preacher lifted his head far back and gazed into the warm, baby-blue sky. An odd smile stretched across his young, angular face, and for a moment, he appeared to be in a state of pure, undefined peace and serenity. "See this?" he said while stretching his arms out. "'THIS is death." Shenandoah cocked a sassy eyebrow and glanced back at Ruth who was giggling with her hand over her lips.

Sassy girl’s got an answer for everything,

stopped for a moment to talk with the few girls who called out to her. The refuge’s lead adolescent psychologist, Hannah Smith, had decreed that all doors would remain open during certain hours though the kids were allowed privacy, too. The risk of harming themselves was

Will he be back?” “Buck or the bear?” Her lips quirked. “The bear.” “Not today. Hopefully, never.” “Was it a grizzly?” “Black bear.” “It must have been a grizzly. It wasn’t black--it was brown.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her. “Black bears come in lots of different colors. Grizzlies are a whole different species. You have to learn which is which and you have to react to each of them differently.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “I mean you have to be aggressive with black bears. With grizzlies, the best thing to do is lie down, pull yourself into a protective ball, and play dead. The bear might maul you a little, but at least you won’t be killed…not usually, at any rate.” She sagged back against the trunk of the pine tree, her face pale again. “That’s comforting.” Call sighed in exasperation. “Dammit, Charity, don’t you know anything about living out here?” “Obviously not as much as I should.” “I can’t imagine what a woman like you is doing up here by herself in the first place. You did come on your own? No husband, no boyfriend, right?” She straightened, beginning to get annoyed. “I don’t need a husband to do something I’ve always wanted to do. Maybe I should have learned more about the animals around here and less about the history of the area, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have come.” “This is hard country. Bad things happen up here. Unless you’ve been wearing blinders, by now you’re beginning to see that. Why don’t you accept my offer, sell this place, and go home where you belong?” Home where you belong. They were fighting words to Charity, right along with be a good little girl. Her lips tightened. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to sell out and go home. Then you could have your precious privacy back. You wouldn’t have to worry about someone making noise when they worked next door. You wouldn’t have to worry about saving some greenhorn from a bear. You wouldn’t have to think about--” She gasped as he took a threatening step toward her, his eyes snapping as he backed her up against the trunk of the tree. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have to worry about what mischief you might get into next. And whenever I saw you, I wouldn’t have to think about what it might be like to kiss that sassy mouth of yours. I wouldn’t have to drive myself crazy wondering what it would feel like to reach under that silly panda sweatshirt and cup your breasts, to put my mouth there and find out how they taste.

This is hard country. Bad things happen up here. Unless you’ve been wearing blinders, by now you’re beginning to see that. Why don’t you accept my offer, sell this place, and go home where you belong?” Home where you belong. They were fighting words to Charity, right along with be a good little girl. Her lips tightened. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to sell out and go home. Then you could have your precious privacy back. You wouldn’t have to worry about someone making noise when they worked next door. You wouldn’t have to worry about saving some greenhorn from a bear. You wouldn’t have to think about--” She gasped as he took a threatening step toward her, his eyes snapping as he backed her up against the trunk of the tree. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have to worry about what mischief you might get into next. And whenever I saw you, I wouldn’t have to think about what it might be like to kiss that sassy mouth of yours. I wouldn’t have to drive myself crazy wondering what it would feel like to reach under that silly panda sweatshirt and cup your breasts, to put my mouth there and find out how they taste.” She made a little sound in her throat the instant before his mouth crushed down over hers. Hard lips, fierce and hot as a brand, molded with hers, then began to soften. He started to taste her, to sample instead of demand. Lean, tanned hands framed her face, titled her head back so he could deepen the kiss and she felt the rough shadow of beard along his jaw. Her mouth parted on a moan and his tongue slid inside. It felt slick and hot as it tangled with hers, and ragged need tore through her. Oh, dear God! Heat overwhelmed her and she started to tremble. Her hands came up to his shoulders, clung for a moment, then slid up around his neck. She heard Call groan. He pressed himself more solidly against her, forcing her into the bark of the tree. She could feel his arousal, a big, hard ridge straining beneath the fly of his jeans. His hands found her bottom and he lifted her a little, fit his heavy erection into the soft vee between her legs. An ache started there. She inhaled his scent, like piney woods and smoke, and he tasted all male. He kissed the way a woman dreamed a man should kiss, drinking her in, making her legs turn to butter. As if he would rather have the taste of her mouth than his next breath of air. She tilted her head back and he kissed the side of her neck, trailed hot, wet kisses to the base of her throat, then took her mouth again. Their tongues fenced, mated in perfect rhythm. Their mouths seemed designed to fit exactly together. The kiss went on and on, till her brain felt mushy and she could barely think. Tell him to stop, a voice inside her said, but all she could think was that Jeremy had never kissed her like this. He had never made her feel like this--not once in the two years they had been together. No one had ever made her feel like this. And she didn’t want the moment to end.

He likes 'girls who challenge him' as though my having my own opinions and not being afraid to voice them is purely for his entertainment; when he gets tired of it, he'll expect me to stop being 'sassy' or 'feisty' and expect me to be pliant and agreeable.