Sow Your Wild Oats Quotes

So what you’re saying is Nate isn’t sex on a stick?” Emma asked. Casey chuckled. “Nate is barely sex on a low fat wheat-thin. But I sowed a few wild oats back in my day, so I’m totally satisfied with what I have.” She bent over to grab up her abandoned container and silverware. Waving her fork at Emma, she said, “You, on the other hand, have a bag of oats needing satisfying.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Let’s leave my oats out of this please.

Ryder: “Well, you’re not the type I want to be my first either.” Grace:“What?” Ryder: “You’re the type I want to be my last. You know...the settle down and marry sort. If you’re my first, then I won’t get to—I don’t know—sow any wild oats or anything.

As much as God loves his children, it is misplaced faith that asks him to prevent all pain in this life, especially the pain we created for ourselves. When we ask God to remove the natural consequences of our own behavior, we set ourselves up for disappointment and frustration. As a wise friend once said, "It is foolish to think you can sow your wild oats on Saturday and pray for crop failure on Sunday.

Jackson?” “Hmm?” “Can I tell you something and will you promise not to get mad or make me feel bad or irresponsible or reckless?” “You’re pregnant?” “What?” She sat up resting on her elbow, giving him a scrunched-face expression. “I’m having my period.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t convinced if that’s what it was for sure since a few days ago you accused me of trying to ‘break your vagina.’” She jabbed him in the side with her fist. He chuckled. “It’s not funny. A few times I wondered if you were going to rip me straight up the middle in two. You’ve been weird … even kind of angry. That’s it … it’s felt like angry sex. Not even sex at times, more like just effing.” “Effing?” “Yes, fucking,” she whispered. He roared a big laugh that only turned her face true crimson. “Why…” he tried to catch his breath through his laughter “…are you whispering? Are you worried about Gunner hearing you or God? Because I’m quite certain that dog has already told me to back the fuck away from you in more than one language, and I know you haven’t been to church in a while, but as far as I know, God can still read minds.” “Well excuse me, Mr. Vulgar, I didn’t grow up using explicit language, and I had a baby before I had a chance to sow any wild oats and making a habit of using the F-word as an adjective and adverb to every single word in the English language. Don’t people realize it starts to lose its effect after a while? It’s like putting an explanation point at the end of every sentence. ‘I’m going to wake the F up tomorrow and roll the F out of my effing bed, and take an effing hot shower before I effing eat an effing bowl of cereal. Then I’m going to get the F going to my first effing job, then meet my effing amazing boyfriend for an effing good lunch, and then if I’m done with my effing period we might F a few times until we’re effing exhausted.’” Jackson’s body vibrated with laughter. “Am I the ‘effing amazing boyfriend’ in your little story?” Ryn kissed along his chest, following the lines of ink. “Maybe.” “Maybe, huh? I can work with that. So before you went off on your effing tangent, what were you going to tell me?

Weston cocked his head my way. “It’s not like you don’t have the opportunity, so it’s difficult to pity your celibacy.” “Celibacy? That’s a gross exaggeration.” I slowed my treadmill to a fast walk. “What’s it called when you don’t even try to get laid for months?” Luca asked. “It’s called being busy and a shift of priorities. Unlike the two of you, getting off has never been my ultimate goal.” Luca and Weston may have been devoted to their women now, but they’d spent many years sowing, and sowing, and sowing their wild oats. While I was no monk, I’d never had the urge to spread my seed as far and wide as they did. And as I got older, meaningless hookups became less and less worth the effort. But celibate, I was not. I loved to fuck, but my time and attention were currently being taken by other things. Picking up a woman in a bar didn’t hold any attraction to me at the moment. Luca waggled his brows. “World domination is a lot more fun with a beautiful woman by your side.” “Life in general,” Weston agreed. I hit the stop button on my treadmill and wiped my sweaty forehead off with a towel.

The Qur’an states that there are people who desire to continue in their wrongdoing throughout the entirety of their lives. They ask, “When will this Day of Resurrection come?” (QUR’AN , 75:6). One interpretation of this verse, according to scholars, is that although people may be aware of ultimate accountability, they put off repentance as if they are guaranteed a long life. This is an ethic exemplified by the saying, “Sow your wild oats,” which advocates getting all the lewdness and sin out of one’s life when one is young, and then later calming down and adopting religion. Besides the obvious error of this ethic, another terrible flaw is that people die at all ages, and some never get the chance to repent and make amends. Moreover, what kind of repentance is this when people intentionally indulge in sin banking on the possibility that later on in life—after all the energy and drive diminishes—they will turn in penitence to God? We know that God loves those who spend their youth obedient to Him and His commandments.

He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just that I needed to focus on football. I had all this pressure, and—” “And you wanted to sleep around and fuck all the pretty girls while you weren’t playing. I totally get it. And I was just some little virgin who couldn’t possibly comprehend your need to sow your wild oats. See? No misunderstanding at all.” “Jesus, Gabby, it wasn’t like that.

Old as fuck?” I gaped at him. “Sowing your wild oats?” “Yeah.” He shrugged. “You know, like thirty or something.

This is the meaning of Star Wars: we were rebels; we are Empire. And like all rebellious children, we were but going through a phase. We are getting ready for adulthood, after we sowed a few wild oats. Once grown, we put on our imperial uniform, and bowed to the Empire. "It is your destiny." Right? Unless—

I… I don’t know. I was just suddenly worried. I mean, some men… some men have fantasies. They want it like that.” “And some men don’t.” He cups my cheek and meets my eyes soberly. “Sweetheart, men are as different from each other as women are. We don’t all want the same things. I’m not like the men who’ve used you in the past. I don’t want to use your body to feed my ego, and I don’t need to dominate you to feel like a man. I guess I’ve always been rather an old-fashioned guy. I married young and never felt the compulsion to sow a lot of wild, dirty oats. Until you, I didn’t have sex with anyone after Sarah and the boys died. I barely even felt the urges. I want…” He turns his head to the side for a moment like he’s almost embarrassed at himself. But he continues, “I want to love you, not possess you. This is me, love. Getting everything I want with you. Letting go completely. This is what it looks like for me.

You got oats to sow, you cut her loose, and pray like fuck when you’re done wasting your time doin’ shit you woulda preferred doin’ with her, that she’s still there.