Tony Lip Quotes

Monique bit at the side of lip. “He’s pretty active, I don’t want to impose…” Tony stood and scooped up the puppy. “No, seriously, I’d love a little company.

He licked his lips. ‘Well, if you want my opinion-‘ ‘I don’t, ‘ She said. ‘I have my own.

Life’s too short to walk around with your arms crossed and bottom lip poked out. Find a way to smile for yourself even if it’s as simple as licking the spoon clean or putting clean sheets on your bed.

They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds― cooled ―and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path.

His dad’s gruff voice interrupted his pitiful thoughts. “Can I be frank?” “Sure. Can I be beans?” Without even having to look up, Dex knew what his dad was doing. “Stop. You know how I hate when you do that.” “Do what?” Tony grunted. “Do that puckered ass thing with your lips.” “And you know all about puckered asses.” Dex arched an eyebrow at his dad. “You know, at times I wonder who the grown-up is here.” The elevator pinged and they exited into a long white hall with dark gray flooring. “And I wonder if you’ve lost more than a few marbles. Like the entire bag.

they ran in the sunlight, creating their own breeze which pressed their dresses into their damp skin. Reaching a kind of square of four locked trees which promised cooling; they flung themselves into the shade to taste their lip sweat and contemplate the wildness that had come upon them so suddenly

A slow sly smirk formed on Lucas’ lips and Fallon took in a sharp breath. “I'm not playing daddy. I am daddy and you are mommy. Shouldn’t we be making out instead of fighting?” Fallon rolled her eyes, poking him harder in the chest. “get your mind out of the gutter Lucas!” She poked him again, and he took her finger in his hand as he grinned down at her. “Poke me one more time Fallon Parker, and I’ll poke you back, and not with my finger.

Lucas too was shoveling pancakes into his mouth. Syrup dripped from the sexy stubble that covered his chin and her mouth watered at the sight. Fallon no longer wanted the syrup that covered her pancakes. More like the syrup from his chin, and lips, or hell just dump it on him!!!

Around five-eight, slim, good shoulders, narrow hips, legs and trunk in proportion, short dark hair, side parting, dark eyes, probably blue, shadows under the eyes, fair skin, average nose, wide mouth, lower lip fuller than upper.

The smile on his lips was always the smile of the nice father, but in his eyes I could see the nasty one, the one invisible to everyone else, the one that lived inside his head.

Anything is better than the silence when she answered to hands gesturing and was indifferent to the movement of lips. When she saw every little thing and colors leaped smoldering into view. She will forgo the most violent of sunsets, stars as fat as dinner plates and all the blood of autumn and settle for the palest yellow if it comes from her Beloved.

She didn't even know she had a neck until Jude remarked on it, or that her smile was anything but the spreading of her lips until he saw it as a small miracle.

I really want to kiss you.” He dipped his head, his lips inches from hers. “Oh good,” she murmured, keeping her voice intentionally low. “It’s not just my imagination.

1.You never win with violence. You only win when you maintain your dignity.---Dr. Don Shirley: 2.Being genius is not enough, it takes courage to change people's hearts. 3.The world's full of lonely people afraid to make the first move......Tony Lip 4.You know, my father used to say, whatever you do, do it 100%. When you work, work. When you laugh, laugh. When you eat, eat like it's your last meal.......Tony Lip

How can he not love your hair? It's the same hair that grows out of his own armpits. The same hair that crawls up out his crotch on up his stomach. All over his chest. The very same. It grows out of his nose, over his lips, and if he ever lost his razor it would grow all over his face. It's all over his head, Hagar. It's his hair too. He got to love it.

Is she worth it though?" he asked and she shrugged. "That's up to you to decide. Either way, I support you, love you, and will stand beside you," she whispered against his lips. "And when you're ready, I'll Spartan kick her in the face.

How many strokes does it take?" "One. Two. Three." "Four. Five..." "Six." "Seven. Eight." "Nine." "What if Daddy. Ten. Finds out what I did. Eleven. To his innocent little girl?" "Twelve." "This is what you do to me. Feel it. Thirteen." "Fourteen." "Do What he says, Toni. Fifteen. Come." His heated lips curved against her ear. "Fifteen it is." ~Drake

The tribe of clerks was an obvious one...the junior clerks of flash houses--young gentlemen with tight coats, bright boots, well-oiled hair, and supercilious lips. Setting aside a certain dapperness of carriage, which may be termed [i]deskism[/i] for want of a better word, the manner of these persons seemed to be an exact fac-simile of what had been the perfection of [i]bon ton[/i] about twelve or eighteen months before.

You must know this. People disappear. They just go puff. Thin air. Every time you see someone, you never know if you're seeing them for the last time. Drink them in, Alec. Kiss them. It's very important. Never let anyone say goodbye, even for a little while, without kissing them. Press your lips against the people you love. Hands, they can touch anything. Open doors, hold cameras, hang clothes on the line. It's lips that matter.

She thought of the women at Chicken Little's funeral. The women who shrieked over the bier and at the lip of the open grave. What she had regarded since as unbecoming behavior seemed fitting to her now; they were screaming at the neck of God, his giant nape, the vast back-of-the-head that he had turned on them in death. But it seemed to her now that it was not a fist-shaking grief they were keening but rather a simple obligation to say something, do something, feel something about the dead. They could not let that heart-smashing event pass unrecorded, unidentified. It was poisonous, unnatural to let the dead go with a mere whimpering, a slight murmur, a rose bouquet of good taste. Good taste was out of place in the company of death, death itself was the essence of bad taste. And there must be much rage and saliva in its presence. The body must move and throw itself about, the eyes must roll, the hands should have no peace, and the throat should release all the yearning, despair and outrage that accompany the stupidity of loss.

They had extemporized a verse made up of two insults about matters over which the victim had no control: the color of her skin and speculations on the sleeping habits of an adult, widely fitting in its incoherence. That they themselves were black, or that their own father had similarly relaxed habits was irrelevant. It was their contempt for their own blackness that gave the first insult it's teeth. They seem to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds—cooled—and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path. They danced a macabre ballet around the victim, whom, for their own sake, they were prepared to sacrifice to the flaming pit.

They come from Mobile. Aiken. From Newport News. From Marietta. From Meridian. And the sounds of these places in their mouths make you think of love. When you ask them where they are from, they tilt their heads and say "Mobile" and you think you've been kissed. They say "Aiken" and you see a white butterfly glance off a fence with a torn wing. They say "Nagadoches" and you want to say "Yes, I will." You don't know what these towns are like, but you love what happens to the air when they open their lips and let the names ease out.

The men began to trade tales of atrocities, first stories they had heard, then those they'd witnessed, and finally the things that had happened to themselves. A litany of personal humiliation, outrage, and anger turned sicklelike back to themselves as humor. They laughed then, uproariously, about the speed with which they had run, the pose they had assumed, the ruse they had invented to escape or decrease some threat to their manliness, their humanness. All but Empire State, who stood, broom in hand and drop-lipped, with the expression of a very intelligent ten-year-old.

The doctor raised the gun and pointed it at what in his fear ought to have been flaring nostrils, foaming lips, and the red-rimmed eyes of a savage. Instead he saw the quiet, even serene, face of a man not to be fooled with.

not shifting so the desk frame doesn’t go screek screek, not breathing so he doesn’t smell any smells, but sweat is trickling down his ribs, and Wesley Ohman keeps opening and closing the Velcro on his left shoe, and Tony Molinari’s lips are going poppoppop, and Mrs. Onegin is writing a huge, terrible A-M-E-R-I-C- on the whiteboard, the marker tip rasping and squeaking, the classroom clock ticktickticking, and all these sounds race into his head like hornets into a nest.

I know, believe me, this was not planned!" Elli admitted with a groan. Everyone laughed as Shea wrapped is arms around is wife and kissed her loudly on the lips. "I promise, last one." "Damn right it is," she scoffed. "I'm getting my uterus taken out just to be sure your supersperm don't have anywhere to go.

But they had been down on all fours naked, not touching except their lips right down there on the floor where the tie is pointing to, on all fours like (uh huh, go on, say it) like dogs. Nibbling at each other, not even touching, not even looking at each other, just their lips, and when I opened the door they didn't even look for a minute and I thought the reason they are not looking up is because they are not doing that. So it's all right. I am just standing here. They are not doing that. I am just standing here and seeing it, but they are not really doing it. But then they did look up. Or you did. You did, Jude. ... And I did not know how to move my feet or fix my eyes or what. I just stood there seeing it and smiling, because maybe there was some explanation, something important that I did not know about that would have made it all right. I waited for Sula to look up at me any minute and say one of those lovely college words like aesthetic or rapport, which I never understood but which I loved because they sounded so comfortable and firm. And finally you just got up and started putting clothes on and your privates were hanging down, so soft, and you buckled your pants but forgot to button the fly and she was sitting on the bed not even bothering to put on her clothes because actually she didn't need to because somehow she didn't look naked to me, only you did. Her chin was in her hand and she sat like a visitor from out of town waiting for the hosts to get some quarreling done and over with so the card game could continue and me wanting her to leave so I could tell you privately that you had forgotten to button your fly because I didn't want to say it in front of her, Jude. And even when you began to talk, I couldn't hear because I was worried about you not knowing that your fly was open ... Remember how big that bedroom was, Jude? How when we moved here we said, Well, at least we got us a real big bedroom, but it was small then, Jude, and so shambly and maybe it was that way all along but it would have been better if I had gotten all the dust out from under the bed because I was ashamed of it in that small room. And you walked past me saying, "I'll be back for my things." And you did but you left your tie.

You didn't wear that offensive shapewear again, did you? If so, we're heading straight to the bathroom. You can't take it off me, I hissed. So you did wear it? If you were me, you might have been tempted to double up. Lamont rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile flirting with the edges of his lips. There is nothing wrong with your figure, other than you trying to strangle it every time you wear a dress.

Here they learn the rest of the lesson begun in those soft houses with porch swings and pots of bleeding heart: how to behave. The careful development of thrift, patience, high morals, and good manners. In short, how to get rid of the funkiness. The dreadful funkiness of passion, the funkiness of nature, the funkiness of the wide range of human emotions. Wherever it erupts, this Funk, they wipe it away; where it crusts, they dissolve it; wherever it drips, flowers, or clings, they find it and fight it until it dies. They fight this battle all the way to the grave. The laugh that is a little too loud; the enunciation a little too round; the gesture a little too generous. They hold their behind in for fear of a sway too free; when they wear lipstick, they never cover the entire mouth for fear of lips too thick, and they worry, worry, worry, about the edges of their hair.

Your lip looks better, Kate. Um…." He lifted his hands as if to rake them through his hair, stopping just before he ruined a look that must have taken beaucoup product to achieve. "Hiya, Harvey. Sad about the guv, eh? I mean Lord… I mean, him. The fact is, before we begin…." "Are you off your meds? Sit down," Kate barked. "Yes, I appreciate the invitation, it's lovely to be here, but the fact is—" "Deepal!" A woman called from the front parlor. "I won't be hidden out here! It's undignified!" "… I brought my mum," Paul concluded. "When I told her I was popping by the guv's—I mean, Lord—I mean, his place, she wouldn't take no for an answer." "You're sacked," Tony said. "Too late. Mum," Paul said, turning to intercept Sharada in the doorway, "Of course you've met, um, er, Tony, and Kate. This is Mrs. Snell, who used to be his secretary, and that's Harvey, the manservant. Like Alfred to Batman." "Deepal, I write romances. I know what a manservant is." Evading her

The situation was unraveling, and he didn’t like what he was seeing here. This was bullshit politics. He trusted his boss but the man seemed to be blind to the danger surrounding the woman in the next room—or uncaring. “What about protective custody?” “For the daughter of the most notorious spy in US history?” Frazer’s lips twisted angrily. “Because she broke into the Russian Ambassador’s residence and tried to conduct illegal surveillance? Do you see that request being approved?” “If we let her go she’s dead,” Matt stated baldly. He

There is another system, more beaded than weather or murder, that is moving up into the province. As Les leaves the chair to investigate his son’s crying a thousand zombies form an alliterative fog around Lake Scugog and beyond, mouthing the words Helen, hello, help. This fog predominates the region; however, other systems compete, bursting and winding with vowels braiding into dipthongs so long that they dissipate across a thousand panting lips. In the suburbs of Barrie, for instance, an alliteration that began with the wail of a cat in heat picked up the consonant “Guh” from a fisherman caught in surprise on Lake Simcoe. The echoing coves of the lake added a sort of meter, and by the time these sounds arrived in Gravenhurst, the people there were certain that a musical was blaring from speakers in the woods. All across the province, zombies, like extras in a crowd scene, imitate a thousand conversations. They open and close their mouths on things and sound is a heavy carpet of mumbling, a pre-production monstrosity. In minutes the Pontypool fog will march on the town of Sunderland and over the barriers south of Lindsay.

There are good kissers and bad kissers. Good kisser: Tony. Sweet, passionate, and his lips make every nerve in your body stand up and go, “Hey, what’s this? What’s going on, and can we make it go on longer?” And then there are your bad kissers. Case in point: Tyler Kendrick. My mouth thought it was being attacked by a squid. Big, freaky tongue forcing its way into my mouth like the villain in a Western movie coming through the saloon doors with a swagger. Too much saliva, and in all the wrong places. Honestly, during a kiss your cheeks should remain relatively dry.

I wanted to be alone.” “I see.” Except she didn’t, exactly. When had this child become a mystery to her own mother? “Why?” Sophie glanced at herself in the mirror, and Esther could only hope her daughter saw the truth: a lovely, poised woman—intelligent, caring, well dowered, and deserving of more than a stolen interlude with a convenient stranger and an inconvenient baby—Sophie’s brothers’ assurances notwithstanding. “I am lonely, that’s why.” Sophie’s posture relaxed with this pronouncement, but Esther’s consternation only increased. “How can you be lonely when you’re surrounded by loving family, for pity’s sake? Your father and I, your sisters, your brothers, even Uncle Tony and your cousins—we’re your family, Sophia.” She nodded, a sad smile playing around her lips that to Esther’s eyes made her daughter look positively beautiful. “You’re the family I was born with, and I love you too, but I’m still lonely, Your Grace. I’ve wished and wished for my own family, for children of my own, for a husband, not just a marital partner…” “You had many offers.” Esther spoke gently, because in Sophie’s words, in her calm, in her use of the present tense—“I am lonely”—there was an insight to be had. “Those offers weren’t from the right man.” “Was Baron Sindal the right man?” It was a chance arrow, but a woman who had raised ten children owned a store of maternal instinct. Sophie’s chin dropped, and she sighed. “I thought he was the right man, but it wasn’t the right offer, or perhaps it was, but I couldn’t hear it as such. And then there was the baby… It wouldn’t be the right marriage.” Esther took her courage in both hands and advanced on her daughter—her sensible daughter—and slipped an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Tell me about this baby. I’ve heard all manner of rumors about him, but you’ve said not one word.” She meant to walk Sophie over to the vanity, so she might drape Oma’s pearls around Sophie’s neck, but Sophie closed her eyes and stiffened. “He’s a good baby. He’s a wonderful baby, and I sent him away. Oh, Mama, I sent my baby away…” And then, for the first time in years, sensible Lady Sophia Windham cried on her mother’s shoulder as if she herself were once again a little, inconsolable baby. ***

Tony: Listen... I need to... Um... Say... I mean... I know we only met earlier... And I know I nearly set you on fire... And we're both going out with other people. Obviously that's quite tricky. But... Well... You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on in my entire life. I saw you and my heart leapt. You make me want to change my life. To... participate. I know it's not possible and that you have a boyfriend and we're not compatible or whatever but... I just... I know it's stupid... But maybe just hear me out for a second and the. You can tell me I'm an idiot and we'll both go back in and pretend this never happened but... I want to travel the world with you. I want to bring the ice cold Amstel to your Greek shore. And sit in silence and sip with you. I want to go to Tesco's with you of a Sunday. Watch you sleep, scrub your back, suck your toes. I want to write crap poetry about you, lay my coat over puddles for you. I want to get drunk and bore my friends about you, I want them to phone up and moan about how little they see me because I'm spending so much time with you. I want to feel the tingle of our lips meeting, the lock of our eyes joining, the fizz of our fingertips touching. I want to touch your fat tummy and tell you you look gorgeous in maternity dresses, I want to stand next to you wide-eyed and hold my nose as we open that first used nappy, I want to watch you grow old and love you more and more each day. I want to fall in love with you. I think I could. And I think it would be good. And I want you to say yes. You might feel the same. Could you? Maybe?

The noise alone was enough call for concern. Jim tucked his thumb in his palm and wrapped his fingers around it while placing his bloody knife back in its sheath. He bit his lip and took in a deep breath. About this time, the rest of his unit buddies, let out a raucous gaggle of laughter and shook their heads at Jim while uttering various unfettered comments about his blade skills.

chickened out. They had had a big argument. Marguerite’s lips turned down in a pout when she thought

expertise,” he said, referring to Jacqueline. “Well, all those years as a waitress and bartender have taught me the fine art of soothing angry souls,” Robin said with a smile. “Color me impressed. She is often difficult to get along with.” “Nah,” Robin said, shaking her head. “She is afraid of not being accepted, so she goes overboard to make sure she is. I feel kind of bad for her.” Tony brought her hand up to his lips

And it’s not just about touching lips—it’s a connection, maybe some sort of genetic litmus test. Peter”—poor bastard—“failed the test. It was him, not you.” He

They had extemporized a verse made up of two insults about matters over which the victim had no control: the color of her skin and speculations on the sleeping habits of an adult, widely fitting in its incoherence. That they themselves were black, or that their own father had similarly relaxed habits was irrelevant. It was their contempt for their own blackness that gave the first insult its teeth. They seem to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds—cooled—and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path. They danced a macabre ballet around the victim, whom, for their own sake, they were prepared to sacrifice to the flaming pit.

A cop with sharp features and sandy blond hair came over and sat down next to Tony. A cigarette dangled casually from his lips, so natural-looking that it seemed like a part of his face.

Still appearing spent, Logan pulled back slightly to look at her. “What?” A little surprised at her own outburst, she gave her lower lip a sheepish nibble even as she smiled at him. “I’m just wondering if my butt is going to be tattooed with the ink from the front page of the Destiny Gazette.” Logan gave her a grin she felt all the way to her soul. “If the front page is on your butt, that might make reading it a lot more fun.

Attending Diana’s funeral was the saddest thing I’ve ever done. The image of her solitary coffin and the haunting echo of the guards’ footsteps will stay with me always. I prayed for her young sons, for whom she will be irreplaceable. I looked across the square at the thousands of people who remained, listening to the Abbey bells, unwilling to leave. Men and women alike were still blinking back tears, biting trembling lips, or openly crying after seeing Diana’s casket being borne away. The funeral service had been truly sublime--a funeral fit for a queen. Yet, Diana would have been more deeply touched by the unprecedented and heartfelt expressions of love and loss from ordinary people. She had said she wanted to be a “princess for the world.” The world’s sorrow for her untimely death made it undeniably clear that she was, indeed, “the people’s princess,” as Tony Blair had so eloquently called her. On that mournful day, her lonely path away from royal convention had been completely vindicated. But the cost had been too high.

He who restrains his words has knowledge, And he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding. Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; When he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent.” Proverbs 17:27-28

All around her it was like that: a fast crack on the head if you let the hunger show so she decided then and there at the age of twelve in Baltimore never to be broken in the hands of any man. Whatever it took-- knife blades or screaming teeth-- Never. And yes, she would tap dance, and yes, she would skate, but she would do it with a frown, pugnacious lips and scary eyes, because Never. And anybody who wanted nice from this little colored girl would have to get it with pliers and chloroform, because Never. When her mother died and she went to Philadelphia and then away to school, she was so quick to learn, but no touchee, teacher, and no, I do not smile, because Never. It smoothed out a little as she grew older. The pugnacious lips became a seductive pout-- eyes more heated than scary. But beneath the easy manners was a claw always ready to rein in the dogs, because Never.

The more he looked at her the prettier he realized she was. Darker brows, dark lashes, perfect lips. Gold streaks amongst mid-brown hair that was pinned messily to her nape. Angel was gorgeous—as was the ambassador’s wife—but neither of them had that…what the hell was it? Sweetness? Vulnerability? Smarts?

The fragrance of your burning lips are endless reservoir of love.

I stroked every inch of his golden skin. Sucked his earlobes. I know the quality of the hair in his armpit. I fingered the dimples in his upper lip. I poured red wine in his navel and drank its spill. There's no place on my body his lips did not turn into bolts of lightning. Oh God..I have to stop reliving our lovemaking. I have to forget how new it felt every single time. Both fresh and somehow eternal. I'm tone deaf, but fucking him made me sing.

My God, he is poisoned! See the froth on his lips!

The madam’s lip twitched in annoyance and the girl’s

Booker’s smile traveled from his lips to his eyes. The joy in his face was infantile.

Clay’s quick, light boxing style – ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’ – was deemed inadequate to beat Liston. The night before the fight, Harvey Jones, the sparring partner of the young man already known as the ‘Louisville Lip’, presented a poem by Clay. Clay comes out to meet Liston and Liston starts to retreat, If Liston goes back an inch farther he'll end up in a ringside seat. Clay swings with a left, Clay swings with a right, Just look at young Cassius carry the fight. Liston keeps backing but there's not enough room, It's a matter of time until Clay lowers the boom. Then Clay lands with a right, what a beautiful swing, And the punch raised the bear clear out of the ring. Liston still rising and the ref wears a frown, But he can't start counting until Sonny comes down. Now Liston disappears from view, the crowd is getting frantic But our radar stations have picked him up somewhere over the Atlantic. Who on Earth thought, when they came to the fight, That they would witness the launching of a human satellite. Hence the crowd did not dream, when they laid down their money, That they would see a total eclipse of Sonny.

I’ll be by your side and I’ll kick anyone’s ass who dares say one negative thing about my heart.” Toni squeezed him and leaned up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. “I lied.” Garrett frowned in confusion. “You lied? About what?” “I’m not half in love with you. I love you with every fiber of my being.

Oh, they’ll catch them,” said Walters. “Catch ’em? Catch ’em?” Porter was astounded. “You out of your fuckin mind? They’ll catch ’em, all right, and give ’em a big party and a medal.” “Yeah. The whole town planning a parade,” said Nero. “They got to catch ’em.” “So they catch ’em. You think they’ll get any time? Not on your life!” “How can they not give ’em time?” Walters’ voice was high and tight. “How? Just don’t, that’s how.” Porter fidgeted with his watch chain. “But everybody knows about it now. It’s all over. Everywhere. The law is the law.” “You wanna bet? This is sure money!” “You stupid, man. Real stupid. Ain’t no law for no colored man except the one sends him to the chair,” said Guitar. “They say Till had a knife,” Freddie said. “They always say that. He could of had a wad of bubble gum, they’d swear it was a hand grenade.” “I still say he shoulda kept his mouth shut,” said Freddie. “You should keep yours shut,” Guitar told him. “Hey, man!” Again Freddie felt the threat. “South’s bad,” Porter said. “Bad. Don’t nothing change in the good old U.S. of A. Bet his daddy got his balls busted off in the Pacific somewhere.” “If they ain’t busted already, them crackers will see to it. Remember them soldiers in 1918?” “Ooooo. Don’t bring all that up….” The men began to trade tales of atrocities, first stories they had heard, then those they’d witnessed, and finally the things that had happened to themselves. A litany of personal humiliation, outrage, and anger turned sicklelike back to themselves as humor. They laughed then, uproariously, about the speed with which they had run, the pose they had assumed, the ruse they had invented to escape or decrease some threat to their manliness, their humanness. All but Empire State, who stood, broom in hand and drop-lipped, with the expression of a very intelligent ten-year-old.

Her lips thinned, but she ignored the bait. “Schedules have been moved up in all departments, you know. Claire received her new reproduction assignment. It didn’t include Tony.” “Reproduction assignment? You mean, having a baby?” Leo could feel his face flushing. Somewhere within him, a long-controlled steam pressure began to build. “Do you hide what you’re really doing from yourselves with those weasel-words, too? And here I thought the propaganda was just for us peons.” Yei started to speak, but Leo overrode her, bursting out, “Good God! Were you born inhuman, or did you grow so by degrees—M.S., M.D., Ph.D. . . .” Yei

Parker checked his watch. “I can give you a ride to DC in about an hour. I have to get fitted for a new tux.” His expression suggested he’d rather jump out of an airplane without a chute. “You already have a tux,” said Frazer. Parker’s lips pinched. “Apparently, I need another one to get married in.” “Mal’s worth it.” Frazer suppressed a smile and slapped Parker on the back. “Glad you think that way because you’re my best man. You’re gonna need one, too.” Frazer squeezed his eyes closed.

It was their contempt for their own blackness that gave the first insult its teeth. They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds—cooled—and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path. They danced a macabre ballet around the victim, whom, for their own sake, they were prepared to sacrifice to the flaming pit.

Suddenly, Tony grabbed my waist and pulled me in, and for the first time in a very long time I wanted a man to kiss me. We stood there for a second too long, tension building, before his lips met mine. It was a movie moment. So good, I was waiting for the director to yell, “Cut!” But Tony kept going.

And here is the most wonderful thing of all. I have had one night with the man of my heart and, just this once, I have had something that I wanted. Whatever happens, I will keep this night stored away like the linen in my glory box, his breath on my skin, the small hollow at the base of his throat soft on my lips. I will have that night forever. I can hardly believe my good fortune. Everything will be all right.

Wherever it erupts, this Funk, they wipe it away; where it crusts, they dissolve it; wherever it drips, flowers, or clings, they find it and fight it until it dies. They fight this battle all the way to the grave. The laugh that is a little too loud; the enunciation a little too round; the gesture a little too generous. They hold their behind in for fear of a sway too free; when they wear lipstick, they never cover the entire mouth for fear of lips too thick, and they worry, worry, worry about the edges of their hair.

He wiped the bottle sweat and turned it up to his lips—a gesture that made me uncomfortable. “Who were those women, Mr. Henry?” He choked on the pop and looked at Frieda. “What you say?” “Those women,” she repeated, “who just left. Who were they?” “Oh.” He laughed the grown-up getting-ready-to-lie laugh. A heh-heh we knew well. “Those were some members of my Bible class. We read the scriptures together, and so they came today to read with me.

No, Samantha..." Tony dragged out my name as though it was some candy he was devouring. "I'm not using you." Relaxing his shoulders, he dipped his head a little more. His mouth was so close, I could feel the soft brush of his lips against the corner of mine when he drawled, "You...are driving me crazy.

I know her ADHD fucks with her confidence. I now know it's because of her mom, but for me, it's not a big deal. Her lips curve against my lips, and I close my eyes in pure satisfaction. Every perfection, and every flaw . . . I love every single thing about this girl.

They had extemporized a verse made up of two insults about matters over which the victim had no control: the color of her skin and speculations on the sleeping habits of an adult, wildly fitting in its incoherence. That they themselves were black, or that their own father had similarly relaxed habits was irrelevant. It was their contempt for their own blackness that gave the first insult its teeth. They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds—cooled—and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path.

In the early noughties, his fiancee Mayte Garcia - the singer and dancer formerly married to Prince - kissed Lee on the neck, and the drummer had her lip print turned into a tattoo as well.

Nah. I’m cold too. Fuck I’m gon’ give you my shit for? You ain’t my bitch.” I inhaled on the blunt. “You can have mine, sexy.” Abel licked his lips, making Joy’s stuck up ass roll her eyes. “I don’t think Tony would be okay with that.” She cocked her head. “Nah, I really don’t give a fuck. Her head game is amazing though, bruh.” I glanced at Abel, who nodded as if he was taking the shit into consideration. “For real, Tony!” Joy snapped. “Fuck you mad for? I’m recommending yo’ shit! Be happy I’m not giving yo’ stupid ass a negative review. Yelling and shit like I won’t slap the fuck out yo’ ass.

His heart kicked. Everything in him seemed to rise up, as if threatening to exit his body through the top of his head, then to drop, carrying him to the floor. His mind was a blank, all other thoughts blown to its margins by Tony’s ravaged body. That blank, he understood a moment later, was a grief so immediate and profound it doubled him over, flooding his eyes with tears, forcing sobs from his lips. No matter that one part of his brain had resumed the this-doesn’t-make-sense complaint (as the blood demonstrated, the man in front of him had been dead for days, at least; even if there were another explanation for that detail, August should have heard the sounds of his father’s murder, despite the screaming that vibrated the air). Tony’s corpse made all of that seem inconsequential, irrelevant.

She stopped to rest on a fallen tree, drifts of dried leaves piled beneath it. At least she'd had Masato. A smiled played over her lips.

Is this why you didn’t come for Thanksgiving?” She pointedly ignored his handshake and he moved his lips into a cold smile. Not good enough for her daughter—check. Not that he didn’t already know that.

They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds—cooled—and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path. They danced a macabre ballet around the victim, whom, for their own sake, they were prepared to sacrifice to the flaming pit. Black

back into her office and handed her a glass of iced water.  The dizziness had passed but her stomach was threatening to roil.  “Thank you.”  She took a short sip, and it felt so good going down her throat that she finished the small glass in about five gulps.  “That’s better.” Tony dropped into the chair and rubbed his forehead.  “I have to be very careful how I handle this situation.  It’s a crisis of major proportions.  One misstep and this law firm could be history.” “I understand.  Heck, as co-partner, I agree with you.  But I have to hear it from you, Tony.  Do you believe in me?  Do you think I’m guilty of misconduct?” He studied her face and smacked his lips.  “I don’t want to, God knows I don’t.  I don’t want to believe Henry had any misconduct either.  But the FBI investigated him and arrested him.”  He huffed out a tight breath.  “I don’t know what to believe Nora, I really don’t.” “But they didn’t arrest me,” she said softly. “You’re right, they didn’t.”  He took one of his hands in the other and massaged it.  “I have to be honest, Nora.  I’m gaining some advice from law firm partners in the city on how I should handle this.  I’ve never been through this before.” “Yeah, me neither.  Okay, that’s probably a good approach.” “Why

His dad’s gruff voice interrupted his pitiful thoughts. “Can I be frank?” “Sure. Can I be beans?” Without even having to look up, Dex knew what his dad was doing. “Stop. You know how I hate when you do that.” “Do what?” Tony grunted. “Do that puckered-ass thing with your lips.” “And you know all about puckered asses.” Dex arched an eyebrow at his dad. “You know, at times I wonder who the grown-up is here.

Their voices blended into a threnody of nostalgia about pain. Rising and falling, complex in harmony, uncertain in pitch, but constant in the recitative of pain. They hugged the memories of illnesses to their bosoms. They licked their lips and clucked their tongues in fond remembrance of pains they had endured—childbirth, rheumatism, croup, sprains, backaches, piles. All of the bruises they had collected from moving about the earth.

In their lust, which age had turned to kindness, they moved their lips as though to stir up the taste of young sweat on tight skin.