Wetter Than Quotes

I don't like the rain forest," Ragnor said sadly. "That's because you are not open to new experiences in the same way I am!" "No, it is because it is wetter than a boar's armpit and twice as smelly here." Magnus pushed a dripping frond out of his eyes. "I admit you make an excellent point and also paint a vivid picture with your words.

Chase tugged my hips flush against his, and I felt a hard length between us. It was only a bulge against the leather of his pants, but it was enough to get me wetter than a rainforest between my legs.

Or if I truly gave up I could be like Wet Lindsay. When Robbie dumped her she got all pale and even wetter than normal. She was like an anoraksick. (A person who is both very thin and wears tragic anoraks.) I just made that up as a joke. Even though I am very upset I can still think of a joke.

I’ll get you wetter than a banana in a women's prison.

Never mind that it’s wetter than a Slip’N Slide in my panties right now.

Without values, goals rarely get accomplished . . . Values are the key. When you understand them correctly, they will pull you toward to your dreams -- which is a lot wetter than having to push yourself!

I want to make a splash in the world, and I want to make one with my dry wit. My dry wit is wetter than you’d imagine.

I realized I was wetter than spring in Seattle.

To say it was a dark and stormy night would be a gross understatement. It was colder than witch's kiss, wetter than a spring swamp, and blacker than a tax collector's heart. A sane man would have been curled up in front of a fire with a cup of mulled wine and a good boo-, ah, a willing wench.

My lip quivered as he hooked a finger into my panties. “Say the word and I’ll give you every pleasure Aaron never came close to giving you. I’ll make your pussy wetter than it’s ever been in your life.” My pulse was hammering, my breaths shaky as a result. But I forced myself to speak. “Do it.

I knew that the tears of adults were wetter, saltier, and much, much sadder than those of a child

Mungo was almost at the guttering when he saw the boy fall. The metal must have been wetter than he had thought, and he slipped off the high arm as gracelessly as a bag of flour falling off a shelf.

The sky rained dismal. It rained humdrum. It rained the kind of rain that is so much wetter than normal rain, the kind of rain that comes down in big drops and splats, the kind of rain that is merely and upright sea with slots in it.

I love when he’s in these moods, this affectionate. Though it can be said of Gray that he’s this way all the time with me. He never has an off day. I’ve known every single day of our life together so far just what he’s thinking and feeling because he tells me, he shows me in so many different, lovely, sometimes depraved ways. Usually with my clothes off. Most often with his head between my legs. And that’s where I think this hot kiss is going—forget dinner, forget needing to shower off the busy workday. I’m wholly in this when I grip the back of his head and fall deeper into his mouth, moaning my protest when we part too soon. His forehead rests to mine. I spur him on. “Your sugar wife needs attention. You’ve neglected my needs all day, Grayson.” A growl comes out of his mouth and it delights me. Turns me on. Makes me wetter than a summer rain. “You know how hard that smart mouth of yours makes me. I’m about to put you on your knees.

It seems rummy that water should be so much wetter when you go into it with your clothes on than when you're just bathing, but take it from me that it is.

Now try these Drivetime talismans on for size: organized chaos … wild discipline … reverent blasphemy … self-effacing grandiosity … fanatic moderation … selfish gifts … twisted calm … garish elegance … insane poise … ironic sincerity … blasphemous prayers … orgiastic lucidity … aggressive sensitivity … convoluted simplicity … macho feminism. Homework Discuss what is wetter than water, stronger than love, and more exotic than trust.

The rest of the night was dreadful, and when the meal came, though they knew they ought to eat, many found that they had very poor appetites. And endless hours seemed to pass before the darkness thinned and birds began chirping here and there and the world got colder and wetter than it had been all night and Caspian said, “Now for it, friends.” They got up, all with swords drawn, and formed themselves into a solid mass with Lucy in the middle and Reepicheep on her shoulder. It was nicer than the waiting about and everyone felt fonder of everyone else than at ordinary times.

I’m yours. Fuck me, Cole,” she murmurs. Fuck. I thrust in, and her gasp meets my moan in a blissful explosion of lust. Like animals, we fuck against the wall, kissing and bouncing up and down. She rides me like an expert while sweat drips down my forehead, and her pussy is wetter than anything I’ve ever felt before. We were made for each other, her and me, like lightning and thunder in the night sky. And I can’t fucking stop loving her. Our mouths entangle in a furious battle while we fuck like madmen high on lust. Her body quakes with need as goose bumps scatter on her skin. My cock pulses inside her, and I’m slamming into her so hard I can barely fucking keep it together. I move away from the wall and carry her to the table in the back of the room where I put her down and swipe everything off it. She lies down, and I fuck her against the table like a savage, my hands grasping at her waist and tits. I’m delirious with need, completely consumed by my own desire. I lean over to kiss her on the neck, drawing a line all the way down to her nipples, which peak from the attention I lavishly dish out. And when I lean up to slam into her fully, her eyes almost roll into the back of her head. A filthy smile spreads on my lips, knowing it was me who made her feel this way. After all this waiting, all this fighting, all this tugging and pulling, she is finally mine.

Do you want to know what General Putnam is thinking? It’s this. He’s thinking that he can’t win the war if he doesn’t keep the people on his side. He’s thinking that he can’t keep the people on his side if the troops are running amok among the civilian population—raping the women, stealing cattle, burning houses. He is determined to scare the wits out of the troops to keep them in line. And he’s thinking that it doesn’t matter very much who he executes to do it. So many men have died, so many mothers have wept, so many brothers and sisters have cried. He is thinking that in the long run if he executes somebody, he’ll shorten the war and save more lives. It doesn’t matter to him very much who he executes; one man’s agony is like another’s, one mother’s tears are no wetter than anybody else’s. And that’s why he’s going to have Sam shot.

Get used to it. The weather may feel like science fiction, but the science underlying it is very real and mundane. It takes only a small increase in global average temperatures to have a big effect on weather, because what drives the winds and their circulation patterns on the surface of the earth are differences in temperature. So when you start to change the average surface temperature of the earth, you change the wind patterns—and then before you know it, you change the monsoons. When the earth gets warmer, you also change rates of evaporation—which is a key reason we will get more intense rainstorms in some places and hotter dry spells and longer droughts in others. How can we have both wetter and drier extremes at the same time? As we get rising global average temperatures and the earth gets warmer, it will trigger more evaporation from the soil. So regions that are already naturally dry will tend to get drier. At the same time, higher rates of evaporation, because of global warming, will put more water vapor into the atmosphere, and so areas that are either near large bodies of water or in places where atmospheric dynamics already favor higher rates of precipitation will tend to get wetter. We know one thing about the hydrologic cycle: What moisture goes up must come down, and where more moisture goes up, more will come down. Total global precipitation will probably increase, and the amount that will come down in any one storm is expected to increase as well—which will increase flooding and gully washers. That’s why this rather gentle term “global warming” doesn’t capture the disruptive potential of what lies ahead. “The popular term ‘global warming’ is a misnomer,” says John Holdren. “It implies something uniform, gradual, mainly about temperature, and quite possibly benign. What is happening to global climate is none of those. It is uneven geographically. It is rapid compared to ordinary historic rates of climatic change, as well as rapid compared to the adjustment times of ecosystems and human society. It is affecting a wide array of critically important climatic phenomena besides temperature, including precipitation, humidity, soil moisture, atmospheric circulation patterns, storms, snow and ice cover, and ocean currents and upwellings. And its effects on human well-being are and undoubtedly will remain far more negative than positive. A more accurate, albeit more cumbersome, label than ‘global warming’ is ‘global climatic disruption.’ 

Yes, you are. That shit written all over your face. You been trying to get some of this dick for months now, so don’t act scared now,” Jah said, kissing my lips one final time. Jah grabbed my hands and interlocked them with his as he held them up above my head. I looked at him, scared for my life as I watched him slowly try to work his dick inside of me. It hurt so badly, causing a lone tear to fall from my eyes that Jah quickly kissed away. To keep my mind off of the pain, Jah brought his lips to mine and I whimpered against them, still feeling the pain. “Hmmm, Jahh,” I cried against his lips as he worked his pelvis into my body. Jah began to make slow, circular grinds that were beginning to feel good now. I was no longer crying as I hungrily kissed him. “It feel better now, baby?” Jah asked me. The way he called me baby caused a flow of juices to come out of my body. I didn’t even think that I could get any wetter for him than I already was. I nodded my head yes because I couldn’t find the words to answer him right away. Jah removed his hands from over my head and brought his hands to my knees, spreading my legs as far as they could go, stroking me deeper. “It’s so wet and tight, baby,” Jah grunted as he made love to my body. The look on his face was as if he were in heaven and he had never experienced a feeling so good before. When he pulled my legs up, putting them behind my head, I started moaning like crazy because I could feel all of the pressure now. “Ohh Jahh. Ohh Jahhh,” I moaned repeatedly as tears of pleasure seeped out of my eyes. “I swear I will kill over this pussy, Antonia. You’re mine now! You understand that?” Jah asked me, sinking his hips deeper into me. “Ohhh,” I screamed as he continued to work me. “Answer my question, Antonia!” Jah said, slapping me hard on my thigh. “Yes, I understand” I moaned. “Godddd, I’m cumming,

from conditions that are calculated to have been warmer and wetter than today’s 13,000 years ago,70 to conditions that were colder and drier than those at the last glacial maximum just a few hundred years later.

For example, if you click Washington, DC, you learn that by 2080 it will feel like today’s Greenwood, Mississippi, which is 9.8° hotter and 75% wetter than today’s DC. And if you click Jacksonville, Florida, you discover that it will feel like the southern tip of Mexico—practically Belize.

All of these states have vast, clean, reliable sources of fresh water. They won’t endure the blistering heat of the South. And except for a corner of New York, all of them are far from the coasts, so they won’t suffer from sea-level rise and hurricanes. Because they’re cooler and wetter than the West Coast, they’re even less prone to wildfires. The Great Lakes themselves have recently experienced massive algae blooms, some of which kill fish, birds, and turtles and poison our drinking water. Fertilizer and household cleaning products running into the watershed help to feed these blooms. The affected states have teamed up to study and fix the problem. Otherwise, though, many of the cities on the Great Lakes are ideally suited to a life in the new, hotter, drier, rainier world. Read on.

The fact that the sight of his pulsing cock has me wetter than I’ve ever been.

the answer came instantly in an explosion of light, color, love, and beauty that blew through me like a crashing wave. What was important about these bursts was that they didn’t simply silence my questions by overwhelming them. They answered them, but in a way that bypassed language. Thoughts entered me directly. But it wasn’t thought like we experience on earth. It wasn’t vague, immaterial, or abstract. These thoughts were solid and immediate—hotter than fire and wetter than water—and as I received them I was able to instantly and effortlessly understand concepts that would have taken me years to fully grasp in my earthly life.

So that was a kiss. That was the thing that she had read about in novels and poems, that had inspired great artists. It was wetter than she had imagined, and colder.

You feel best, better than anything.” I hiss, feeling her get wetter with each dip of her bottom to the top of my thighs. “I’m fucking addicted. I’m addicted to you, Han.” She’s the gateway drug to a lifetime of addictions, not of this world. Her drug is the kind that you overdose on, knowing you’ll never be the same again after her. She enlightens in the way that you can only hope to hold on to the ignorance of not knowing her, because life after her will crush the deepest part of the soul you deny owning.

You should see what she likes,” Aero answers. “You wouldn’t believe how nasty this little angel gets.” His head drops back against the seat of the couch, his warm breath caressing my pussy as he continues talking, staring up at me bare before him. “Isn’t that right, baby?” “Yes,” I moan, feeling myself get wetter with every word that falls from his lips. His hands skim up the backs of my thighs, fingers pushing deep and hard until they reach the cusp of my ass. He grips, then pulls me open, giving his friend the full view of every part of me. I feel humiliated, degraded, and somehow more treasured than ever before. He’s parading his most prized possession and, as dehumanizing as it can seem, I can’t help but find it oddly attractive. It’s entirely overwhelming, and I’m already feeling light-headed in this lust-filled smog. “Fuck, she’s perfect,” Nox says, admiring me. “You ever seen an angel leave a body?” Aero asks, gripping the lace thong and making me gasp as he rips it apart, pulling it down my thigh. “Wait until you see her face when she comes.

I was wetter than I’d ever been. In that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anybody more.

It was as wild a morning as I have ever seen. The sky presented an extraordinary appearance, being of a cold green colour, while high up masses of cirrus clouds traversed it in parallel white threads, following the direction of the wind. The lower strata of clouds seemed to have been blown right out of the heavens. We were battened down all this day, for not only spray, but solid lumps of water hurled right across the haven, and fell upon our decks. We were wetter than we had ever been at sea.

The sunshine state—aka the only place on Earth that’s hotter and wetter than the devil’s asshole.

I’m caught between trying to escape and letting him fuck me. He’s right; I grew up in pain and sickness, and now it gets me wetter than a fucking nun with her crucifix. The sadistic son of a bitch knows me too well.

From above—though it would be decades, yet, before satellites and space travel would show the world this way—the Colorado River’s watershed looks like a ragged, many-veined leaf, its stem planted firmly in the Gulf of California. In a wetter climate it might be invisible, hidden by the canopies of trees and overhanging banks of flowers and ferns. But here, in the American Southwest, the river carves and folds the landscape around it as if water holds a weight not measured in ounces. Its headwaters begin in the Wind River Range of Wyoming, a jumbled stretch of the Rocky Mountains, where cold rivulets of snowmelt wake beneath ice each spring to surge into a thunderous rush and pour into the Green River. Jotter and her companions had floated a placid stretch of the Green, 120 miles through the red rock of Utah, where the river loops and doubles back like a dawdling tourist in no hurry to reach the next vista. Earlier that day, they had reached the confluence where the Green joined another tributary known, until not long before, as the Grand. It, too, draws its headwaters from Rocky Mountains west of the Continental Divide. The Grand was shorter than the Green, but it had won the affections of a Colorado congressman named Edward Taylor. In 1921 he successfully lobbied to rename the smaller tributary after its main channel: the Colorado River. “The Grand is the father and the Green the mother, and Colorado wants the name to follow the father,” Taylor said in his persuasive speech to the U.S. House of Representatives, adding as further evidence that the Grand was a much more treacherous river than the Green, killing anyone who tried to raft it.

If I slide my hand under that dress right now, we both know what I’ll find. That your pussy is wetter than it’s ever been.

He’s right; I grew up in pain and sickness, and now it gets me wetter than a fucking nun with her crucifix. The sadistic son of a bitch knows me too well.

He took this door differently, turning the knob slowly, easing the door open, standing off to the side. The smell intensified, but even worse than that, he heard a soft, unpleasant noise, something he couldn’t identify but he instantly hated. He didn’t want to hear it, wanted to run away from it. It was a kind of card-shuffling sound, real low, lots of little sounds joined together, one after the other, but it wasn’t hard-edged like with cards. It was wetter, softer around the edges, and constant. Jordan peeked inside, his heart hammering worse than it had even when he was on the firing step, waiting for the word, for the whistles, to go over and up into the shrieking, machine-gun-drumming terror of an assault… There was a body on the narrow bed. A woman. Probably. She had been wearing a nightdress, which had been white, and was now uniformly a faded pink, and shredded into fragments. Things moved on the body. Insects, Jordan thought. Or worms. Or something…his eyes and brain couldn’t process what he was seeing. Lots of tiny things roiling across what was now just a lump of meat, the skin long since gone, half the flesh, too, and even the bones diminished, foreshortened… Eaten. Jordan choked back the bile in his throat as he worked out what he was seeing.

You have to admit, his voice gets you wetter than a cucumber in a women's prison

But then winter did what winter did: It grew darker, colder, crueler. In this case, wetter, too. Rain and ice more than snow. The wind was often biting. The skies, gray as a river-soaked corpse.

I am wetter than the bottom of a canoe right now.

But somehow marriage has also insinuated into their cozy lives this unpredictable, unmanageable, unruly creature called a man. He is likely to be bigger and louder and tougher and hungrier and dirtier than a woman expects, and she finds that bigger feet make bigger footprints on the newly washed kitchen floor; they make a bigger noise on the stairs. She learns that what makes her cry makes him laugh. He eats far more than seems necessary or even reasonable to a woman who never ceases her vigil against excess weight. When he takes a shower his broader dimensions mean more water used and a greater surface for water to cling to and therefore she finds that the towels get much wetter, and he probably doesn't hang them up folded in three as she wants him to in order to display the monogram. He may not hang them up at all. He won't use a washcloth, which means he consumes three times as much soap as she does. When she cleans the bathroom, she finds she has to clean in places she never had to clean before. He's a toothpaste twister instead of a roller. Anything he does which seems to her inexplicable or indefensible she dismisses with "Just like a man!" as though this were a condemnation or at best an excuse instead of a very good reason for thanking God. It is a man she married, after all, and she is lucky if he acts like a man.