Plump Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
the-best-way-to-avoid-danger-is-to-meet-it-plump
i-am-careful-with-what-i-eat-because-thats-my-job-if-i-had-to-plump-up-for-role-i-would-do-it
the-way-his-plump-hand-clutched-at-her-hip-seemed-somehow-improper-not-morally-aesthetically-truman-capote
whenever-cannibals-are-on-the-brink-of-starvation-heaven-in-its-infinite-mercy-sends-them-a-nice-plump-missionary
a-man-i-knew-who-lived-upon-smile-and-well-it-fed-him-he-lookd-plump-fair-while-rankest-venom-foamd-through-every-vein-edward-young
climbing-is-definitely-much-strength-to-weight-ratio-at-same-time-ive-never-dieted-restricted-calories-youre-just-sort-mindful-about-not-getting-plump
oui-dans-mon-rve-jtais-un-crayon-mais-admittedly-id-more-suitably-be-characterized-as-plump-carrot
stately-plump-buck-mulligan-came-from-stairhead-bearing-bowl-lather-on-which-mirror-razor-lay-crossed-james-joyce
she-was-plump-with-dyed-red-hair-face-caked-with-cosmetics-that-floor-amazon-jungle-probably-saw-more-natural-light-john-connolly
i-know-my-breasts-small-as-plums-would-win-no-blue-ribbons-but-in-your-hands-they-tremble-fill-with-song-like-plump-white-birds-cecilia-llompart
gleaming-skin-plump-elongated-shape-eggplant-is-vegetable-youd-want-to-caress-with-your-eyes-fingers-even-if-you-didnt-know-its-luscious-flavor-roger-verge
may-your-stuffing-be-tasty-may-your-turkey-plump-may-your-potatoes-gravy-have-nary-lump-may-your-yams-be-delicious-and-your-pies-take-prize-and-may-grandpa-jones
the-drama-bug-strikes-hardest-with-jews-homosexuals-plump-women-who-wear-their-hair-in-bangs-these-are-people-who-for-one-reason-another-desperately-david-sedaris
i-say-what-other-people-only-think-when-all-rest-world-is-in-conspiracy-to-accept-mask-for-true-face-mine-is-rash-hand-that-tears-off-plump-pasteboard-shows-bare-bones-beneath-wi
when-fear-cold-make-statue-you-in-your-bed-dont-expect-hardboned-fleshless-truth-to-come-running-to-your-aid-what-you-need-are-plump-comforts-story-the-soothing-rocking-safety-li
no-amount-wavy-blond-hair-nor-evenings-spent-with-her-plump-lips-applying-just-right-amount-pressure-to-his-various-pleasure-points-could-make-up-for-rotting-carcass-soul-that-re
biting-plump-bottom-lip-i-stare-into-endless-irises-open-poised-over-my-own-sliding-my-hand-up-her-thigh-under-her-gown-i-pull-her-closer-with-hand-cupping-her-hipbone-releasing-
fred-you-next-plump-woman-said-im-not-fred-im-george-said-boy-honestly-woman-you-call-yourself-our-mother-cant-you-tell-im-george-sorry-george-dear-only-joking-i-am-fred-said-boy
Ma was heavy, but not fat; thick with child-bearing and work. She wore a loose Mother Hubbard of gray cloth in which there had once been colored flowers, but the color was washed out now, so that the small flowered pattern was only a little lighter gray than the background. The dress came down to her ankles, and he strong, broad, bare feet moved quickly and deftly over the floor. Her thin, steel-gray hair was gathered in a sparse wispy knot at the back of her head. Strong, freckled arms were bare to the elbow, and her hands were chubby and delicate, like those of a plump little girl. She looked out into the sunshine. Her full face was not soft; it was controlled, kindly. Her hazel eyes seemed to have experienced all possible tragedy and to have mounted pain and suffering like steps into a high calm and a superhuman understanding. She seemed to know, to accept, to welcome her position, the citadel of the family, the strong place that could not be taken. And since old Tom and the children could not know hurt or fear unless she acknowledged hurt and fear, she had practiced denying them in herself. And since, when a joyful thing happened, they looked to see whether joy was on her, it was her habit to build up laughter out of inadequate materials. But better than joy was calm. Imperturbability could be depended upon. And from her great and humble position in the family she had taken dignity and a clean calm beauty. From her position as healer, her hands had grown sure and cool and quiet; from her position as arbiter she had become as remote and faultless in judgment as a goddess. She seemed to know that if she swayed the family shook, and if she ever really deeply wavered or despaired the family would fall, the family will to function would be gone.

John Steinbeck
ma-was-heavy-but-not-fat-thick-with-childbearing-work-she-wore-loose-mother-hubbard-gray-cloth-in-which-there-had-once-been-colored-flowers-but-color-was-washed-out-now-that-smal
In all your Amours you should prefer old Women to young ones. You call this a Paradox, and demand my Reasons. They are these: 1. Because as they have more Knowledge of the World and their Minds are better stor'd with Observations, their Conversation is more improving and more lastingly agreable. 2. Because when Women cease to be handsome, they study to be good. To maintain their Influence over Men, they supply the Diminution of Beauty by an Augmentation of Utility. They learn to do a 1000 Services small and great, and are the most tender and useful of all Friends when you are sick. Thus they continue amiable. And hence there is hardly such a thing to be found as an old Woman who is not a good Woman. 3. Because there is no hazard of Children, which irregularly produc'd may be attended with much Inconvenience. 4. Because thro' more Experience, they are more prudent and discreet in conducting an Intrigue to prevent Suspicion. The Commerce with them is therefore safer with regard to your Reputation. And with regard to theirs, if the Affair should happen to be known, considerate People might be rather inclin'd to excuse an old Woman who would kindly take care of a young Man, form his Manners by her good Counsels, and prevent his ruining his Health and Fortune among mercenary Prostitutes. 5. Because in every Animal that walks upright, the Deficiency of the Fluids that fill the Muscles appears first in the highest Part: The Face first grows lank and wrinkled; then the Neck; then the Breast and Arms; the lower Parts continuing to the last as plump as ever: So that covering all above with a Basket, and regarding only what is below the Girdle, it is impossible of two Women to know an old from a young one. And as in the dark all Cats are grey, the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every Knack being by Practice capable of Improvement. 6. Because the Sin is less. The debauching a Virgin may be her Ruin, and make her for Life unhappy. 7. Because the Compunction is less. The having made a young Girl miserable may give you frequent bitter Reflections; none of which can attend the making an old Woman happy. 8thly and Lastly They are so grateful!!

Benjamin Franklin
in-all-your-amours-you-should-prefer-old-women-to-young-ones-you-call-this-paradox-demand-my-reasons-they-are-these-1-because-as-they-have-more-knowledge-world-their-minds-are-be
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blixen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the housetop the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too- And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight- 'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Clement C. Moore
twas-night-before-christmas-when-all-through-house-not-creature-was-stirring-not-even-mouse-the-stockings-were-hung-by-chimney-with-care-in-hopes-that-st-nicholas-soon-would-be-t
The car drove slowly down the road, following the slow speed limit to a tee. The engine hummed almost inaudibly to the couple so used to the sound; it was practically a lullaby. The man and woman in the two front seats both struggled to keep their drooping eyes open. The man concentrated hard, with the cool air from the vents blowing on his face. Being behind the wheel of a car was always a challenge after driving for hours. The twig of a girl curled up next to him rested her black and teal hair against the window, peering out into the jet-black night. She watched the city lights pass by, so much brighter than usual against the dark sky. She read the sign that passed by ever so slowly, and smiled slightly. 'Welcome to the town of Crimson, ' she mumbled in a scratchy voice. She wasn't so excited, but at least that meant she could stretch her cramped legs soon. 'I know you don't like the idea of moving, but you'll get used to it. I promise, in a couple of weeks you'll like it here, ' the man's deep voice said, crackling with fatigue. 'I hope so, ' she mumbled. 'Hey, I promise, ' he assured her. 'Alright, ' she said, passively. She glanced over at him and gave him a small smile, taking in his details. His hair was naturally black, and the tips were red, thanks to her suggestion, and it reached down to his jaw. His sleepy eyes were green, contrasting with his pale skin. His nose was thin and rounded, but not too thin, and his chin came to a smooth point. His lips were plump and decorated with snakebite piercings. She eyed the rest of him, then, from his beautiful face, down his thin frame, over the black clothes he wore, to his thin wrists; the left covered in a tribal tattoo. He smiled back, and caressed her smooth, pale cheek lightly with his thumb. She smiled again, and looked out the window once more. She watched the town pass by agonizingly slow. At least she could take in the details. The town looked like it had come straight from the Renaissance, but modernized. Instead of candles, they of course had light bulbs. She found it kind of eerie, yet nice. The town was so active, and alive. Everyone was out, and going about their business. They seemed friendly, too. Some of them waved as the car passed by. She smiled, amused, and looked at the clock. 'Wow, this town is so active, for being 3 in the morning! You would think they'd all be sleeping, ' she said. 'We're not, ' he told her. 'They didn't travel hours to get here, ' she replied. 'Yeah, yeah, ' he said in defeat. 'We're almost there, ' he added, with an ear-to-ear grin. She knew he was excited, and suddenly she was too. She hadn't been, but she suddenly felt like she was on an adventure, and was totally psyched. She sat up with a grin almost as big as her husband's, and peered out the window into the night. He let out a soft laugh. 'You're cute, ' he told her, eyeing her up and down. She was more pale than he was, but it suited her well. Her entire frame was thin, and her face was oval. Her eyes were blue and held the look of excitement. Her eyebrows were naturally thin and the right one was pierced. Her nose was small and pointed, and she had a shiny ring through her septum. He found her the most beautiful creature in the world.

Dawn Bonney
the-car-drove-slowly-down-road-following-slow-speed-limit-to-tee-the-engine-hummed-almost-inaudibly-to-couple-used-to-sound-it-was-practically-lullaby-the-man-woman-in-two-front-
Ultimately, the roast turkey must be regarded as a monument to Boomer's love. Look at it now, plump and glossy, floating across Idaho as if it were a mammoth, mutated seed pod. Hear how it backfires as it passes the silver mines, perhaps in tribute to the origin of the knives and forks of splendid sterling that a roast turkey and a roast turkey alone possesses the charisma to draw forth into festivity from dark cupboards. See how it glides through the potato fields, familiarly at home among potatoes but with an air of expectation, as if waiting for the flood of gravy. The roast turkey carries with it, in its chubby hold, a sizable portion of our primitive and pagan luggage. Primitive and pagan? Us? We of the laser, we of the microchip, we of the Union Theological Seminary and Time magazine? Of course. At least twice a year, do not millions upon millions of us cybernetic Christians and fax machine Jews participate in a ritual, a highly stylized ceremony that takes place around a large dead bird? And is not this animal sacrificed, as in days of yore, to catch the attention of a divine spirit, to show gratitude for blessings bestowed, and to petition for blessings coveted? The turkey, slain, slowly cooked over our gas or electric fires, is the central figure at our holy feast. It is the totem animal that brings our tribe together. And because it is an awkward, intractable creature, the serving of it establishes and reinforces the tribal hierarchy. There are but two legs, two wings, a certain amount of white meat, a given quantity of dark. Who gets which piece; who, in fact, slices the bird and distributes its limbs and organs, underscores quite emphatically the rank of each member in the gathering. Consider that the legs of this bird are called 'drumsticks, ' after the ritual objects employed to extract the music from the most aboriginal and sacred of instruments. Our ancestors, kept their drums in public, but the sticks, being more actively magical, usually were stored in places known only to the shaman, the medicine man, the high priest, of the Wise Old Woman. The wing of the fowl gives symbolic flight to the soul, but with the drumstick is evoked the best of the pulse of the heart of the universe. Few of us nowadays participate in the actual hunting and killing of the turkey, but almost all of us watch, frequently with deep emotion, the reenactment of those events. We watch it on TV sets immediately before the communal meal. For what are footballs if not metaphorical turkeys, flying up and down a meadow? And what is a touchdown if not a kill, achieved by one or the other of two opposing tribes? To our applause, great young hungers from Alabama or Notre Dame slay the bird. Then, the Wise Old Woman, in the guise of Grandma, calls us to the table, where we, pretending to be no longer primitive, systematically rip the bird asunder. Was Boomer Petaway aware of the totemic implications when, to impress his beloved, he fabricated an outsize Thanksgiving centerpiece? No, not consciously. If and when the last veil dropped, he might comprehend what he had wrought. For the present, however, he was as ignorant as Can o' Beans, Spoon, and Dirty Sock were, before Painted Stick and Conch Shell drew their attention to similar affairs. Nevertheless, it was Boomer who piloted the gobble-stilled butterball across Idaho, who negotiated it through the natural carving knives of the Sawtooth Mountains, who once or twice parked it in wilderness rest stops, causing adjacent flora to assume the appearance of parsley.

Tom Robbins
ultimately-roast-turkey-must-be-regarded-as-monument-to-boomers-love-look-at-it-now-plump-glossy-floating-across-idaho-as-if-it-were-mammoth-mutated-seed-pod-hear-how-it-backfire
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