Baby Shirt Quotes & Sayings

Proud families spend fortunes on a one-day wedding ceremony for a marriage that may or may not last, while on the same day, in the same village, people are dying of starvation. A tourist makes a show of giving a ten-dollar tip to the doorman for pushing a revolving door, and the next minute he's bargaining for a five-dollar T-shirt from a vendor who is trying to support her baby and family. — Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse

The big budget films have money to do things that are not necessarily essential but sure are comforting. The catering is usually much better. And you have way more of anything you could possibly need. You definitely get a trailer. My shirt and suit for 'Million Dollar Baby' were tailor made. — Mike Colter

Then there was Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave Leo the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger, and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair struck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he'd stared into the depths of Tartarus - which he had. — Rick Riordan

OHYEAHHHH!!!OHYEAH!!LOL ITS T-SHIRT TIIME..LOL.HAAHHAAHAHA.IM SO SO MISSING MY BABY LOL.GROUNDED FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE...LOL.ILU BABYBOY.... — Babygirl Daniels

Danse Russe If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,
if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely. I was born to be lonely, I am best so!" If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,
Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household? — William Carlos Williams

BABY BOY, FASHION IS NOT FOR ADVERTISING YOUR FAVE SEX ACTS ON YOUR SHIRT. UNH-UNH, NO IT'S NOT ! — Lauren Weisberger

You're shirtless with the world's sweetest baby cuddled on those muscles. Put a shirt on, you beast, or I can't be held responsible for my actions. — Christina Lauren

The baby closed its mouth, staring at him with hope and small hiccups.
"Jesus," he said. He lay down on the bed, pulling the pillow under his head, and drew the whole bundle of coat, shawl and infant up against his shirt. A tiny hand closed tight on the lace. One sob erupted, and then changed midbreath to a soft sigh.
Women, he thought sardonically, sinking in the bedclothes, with sleep revolving and closing in his head. He moved one finger, feeling a cheek as soft as down.
What's your name?
Ask the girl. Remember that ...
Maddy ...
It was wrong. I must leave thee now.
Don't cry. Don't cry, little girl ... I'm so tired. I never deserved you, did I? Maddy ... but I loved you.
I always loved you. — Laura Kinsale

Noticing Cooper watching me, I paused mid-chew.
"You really are happy, aren't you, baby?"
"Yes," I said, stroking his shirt and feeling giddy. I'd never imagined I would share anything like this day with anyone, let alone someone as beautiful as Cooper. "Are you happy?"
"If you're happy, I'm happy. That's how men are. They like when their women are content."
"Did your dad tell you that?"
"Oh, yeah. Pop hasn't stayed married all these years by being a fool. — Bijou Hunter

Maybe we should get a puppy since you love the fish so much," she says, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.
The container of fish food falls to the floor, and my dick twitches.
"Maybe you should have my baby."
Ella bites her bottom lip, exposing her left breast and shoulder. "Maybe you should put your baby inside of me. — Mary Elizabeth

Mommy set the phone aside as Liam whined and plucked at her shirt. "Are you hungry?" she asked gently. He nodded. "I can't nurse you when you're like this, sweetheart, not with all of those razor-sharp teeth."
That was the saddest thing he had ever heard in his whole life. He lifted his head and looked at her, grief stricken. — Thea Harrison

Eva and I walked downstairs, and I was definitely not prepared for what I saw. Jason was on top of the kitchen table in nothing but his boxers, swinging his shirt around his head. He was singing something, but I couldn't make out the words. I laughed, my hand shooting to my mouth as I watched Tyler try to coax him down while Eva picked up the clothes that were strewn all over the floor.
"Evaaaa, why don't you come up here and strip with me, just like you did the other night! Come on, baby!" he said, swinging his hips as if he were dancing to music that we could all hear.
Eva slapped her palm to her forehead, and Charlotte laughed hard.
When Jason touched the waistband of his boxers, I closed my eyes as I and everyone around me screamed, "No! — Alexandria Rhodes

Then, without really realizing it, I start to think of one thing I did wrong for each tree I look at. Wide oak - I didn't tell anyone when Ingrid cut herself. Baby oak - the time I told her I was getting sick of hearing about Jayson's arms and his blue shirt. Tall tree with bare branches - the way I would leave when she got depressed and stopped talking. I should have stayed. I should have just sat quietly , so she knew I was with her. — Nina LaCour

Everyone in yuppie-land - airports, for example - looks like a nursing baby these days, inseparable from their plastic bottles of water. Here, however, I sweat without replacement or pause, not in individual drops but in continuous sheets of fluid soaking through my polo shirt, pouring down the backs of my legs ... Working my way through the living room(s), I wonder if Mrs. W. will ever have occasion to realize that every single doodad and objet through which she expresses her unique, individual self is, from another vantage point, only an obstacle between some thirsty person and a glass of water. — Barbara Ehrenreich

Leah's baby was nestled protectively in the crook of Devon's arm.
In the golden firelight, his expression appeared grim. The neck of his shirt was open, the sleeves rolled up. With a soft gasp of mother love, Leah reached for her child. But Devon's deep, silky voice stopped her.
"Who is the baby's father? And do you love him?"
She froze. Her mouth went dry. Her heart pounded in her chest.
He waited. — Cathy Maxwell

He closed the distance another tight inch. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her nipples were hard little points stabbing out of the scarlet material, begging to be freed. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her perfume swamped his senses. He grew hard, and her eyes widened as his full length throbbed against her leg in demand.
"I'm calling your bluff, baby."
Pure shock registered on her face as he removed one hand from the wall to casually unbutton his shirt, slide off his tie, then grasp her chin with a firm grip.
"Prove it."
He stamped his mouth over hers, not giving her a chance to think or back off or push him away. He invaded her mouth, plunging his tongue inside the slick, silky cave, then closed his lips around the wet flesh and sucked hard.
She grabbed for his shoulders, and made a little moan deep in her throat.
Then she exploded. — Jennifer Probst

I gotta lose weight. I got stretch marks on my stomach and I never had a baby. So now when I take off my shirt in front of women, I tell them I was attacked by a mountain lion. — Felipe Esparza

Harlow exhaled. "And you're not wearing the On the Prowl for my Next Baby Daddy shirt?" That got a laugh out of me. "God, I love that shirt. Talk about a surefire way to keep the boys and their come-ons at bay ... " I had to glance down to remember which tee I'd slid into to ensure the guys kept their distance. Ah, classic. No Daddy Issues or Low Self-Esteem Here. "Do — Nicole Williams

You must be desperate if you're asking Mom for adivce. Did she sit you down on the couch ?"
"I'm not a patient of hers, asswipe. I'm her favorite son." Derrick ignored Gage's huff. The little snot. (...)
"Favorite, my ass. She pities you. Gage is nothing more than a baby-maker. I'm the favorite." Dylan preened, pulling at the cuffs on his designer shirt. "Culture, charm, good looks and a real occupation. What's not to love — Marie Harte

I think I'm an abstinence symbol. If I take my shirt off, people will not have babies. — Jesse Eisenberg

Valuables. That was a hot one, Richards thought, unbuttoning his shirt. He had an empty wallet with a few pictures of Sheila and Cathy, a receipt for a shoe sole he had replaced at the local cobbler's six months ago, a keyring with no keys on it except for the doorkey, a baby sock that he did not remember putting in there, and the package of Blams he had gotten from the machine. — Stephen King

But it felt good to cry, to let her shoulders shake, to feel the hot tears on her face, to taste their baby salt, to wipe snot all over the underside of her shirt. — Dave Eggers

Usually, Marilyn Norton loved the hot weather, but she was having a tough time with it, nine months pregnant, with her due date in two days. She was expecting her second child, another boy, and he was going to be a big one. She could hardly move in the heat, and her ankles and feet were so swollen that all she had been able to get her feet into were rubber flip-flops. She was wearing huge white shorts that were too tight on her now, and a white T-shirt of her husband's that outlined her belly. She had nothing left to wear that still fit, but the baby would arrive soon. She was just glad that she had made it to the first day of school with Billy. He had been nervous about his new school, and she wanted to be there with him. — Danielle Steel

Mac [Barnett] and I prank each other during our presentation. We show baby pictures of each other looking completely ridiculous. I can't believe the frilly shirt that I'm in, and Mac's wearing a sailor suit and playing a toy piano. That's a perfect example of a good prank, where we have three hundred people literally laughing in our faces, three hundred kids at every assembly. And it feels really good. It's really fun. — Jory John

He looked nearly inconspicuous, a handsome man in faded Levi's and tennis shoes. A Yankees baseball cap covered his dark hair, the bill shadowing his features. Casual. Beautiful. A day's growth of beard on his jaw did little to detract from his excruciating attractiveness.
"She's eight months old, but she knows how to flirt," the baby's mother said. "Let go of the nice man's shirt, Gabbi." She dislodged the child's hand, then told Adrian, "I'm sorry. She must like the colors on your T-shirt."
Eight-month-old Gabbi's big blue eyes were fixed on Adrian's face, not on his T-shirt. Billie released a shaky breath. Good God. Even babies weren't immune. — Shelby Reed

Dressing, I chose the second shirt, the one softened in the mouth of a trained and perfumed albino hippopotamus and made entirely of pigeon's wool, because it goes better with the shoes than the one stitched with baby hair. — Nick Harkaway

Baby, where we're going, you won't need a shirt. — Vernon D. Burns

I pressed forward, pushing my body along hers, and wrapped my arms around her waist. Some of the intensity of my anger dissipated and drained away. After a very long, steamy kiss, I broke away, breathing hard.
Rimmel's head collapsed against the wall and she stared up at me with unfocused hazel eyes. The flecks of color in the center were green today. "Romeo," she gasped.
I pulled back enough so I could lift her arm and grasp her fingers. She made a sound of protest when I pushed back the material of the shirt once more and stared down at the dark blotches marring her skin.
"How were you going to explain this to me?" I rumbled.
"I wasn't going to lie, it that's what you're implying," she snapped.
"Ah, baby." I groaned and lifted her wrist to press my lips to the marks. "I'm being a jerk."
"You said it ... " She agreed, letting the rest of her sentence fall away.
I smiled against her skin and then kissed her inner wrist once more. — Cambria Hebert

Leave your brother alone, baby girl. He's going adventuring. Lucky bastard." His dad dragged him into a bear proportioned hug. "Bring me back some images of the local ladies. Naked ones if you can," he whispered. "You'd need eyes to look at those, Geoffrey," his mother retorted. While they argued about his dad's interest in the human body as art, Naomi clutched his tear soaked shirt in her fists and shook him. "Be careful." "Aren't I always?" "No. — Eve Langlais

He wasn't supposed to feel this way. He didn't even want to feel the way he did for the dog, for Creampuff
Goddamnit
Goddamnit
"Goddamnit!" he snarled. Ginger blinked. Incredulous he explained: "They took my dog, Ginger. They stole my terrier." He popped each of his knuckles. "They didn't just abandon me after I got them through, after I kept them alive. They rubbed salt on my wound while they pissed in my eyes. I can't believe they stole my dog."
Coburn grabbed the kid by his all too-clean shirt and shook him like a baby. "Listen. You're going to drive me to go get Creampuff, my terrier ... — Chuck Wendig

Paris answered for him. "Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again."
"I'm surprised you didn't mention the part where you fainted," Lucien said wryly.
Strider chortled. "Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby!"
"Hey," Paris said, frowning at Lucien. "I told you I hit my head midflash."
Lucien — Gena Showalter

You should have worn a baby pink t-shirt on which a child sucks his thumb. That would have given you the required juvenile look.

~ Subhangi Tyagi — Kirtida Gautam

He sat her on the edge of the bed then stood in front of her. When he stripped off his shirt, her jaw dropped.

Dear. God.

Ropes of corded muscles, hard lines of strength, sex, and everything in between covered his body. He had some chest hair, enough to enhance the beauty of his ink, but not too much.

And, sweet baby Jesus, his ink. — Carrie Ann Ryan

When Mrs. Keane whispered, between contractions, that the baby was coming at least six weeks too soon, he shook his head and clucked his tongue, lifting the wet dish towel from her forehead and refolding it and then touching it gently to her cheeks. The dampness, and the perspiration, had darkened her hair and the pain had brought some color to her face. There was all about her a not unpleasant odor of oatmeal or wheat. He knelt beside the couch. When he leaned away, his T-shirt was wet with the amniotic fluid that had soaked her dress and the cushion beneath her. Her knees were already raised, her pale legs bare, and he asked, gently, if she would like him to check what was going on. She nodded and when the contraction had passed, added, "Modesty is always the first thing to go. — Alice McDermott