Back Button Quotes & Sayings

I mean if someone you know pushes a button you're gonna strike back out. — Brande Roderick

She pushed the car. But I was so distracted that i forgot to push the button on the timer, so we had to do the whole thing again. Which Lindsey found hilarious. "Ok" she said. "Are you ready NOW, or do we have to send you back to Button Pushing one-oh-one?" "Um, what's Button Pushing One-oh-one?" I was wearing a button down shirt that day. Lindsey reached out and poked one of the buttons into my chest. "There, that's how you push a button. Any questions? — Jordan Sonnenblick

It's not your bra. It's our bra and I want it off." I slip it off her, pulling her against me as I rub my hands down the length of her back, then around to the button on the front of her jeans. "And I want to take off our pants."
She grins against my lips and slowly nods. "Okay, but hurry," she whispers.
"I can be quick," I assure her. "But I'll never hurry. — Colleen Hoover

Brady! You can't watch that!"
He looked up at me, his eyebrows furrowed, from his place on the floor. The remote was far away from him, next to the screen, so he couldn't have changed the channel. I snatched it up and hit the information button. "What the hell is a YoGabbaGabba?" I looked back over at Brady and frowned. "Uh, never mind. Go ahead."
Walking with purpose back into the kitchen, I whispered into the receiver. "Okay. No joke, there is a talking, dancing, bright red, studded dildo on the screen. There are other ones that look like him, and I swear to God one is wearing a condom on his head. That's a kids' show?" I looked back into the living room. "Whatever happened to good old-fashioned cartoons? Don't they have good shit like Animaniacs anymore? — Amber L. Johnson

I slip her shirt over her head and she tries to cover herself, but I move her arms out of the way and kiss up her neck while I talk about all the things that are no longer just mine.
'Will, stop.' She laughs and attempts to pull my hands away from her bra. 'You can't take off my bra, we're in our driveway. What if they come outside?'
'It's dark,' I whisper. 'And it's not your bra. It's our bra and I want it off.' I slip it off her, pulling her against me as I rub my hands down the length of her back, then around to the button on the front of her jeans. 'And I want to take off our pants. — Colleen Hoover

Now everything is available at the push of a button, and that thrill of the search is gone. With vinyl albums and special edition releases, I feel like that's coming back. — Mark Hoppus

It's like when you put instant rice pudding mix in a bowl in the microwave and push the button, and you take the cover off when it rings, and there you've got ricing pudding. I mean, what happens in between the time when you push the switch and when the microwave rings? You can't tell what's going on under the cover. Maybe the instant rice pudding first turns into macaroni gratin in the darkness when nobody's looking and only then turns back into rice pudding. We think it's only natural to get rice pudding after we put rice pudding mix in the microwave and the bell rings, but to me, that is just a presumption. I would be kind of relieved if, every once in a while, after you put rice pudding mix in the microwave and it rang and you opened the top, you got macaroni gratin. I suppose I'd be shocked, of course, but I don't know, I think I'd be kind of relieved too. Or at least I think I wouldn't be so upset, because that would feel, in some ways, a whole lot more real. — Haruki Murakami

I think a lot of things can be misconstrued in a lot of ways. And I think if people open their minds more, and they try to look deeper into something than just something that is a very big, hot, fiery button to hide behind ... I think if people looked into something bigger that I was trying to speak upon, they wouldn't be so easy to fire back silly, miscellaneous things. — Chloe Grace Moretz

There was no word for what I was - unable to rent a car but able to stand in front of a room of thirteen-year-olds, sweating under industrial-grade fluorescent lights in the lilac-colored button-down my mom had picked and paid for a few months earlier. I could knock back black coffee and tell them how to ask questions, how to sit down, how to look me in the pupils. Throw away your gum. Don't text at school, at work. Clean your desk, your apartment, your life. Lessons. — Harris Sockel

Adam's father just stood there, looking. And they sat there, looking back. Ronan was coiled and simmering, one hand resting on his door.
"Don't," said Adam.
But Ronan merely hit the window button. The tinted glass hissed down. Ronan hooked his elbow on the edge of the door and continued gazing out the window. Adam knew that Ronan was fully aware of how malevolent he could appear, and he did not soften himself as he stared across the patchy dark grass at Robert Parrish. Ronan Lynch's stare was a snake on the pavement where you wanted to walk. It was a match left on your pillow. It was pressing your lips together and tasting your own blood. — Maggie Stiefvater

By the time he climaxed, Eve was arched and her hair touched the floor. Her face was as far away from his as it could get while still having him inside her.
They panted like this for a moment, until he realized she was too ashamed to sit back up and look at him. He'd just been at the center of her loss. He'd poisoned the only place she'd ever held her baby. Beckett looked at her long, white form. He ran his hand over a fine white scar he found just under her belly button - the scar somehow he had put on her body. — Debra Anastasia

In those years before mobile phones, email and Skype, travelers depended on the rudimentary communications system known as the postcard. Other methods
the long-distance phone call, the telegram
were marked "For Emergency Use Only." So my parents waved me off into the unknown, and their news bulletins about me would have been restricted to "Yes, he's arrived safely,"and "Last time we heard he was in Oregon," and "We expect him back in a few weeks." I'm not saying this was necessarily better, let alone more character-forming; just that in my case it probably helped not to have my parents a button's touch away, spilling out anxieties and long-range weather forecasts, warning me against floods, epidemics and psychos who preyed on backpackers. — Julian Barnes

The thing that was most interesting to me was getting my first prints back from the printer and realizing photography doesn't end with the click of a button, it starts there. Printing is so exciting. — Bryan Adams

She reached around me, grabbing my Gemini from the back pocket of my jeans. She touched its share button to hers. 'There,' she said, handing the phone back to me. 'You have my number. We should be friends now. — Lauren Miller

Athena: "What makes you human? What's different about you
from every other creature out there?"
"We can think?" a boy wearing a loose button up shirt and khakis called
from the front row.
"We have emotions?" a girl asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of
her nose with her pinkie.
"We're self-aware? Like, we think about thinking and time and stuff?"
Gods, when had college kids become so uncertain? All their replies ended
with an upward lilt like they were asking a question instead of supplying
an answer.
After a couple of students gave faltering answers, I [Hades] called from the back
of the room, voice strong and certain, "They can lie."
Athena jerked her head toward me, panic flashing in her eyes as she
scanned the rows of students. When her gaze locked on mine, the color
drained from her face. "Class dismissed. — Kaitlin Bevis

The elevator doors opened on the first floor and Van Holtz was waiting there with several bags of groceries in his hands.
"Oh. You," he said. He started to walk in and, without thinking, simply reacting, Bo shoved him back out of the elevator by his head and hit the elevator button again.
"You asshole!" Bo heard as the door closed. — Shelly Laurenston

The viewer of television, the listener to radio, the reader of magazines, is presented with a whole complex of elements - all the way from ingenious rhetoric to carefully selected data and statistics - to make it easy for him to "make up his own mind" with the minimum of difficulty and effort. But the packaging is often done so effectively that the viewer, listener, or reader does not make up his own mind at all. Instead, he inserts a packaged opinion into his mind, somewhat like inserting a cassette into a cassette player. He then pushes a button and "plays back" the opinion whenever it seems appropriate to do so. He has performed acceptably without having had to think. — Mortimer J. Adler

The truth is that Leon, like a lot of those-maybe everyone-who trips on acid, never really came back. he recovered but he was never the same guy again. He had lost something-innocence of hell. Acid presses a little button in your mind that should never be pressed — Craig Ferguson

When I go to the woods now, I always head out along the brook and go straight to the big maple. I run there, like Toby must have done on that stormy night, then I bend down and crawl on the earth. Because what if there's a clue? What if there's a piece of chunky strawberry bubble gum still bundled up in its waxy wrapper, or a weather-faded matchbook, or a fallen button from somebody's big gray coat? What if buried under all those leaves is me? Not this me, but the girl in a Gunne Sax dress with the back zipper open. The girl with the best boots in the world. What if she's under there? What if she's crying? Because she will be, if I find her. Her tears tell the story of what she knows. That the past, present, and future are just one thing. That there's nowhere to go from here. Home is home is home. — Carol Rifka Brunt

President Truman had a little sign on his desk. I've always admired its philosophy. It read: THE BUCK STOPS HERE. I've envied certain people, too, the great majority of my colleagues whose sole mission in life is to attain the goal of mediocrity. They sail into a safe harbor, button up and conveniently and quietly sort their paper clips, avoiding responsibility and decisions. I can't explain, Nicole, why I was singled out and am unable to avoid conflict, but I can't run or plug my ears or close my eyes or turn my back. I often envy those who can. — Leon Uris

Raffin appeared again, a floor above her, on the balconied passageway that ran past his workrooms. He leaned over the railing and called down to her. "Kat!"
"What is it?"
"You look lost . Have you forgotten the way to your rooms?"
"I'm stalling."
"How long will you be? I'd like to show you a couple of my new discoveries."
"I've been told to make myself pretty for dinner."
He grinned. "Well in that case, you'll be ages."
His face dissolved into laughter, and she tore a button from one of her bags an hurled it at him. He squealed and dropped to the floor, and the button hit the wall right where he'd been standing. When he peeked back over the railing, she stood in the courtyard with her hands on her hips, grinning. "I missed on purpose," she said.
"Show off! Come if you have time." He waved, and turned into his rooms. — Kristin Cashore

Damn." Phineas turned the Big Boy off, then noticed he'd left the box on the bed. Damn, had Zoltan seen it? He stuffed the phallus back into the box, but must have jammed too hard, for it started wiggling again.
"Stop it." He punched a button, but it merely increased its speed, the tip spiraling in wild circles.
Damn! He watched in horror. It was like a whirlybird on steroids! How could a man compete with that? He ripped the balls off it and emptied out the batteries. "Die, you freakin' dildo, die! — Kerrelyn Sparks

Is it time for your period, or something?"
With unerring instinct, he'd found a great big red button, and pushed it. Wyatt fights to win, which means he fights dirty. I understand the concept because that's how I fight, too, but understanding it didn't stop me from reacting. I could practically feel my blood bubbling with steam. "What?"
He turned around, all controlled aggression, and damned if he didn't push the button again. "What is it about having a period that makes women so bitchy?"
... It was an effort, but I said as sweetly as possible, "It isn't that we're bitchier, it's that having a period makes us feel all tired and achy, so we have less tolerance for all the bullshit we normally SUFFER IN SILENCE." By the time the sentence ended the sweetness was long gone, my jaw was clenched, and I think my eyes were bugging out.
Wyatt took a step back, belatedly looking alarmed. — Linda Howard

The great thing about working on a genre show is that you can basically have a season finale where every character is left destroyed, and then hit the reset button and come back for the next season. — Julie Benz

Facebook provides numerous examples of variable social rewards. Logging-in reveals an endless stream of content friends have shared, comments from others, and running tallies of how many people have "liked" something (figure 21). The uncertainty of what users will find each time they visit the site creates the intrigue needed to pull them back again. While variable content gets users to keep searching for interesting tidbits in their Newsfeeds, a click of the "Like" button provides a variable reward for the content's creators. "Likes" and comments offer tribal validation for those who shared the content, and provide variable rewards that motivate them to continue posting. — Nir Eyal

By day, it was merely the Lane That Time Forgot; perfect for a bygone age when a pony and trap might have trotted merrily down to the village and back, but less suited to modern requirements and any car without a 'thin' button. — Christine Stovell

I would change policy, bring back natural grass and nickel beer. Baseball is the belly-button of our society. Straighten out baseball, and you straighten out the rest of the world. — Bill Lee

I sighed, sinking back, head filling with pleasant images; pictures Pietr floated to the surface. Kisses scorched along my face and neck. "Pietr ... "
There was a growl, and I felt fingers at the waistband of my jeans. The button opened and a hand traced along the top of my underpants.
"No," I said. The kissing resumed, harder. "Jessica." The word rumbled in someone's throat. Not Pietr's. To him, I was Jess.
"No," I insisted, trying to pry my eyes open. Something was wrong ... Not Pietr ... I pushed at the chest above me, my eyelids stinging as I willed them apart.
"Relax ... " a voice said, lips dragging along the cornerof my jaw, filling my head with honey, sticky and sweet ... — Shannon Delany

I, too, like to read. Once a month, I go to the local branch. For myself, I pick a novel and, for Bruno, with his cataracts, a book on tape. At first Bruno was doubtful. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he said, looking at the box set of "Anna Karenina" as if I'd handed him an enema. And yet. A day or two later I was going about my business when a voice from above bellowed, ALL HAPPY FAMILIES RESEMBLE ONE ANOTHER, nearly giving me a conniption. After that, he listened to whatever I'd brought him at top volume and then returned it to me without comment. One afternoon, I came back from the library with Ulysses. For a month straight he listened. He had a habit of pressing the stop button and rewinding when he hadn't fully grasped something. INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE VISIBLE: AT LEAST THAT. Pause, rewind. INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE. Pause, rewind. INELUCTABLE MODALITY. Pause. INELUCT. — Nicole Krauss

Weight is just not a hot button. In fact, during my life, it probably should have been on my radar screen a bit more. I look back at work photos and am shocked. Was I eating the people I was interviewing?! Good Lord, I was big. — Hoda Kotb

A photograph is a moment - when you press the button, it will never come back. — Rene Burri

What goes down usually goes back up, if you're willing to be patient and don't hit the panic button. — Mark Mobius

If you could use that rewind button, would you? turn things back the way they used to be? — Winna Efendi

I had a heartbreaking experience when I was 9. I always wanted to be a guard. The most wonderful girl in the world was a guard. When I got polio and then went back to school, they made me a guard. A teacher took away my guard button. — Francis Ford Coppola

And, of course, there are the perfect day, perfect moment, perfect life dreams that come sometimes and make a person hit the snooze button for hours, trying to go back to sleep and make the perfect moments last. — Ally Carter

Judge watched as five guys jumped out the disabled vehicle and headed in their direction. "Fuck," Judge bit out. Michaels stood his ground, eyeing the men like he was looking forward to taking them all on. The wild detective reached in his back pocket and with the other hand simultaneously pressed the button on the side of the handgrip, releasing the clip out of his nine like he was Will Smith in Bad Boys, efficiently replacing it with a full one and cocking the chamber. Crazy bastard. — A.E. Via

You look back and you remember the good, the bad and the ugly. — Jenson Button

We'll drive backwards
in what will become your new car
to the beach where we first slept side by side.
The green waves will go back into the ocean,
yellow and blue.
You'll pull up my underwear.
I'll button your shirt.
We'll dress and dress and dress.
Then we'll step into our footprints
and erase our trail. — Hiroshi Sugimoto And J Safran Foer

The scent of the sea and the burning asphalt being carried on the southerly wind made me think of summers past. The warmth of a girl's skin, old rock n' roll, button-down shirts right out of the wash, the smell of cigarettes smoked in the pool locker room, faint premonitions, everyone's sweet, limitless summer dreams. And then one year(when was it?), those dreams didn't come back. — Haruki Murakami

She thrusts hurriedly into your hand an extremely hot buttered roll, flashes out a tiny pair of scissors, snips off the second button of your overcoat, meaningly ejaculates the one word, "parallelogram!" and swiftly flies down a cross street, looking back fearfully over her shoulder. That — O. Henry

I'm going out for muffins." "Give me five minutes to get my shoes on." "I don't have five minutes," I said. "I have things to do. I've got the panic button. I'll be fine. I'll bring a muffin back for you. What do you want, zucchini, no fat, no sugar, extra bran?" I turned to go and Ranger scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed. "Five minutes," he said, lacing his shoes. I lay there spread-eagle, waiting for him. "Very macho," I said. He grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet. "Sometimes you try my patience. — Janet Evanovich

Do you mean the 'you're wearing my underwear' face?" he asks, moving to the second button and swishing his head back and forth as he does. — Kim Karr

I envision a day when a businesswoman will be having lunch, and then her phone will ring. When she opens it up, she will see an image of the latest Marc Jacobs coat that just arrived in stock. With a click of a button, she can purchase it and then find it waiting for her when she gets back to her office. — Natalie Massenet

JJ glared at his slumbering frame. Long legs, lethal in denim, his button fly already enticingly popped, abdomen all ridged and naked, begging for a finger or a tongue to discover the hills and valleys, dark shaggy hair spread around his head like a freaking halo on her pillow.
Well too damn bad for this broken-down angel. She was the one who'd worked her ass off until two am. Not him.
And she wanted her bed back. — Amy Andrews

But as I stood there dressed in a cute black pants suit and white button-up shirt and heels, I felt completely out of place. Not necessarily because of the clothes, but ... I just don't belong there. I can't put my finger on it, but that Monday and the rest of that week when I woke up, got dressed and walked into that store, something was itching the back part of my consciousness. I couldn't hear the actual words, but it felt like: This is your life, Camryn Bennett. This is your life. — J.A. Redmerski

With Yowza there are no games, you don't have to check in or become the mayor or go back home and redeem anything online - you will always press one button, show the coupon at the register and save money. It's as simple as that. — Greg Grunberg

Ramona stepped back into her closet, slid the door shut, pressed an imaginary button, and when her imaginary elevator had made its imaginary descent, stepped out onto the real first floor and raced a real problem. Her mother and father were leaving for Parents' Night. — Beverly Cleary

This way, princess," and he ushered me inside.
I plopped down into the enormous captain's chair, staring at a dashboard that looked like it belonged on the Starship Enterprise.
Kes pushed a button and the engine roared into life.
"I can't believe you're here," he grinned at me.
"Neither can I!"
His smile dimmed. "I've waited a long time for this," he said.
Then he leaned across, gripping the back of my head as he kissed me thoroughly. — Jane Harvey-Berrick

What if..." is my philosophy. I won't say it's plays like a broken record, no, it plays like a I hit the continuous repeat button on a one song playlist. When I see people who are pained and stressed by the world their trapped in, I ask, "What if?" and create their story about why they're constantly rolling their eyes behind their spouses back, then paste a smile when needed. We weren't born to live a life of misery, don't ever believe it. That's just not how it is, it's never to late too find your voice. Dig deep, grasp it and roar. — Eleanor O'Hara

Green gave Ruxs everything he had. He swallowed around the head of that sweet dick and dragged his teeth back up the solid shaft, making Ruxs' body tremble from the spike of pain, before he licked a return path down it. He spread his thick thighs wider, wanting a better of view of that sacred place. Green cupped Ruxs' sack and manipulated it until he could get the whole thing in his mouth. Ruxs loved it. The way he moaned and cursed the heavens told Green he'd found another hot button on his lover. But there was another spot he needed to explore. A spot deep inside. He licked Ruxs' balls, reaching up to simultaneously pinch his nipples. "Augh. Fuck you." Ruxs groaned around a chuckle. "You know that'll make me come." Green's — A.E. Via

I've given parties that have made Indian rajahs green with envy. I've had prima donnas break $10,000 engagements to come to my smallest dinners. When you were still playing button back in Ohio, I entertained on a cruising trip that was so much fun that I had to sink my yacht to make my guests go home. — F Scott Fitzgerald

and wasn't it an awful dangerous thing, a text message, because once you pressed that little send button, that was it. Like pulling a trigger of a shotgun and sending a pellet into a little rabbit's brain as he sniffed the sweet spring air. You couldn't undo it. You couldn't ever take it back. — Donal Ryan

I pray not to be such a whiny, self-obsessed baby, and give thanks that I am not quite as bad as I used to be (talk about miracles). Then something comes up, and I overreact and blame and sulk, and it feels like I haven't made any progress at all. But it turns out I'm less of a brat than before, and I hit the reset button much sooner, shake it off, and get my sense if humor back. — Anne Lamott

Isaiah opens my car door and his warm silver eyes smile at me. "Hey."
I sweep my bangs from my eyes. "Hi."
He offers his hand and I accept. His fingers wrap around mine and heat surges up my arm, flushes my neck and settles into a blush on my face. He tugs gently and I slip out. I'm not sure if my body vibrates from the rumbling of the garage door closing or from the blood pounding in my veins.
Our fingers lace together, and his other hand smoothly cups my hip. I suck in a breath, surprised that someone touches me so easily and with such care.
"You look nice," he says.
"I'm in my school uniform." White button-down blouse, maroon-and-black plaid skirt, and a pair of white Keds. Nothing spectacular.
"I know." The seductive slide in his voice causes the back of my neck to tickle. — Katie McGarry

You remember the dialogue you had with yourself, you can quote the emotion word for word, as if you're still there, as if it matters that you can map in detail the geographies of regret.

It starts with a hope and ends with a turn of the stomach: a cringe at the excuses you make for your heart, a momentary forever you remember on alternate days over coffee and novels that hit too close to home.

You cry because you know the point at which you could have turned back but didn't, could have taken time by the throat and resisted, could have ignored the phone, answered that message, said no, said yes, said nothing, smiled - whatever it is that you didn't do. But by the time that moment ends, it is over and you are in too deep, wondering why there exists no rewind button for the soul, no second chance for the petty player, no backup plan for those who risk everything on nothing, all at once. — Tania De Rozario

He parked the car, pressed the button for the roof to fold back, and undid his seat belt. "It's an emergency."
Goldilocks giggled. She unfastened her belt and hopped onto her knees. "Yes, I can see" - she glanced down at his crotch - "That we're in danger of a detonation. What's the protocol in a situation like this, Mr. Environmentalist?"
"I'm afraid I have no choice but to advocate for release. — Robin Bielman

A button clicked beneath his finger and the noise stopped, leaving only the blinking red light. I was daydreaming, he thought, not willing to admit to himself he slept in earnest. He'd been back on Melis with his children, playing in the meadow where the river bent and foamed. — David Kristoph

Last night you dreamt of a room -
a room full of fish,
and a swimming pool
where you waded knee-deep
and hauled them all in

except for one, already dead,
a large bluefish wedged
into a corner, its back stiff.

You remember it later: its eye
like a button,
a button on another person's coat. — Talvikki Ansel

All I know is that my life is filled with little pockets of silence. When I put a record on the turntable, for example, there's a little interval-between the time the needle touches down on the record and the time the music actually starts-during which my heart refuses to beat. All I know is that between the rings of the telephone, between the touch of a button and the sound of the radio coming on, between the dimming of the lights at the cinema and the start of the film, between the lightning and the thunder, between the shout and the echo, between the lifting of a baton and the opening bars of a symphony, between the dropping of a stone and the plunk that comes back from the bottom of a well, between the ringing of the doorbell and the barking of the dogs I sometimes catch myself, involuntarily, listening for the sound of my mother's voice, still waiting for the tape to begin. — Robert Hellenga

How big are souls anyway? asked Coraline.
The other mother sat down at the kitchen table and leaned against the back wall, saying nothing. She picked at her teeth with a long crimson-varnished fingernail, then she tapped the finger, gently, tap-tap-tap against the polished black surface of her black button eyes. — Neil Gaiman

Any knowledge of homosexuality I might have had would have gone back to Victorian times. All those novels. You probably skirted under my radar, because you weren't wearing hoop skirts and high button boots. — Ivan E. Coyote

When his pointer finger trailed toward my belly button, I jumped and stepped back. I was so close to the bed that my legs folded and I ended up falling onto the mattress. My shoulder screamed in protest, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out.
"I - uh ... " he said, stumbling over his words, his cheeks turning slightly pink.
I pushed up onto one elbow. "Sorry for feeling me up?" I finished for him.
He grinned. "That wasn't feeling you up. When I feel you up, you'll know it. — Cambria Hebert

How are you? How was your flight? He hit the Send button without recognizing that in writing to her he was taking a step back from his life as he knew it and into the unknown future, for one cannot embark upon the new without giving up something in return. — Jill Bialosky

You killed a buddy of mine, back at the shelter." "Yeah? What about the other three guys I killed? You didn't like them as much?" That shut him up, at least. The elevator door whispered open. Jennifer and I stepped into the cage, bathed in cherry light. The merc leaned in, swiped his keycard, and hit the button for the penthouse floor. "Bon voyage, asshole," he said — Craig Schaefer

The whiff of ocean on the southern breeze and the smell of burning asphalt brought back memories of summers past. It had seemed as though those sweet dreams of summer would last forever: the warmth of a girl's skin, an old rock 'n' roll song, freshly washed button-down shirt, the odor of cigarette smoke in a pool changing room, a fleeting premonition. Then one summer (when had it been?) the dreams had vanished, never to return. — Haruki Murakami

You know on crime shows where they put a sample in a machine, push a button, and it magics them up a description of what it is?"
"Ahh yes. I'm familiar"
"Like that, but with less magic" Amy squinted, blinked, and shook her head at the screen. "I take it back; this one might actually contain magic — Bella Bancroft

I captured her cheeks, pulling her back to my hungry mouth. Man, I couldn't get enough of her taste, of how she gave it right back to me on all fronts. Her hands went to the button on my jeans.
There was a cracking sound in the house. Most likely something had just went up in flames. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

She hit the button again, holding her breath this time until she heard it.
Soft, sibilant, as insubstantial as the breaths that came before: Shannon. The voice whispered Shannon.
The blood rushed out of her head. Her heart knocked hard in her chest. Her knees buckled and she grabbed the counter to keep from falling. She was starting to hyperventilate, had to calm it down before she was taken by a full-blown panic attack.
Paper bag. Think. Think! Drawer below the silverware, next to the sink. Over the nose and mouth. Breathe slowly, slowly.
Holding the bag against her face, Shane slid to the floor with her back against the cabinets, legs splayed, lungs heaving.
It couldn't be him. It couldn't be Jordan. Jordan was dead. — Jane Taylor Starwood

Only cowards push a button from thousands of miles away, or tens of thousands of feet up, to kill people who can't possibly fight back. — Bill Maher

Now, in every city into which I venture, uniforms rush upon me, dust dandruff from my collar, press a brochure into my hand, recite the latest weather report, pray for my soul, throw walk-shields over nearby puddles, wipe off my windshield, hold an umbrella over my head on sunny or rainy days, or shine an ultra-infra flashlight before me on cloudy ones, pick lint from my belly-button, scrub my back, shave my neck, zip up my fly, shine my shoes and smile - all before I can protest - right hand held at waist-level. What a goddamn happy place the universe would be if everyone wore uniforms that glinted and crinkled. Then we'd all have to smile at each other. — Roger Zelazny

Men don't feel the urge to get married as quickly as women do because their clothes all button and zip in the front. Women's dresses usually button and zip in the back. We need men emotionally and sexually, but we also need men to help us get dressed. — Rita Rudner

Gotten a good look at her face. But they didn't recognize her as Stark's cohort. They must not have been big on reading blogs or watching the news. Deirdre took the camera. "Sure. Where's the button?" He quickly showed her how to operate it, and Deirdre stepped back to get both of them in the frame. The camera had a telephoto lens. She aimed it at the top of the building, zooming in so that she could look at the skeletal upper levels, where they were preparing to moor a visiting dirigible. With such fantastic zoom, she could see that there were OPA guards in black suits waiting to receive the airship. — S.M. Reine

The brain has an attentional mode called the "mind wandering mode" that was only recently identified. This is when thoughts move seamlessly from one to another, often to unrelated thoughts, without you controlling where they go. This brain state acts as a neural reset button, allowing us to come back to our work with a refreshed perspective. Different people find they enter this mode in different ways: reading, a walk in nature, looking at art, meditating, and napping. A 15-minute nap can produce the equivalent of a 10-point boost in IQ. — Daniel Levitin

I want to push the fast-forward button until I get back to happy. — Terry McMillan

She was very ugly - the ugliest person you ever saw in your life! Her hair was scraped into a bun, sticking straight out at the back of her head like a teapot handle; and her face was round and wrinkly, and she had eyes like two little black boot-buttons. And her nose! - she had a nose like two potatoes. She wore a rusty black dress right up to the top of her neck and right down to her button boots, and a rusty black jacket and a rusty black bonnet, all trimmed with trembly black jet, with her teapot-handled of a bun sticky out at the back. And she carried a small brown case and a large black stick, and she had a very fierce expression indeed on her wrinkly, round, brown face.
But what you noticed most of all was that she had one huge front Tooth, sticking right out like a tombstone over her lower lip. You never, in the whole of your life, ever saw such a Tooth! — Christianna Brand

So the next time a salesman gives you a free gift or consultation, or makes a concession of any sort, duck. Don't let him press your reciprocity button. The best way out, Cialdini advises, is to fight reciprocity with reciprocity. If you can reappraise the salesman's move for what it is - an effort to exploit you - you'll feel entitled to exploit him right back. Accept the gift or concession with a feeling of victory - you are exploiting an exploiter - not mindless obligation. — Jonathan Haidt

Then his lips caress mine. It's only a brush, but the warmth overheats every part of me. Leaning back, my elbow bumps into the power button on the dryer and the old appliance starts moving. Spinning. Spinning like my head. Like my heart. — Lauren Hammond

(Back is the most-used button in Web browsers.) — Steve Krug

Even rocket science ain't rocket science nowadays. Not compared to negotiating a relationship anyway. Now why don't they teach you the equations for THAT at college eh? "Oh, just close your eyes, and aim in the general direction. If you get into trouble just press this button which will lower a bottle of The Macallan into your hand and eject your brain clean out of your skull. You'll parachute safely back to earth and definitely will not end up in a screaming mass of smoking hot twisted metal on a hillside somewhere. — Andre The BFG

His fingers went to the buttons of his jacket, and her mouth dried. His buttons were simple cloth and metal affairs, scarcely worth a second thought. And yet as he undid them, she had second thoughts and third thoughts, none of them proper. His gloved fingers were long and graceful, and every button he undid revealed another inch of creamy linen, one that hinted at broad shoulders and strong muscles.
He'd not shown her the slightest bit of skin, but the act of unbuttoning his coat sparked indecent thoughts - memories of his arm coming around her, his mouth on hers ...
He stopped undoing buttons, and she realized he'd only wanted to reach the inside pocket. She sat back in disappointment. — Courtney Milan

I'm going to be like Benjamin Button; I'm just going to grow younger. I will probably be happy, fat, with kids and looking back and thinking, 'I was such a angry young woman.' — Lykke Li

Some things are governed by common sense. Putting buttons on the front of a shirt is a matter of logic, since it would be very difficult to button them up at the side, and impossible if they were at the back.
Other things, however, become fixed because more and more people believe that's the way they should be. I'll give you two examples. Have you ever wondered why the keys on a typewriter are arranged in that particular order? — Paulo Coelho

They leave things behind sometimes, the guests. A bottle of scent. A crumpled handkerchief. A pearl button that fell off a dress and rolled under a bed. And sometimes they leave other sorts of things. Things you can't see. A sigh trapped in a corner. Memories tangled in the curtains. A sob fluttering against the windowpane like a bird that flew in and can't get back out. I can feel these things. They dart and crouch and whisper. — Jennifer Donnelly

Some people, I am told, have memories like computers, nothing to do but punch the button and wait for the print-out. Mine is more like a Japanese library of the old style, without a card file or an indexing system or any systematic shelf plan. Nobody knows where anything is except the old geezer in felt slippers who has been shuffling up and down those stacks for sixty-nine years. When you hand him a problem he doesn't come back with a cartful and dump it before you, a jackpot of instant retrieval. He finds one thing, which reminds him of another, which leads him off to the annex, which directs him to the east wing, which sends him back two tiers from where he started. Bit by bit he finds you what you want, but like his boss who seems to be under pressure to examine his life, he takes his time. — Wallace Stegner

If she'd had any doubts he was a real deal country boy, they disappeared when he unabashedly stripped down to nothing - the sun had kissed his arms to mid-bicep, although his torso wasn't without a faint tan. She'd thought lazily that maybe he had a pond. She'd like to go skinny dipping with him. Leap onto his back and wrap her legs around his lean hips. Hold on to his broad shoulders and press her naked breasts into his back and drift into the cool water together.
As he opened his button-fly jeans, revealing snug briefs underneath, she'd whispered for him to stop. He was hard and sinewy in all the right places, with shadows and valleys she wanted to explore with her mouth and hands and eyes, but her touch first went to the line where dark faded to light on his arm, neatly following the curve of his muscles. Nice farmer's tan. — Zoe York

There were so many places in my time with Rogerson that I wished I could go back to, hitting the stop button at just one moment to stop everything that came after. I had so many If Onlys, but each place I thought to stop meant missing something that came later. I needed it all, in the end, to make my own story find its finish. — Sarah Dessen

not a portal back to Danville. He pressed the button again and again — Megan E. Bryant

Eventually she came. She appeared suddenly, exactly like she'd done that day- she stepped into the sunshine, she jumped, she laughed and threw her head back, so her long ponytail nearly grazed the waistband of her jeans.
After that, I couldn't think about anything else. The mole on the inside of her right elbow, like a dark blot of ink. The way she ripped her nails to shreds when she was nervous. Her eyes, deep as a promise. Her stomach, pale and soft and gorgeous, and the tiny dark cavity of her belly button.
I nearly went crazy. — Lauren Oliver

What a dolt my father sends me for weaponry," Paul intoned. "This doltish Gurney Halleck has forgotten the first lesson for a fighting man armed and shielded." Paul snapped the force button at his waist, felt the crinkled-skin tingling of the defensive field at his forehead and down his back, heard external sounds take on characteristic shield-filtered flatness. "In shield fighting, one moves fast on defense, slow on attack," Paul said. "Attack has the sole purpose of tricking the opponent into a misstep, setting him up for the attack sinister. The shield turns the fast blow, admits the slow kindjal!" Paul snapped up the rapier, feinted fast and whipped it back for a slow thrust timed to enter a shield's mindless defenses. — Frank Herbert

If you crank the pedantry and purism up, the Web is about URIs and REST. If you crank the controversy down, the Web is about using HTTP for your network traffic. And if you ask an actual non-geek human, the Web means there are links and forms and a "Back" button. — Tim Bray

Arduous, adj.
Sometimes during sex, I wish there was a button on the small of your back that I could press and cause you to be done with it already. — David Levithan

When I walked out again I could hear Toby at the foot of the stairs, calling up to me, undoubtedly prevented from ascending by Miss Kilnside.

"What do you want?" I shouted down the stairs.

"Will you come and talk to me, please?" he called back.

"Why should I?" I asked.

"Because I fucking love you!" he shouted, and I heard Miss Kilnside sharply rebuff him for his language, but after that I could hear nothing because I'd slammed the door of my room behind me.

The rag doll was lying on my pillow, staring up at me through her one button eye, glaring at me. I picked it up and threw it against the wall with all the force I could muster; it fell behind the radiator.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed at it, or me; I couldn't tell. — A.J. Mullarky

Grip had been hungry ever since the first youthful spots on his sheets. Wanting to try what others only fantasized about, finding his way to the fearless ones who laughed back, the ones who also wanted it. Games with new positions had started before the end of adolescence. Later: bruises, leather straps, and candles - anything that excited - on airplanes, in hotel elevators with the emergency stop button pushed. — Robert Karjel

We go outside.
We rake the leaves.
We pile them way up high.
We jump on top.
We toss them up and watch the colors fly.
What can we do with all these leaves?
I know. I have a plan.
We run inside and find old clothes.
We'll make a pumpkin man.
We button all the buttons.
We tie up legs and sleeves.
We fill and stuff the body with lots of crunchy leaves.
We give him gloves.
We give him boots.
We're having so much fun.
It's time to pick a pumpkin head.
We'll find the nicest one.
Some are short and some are tall.
Some are bumpy.
Some are small.
We look around the pumpkin patch.
We find the best of all!
We cut the top to get inside.
We scoop out all the seeds.
We draw a face and cut it out.
A light is all it needs.
We go outside at sunset, put the pumpkin head in place.
Our pumpkin man smiles back at us with a happy, glowing face. — Judith Moffatt