D Bags Quotes & Sayings

The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab. We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers ... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls ... Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. — Hunter S. Thompson

Of a new-era'd nation that looked out for Uno, of a one-time World Policeman that was now going to retire and have its blue uniform deep-dry-cleaned and placed in storage in triple-thick plastic dry-cleaning bags and hang up its cuffs to spend some quality domestic time raking its lawn and cleaning its refrigerator and dandling its freshly bathed kids on its neatly pressed mufti-pants' knee. — David Foster Wallace

And if there's one thing in this world I've ever known for sure, it's that this girl is gonna crush me like a small bug, leave me so fucking broken there'll be body bags beneath my eyes from nights I cried so hard the stars died. But I'm like, go ahead. I'm all yours. I would kiss you in the middle of the ocean during a lightning storm, cause I'd rather be left for dead than left to wonder what thunder sounds like. — Andrea Gibson

Though she'd try to do otherwise, she had never been able to stop cluttering her present with her past. Now somebody she didn't know would pack her treasures into plastic bags and carry them away. A life, at its end, is a pile of cloth and paper, and goods that can be bagged and labelled. None of the best things - the voice and the laugh, the tilt of the head, the things seen and felt and spoken - are allowed to stay behind. — Sonya Hartnett

I drive a Prius. I always turn my faucets off. I never use plastic bottles anymore. I use glass bottles. I bring my own bags to the grocery store. And I try to use all natural shampoos and facial products. — Brooke D'Orsay

Adrian sifted through the bags and pulled out a slice of coconut cream. "If I were a dragon, this is what I'd go for."
I didn't argue, mainly because that statement had no logical argument. — Richelle Mead

My favourite designer is Mulberry - their bags are lovely, but their clothes are amazing, I don't think people realise. I love D&G, Fendi, Moschino, Chanel, Armani - all the classics! — Pixie Lott

I must go now."
"Stay up the night with me! We'll go to the fish market. There are great noble monsters packed in ice. There are turtles, live ones, for famous restaurants. We'll rescue one and write messages on his shell and put him in the sea, Shell, seashell. Or we'll go to the vegetable market. They've got red-net bags full of onions that look like huge pearls. Or we'll go down to Forty-second Street and see the movies and buy a mimeographed bulletin of jobs we can get in Pakistan
"
"I work tomorrow."
"Which has nothing to do with it."
"But I'd better go now."
"I know this is unheard in America, but I'll walk you home."
"I live on Twenty-third Street."
"Exactly what I'd hoped. It's over a hundred blocks. — Leonard Cohen

On the upside, yesterday I taped a Ziploc bag to the inside of my skirt so I'd have someplace to store my everything-that-didn't-fit-in-my-bra and it worked really well, so now I'm working on a cape made solely from stapled-together Ziploc bags. It'll be awesome because I'll be able to see all the stuff in my Ziploc pockets (unlike my purse, which just eats everything, like a tiny black hole). And it'll also double as a rain poncho. And I can put a stiletto knife and a "How to Stab People" pamphlet in it so assholes know not to fuck with me and I don't even have to pull it out and threaten them. There is no downside to this. — Jenny Lawson

No, books. She would have maybe twenty going at a time, lying all over our house
on the kitchen table, by her bed, the bathroom, our car, her bags, a little stack at the edge of each stair. And she'd use anything she could find for a bookmark. My missing sock, an apple core, her reading glasses, another book, a fork. — Kami Garcia

The city centre was still crawling with Christmas shoppers looking to add to their already burgeoning piles of gifts. To Scott they were like ants at a picnic, teeming from store to store, trailing oversized carrier bags and infants behind them as they went. Scott felt alien in this environment; pulling up his hood he hurried through the crowds, dodging pushchairs, lit cigarettes and charity collection tins. — R.D. Ronald

And of course anyone who could see him here now, with his fever and his sleeping bags, his eyephones and his cellular data port and his bottle of cooling piss, would think he was crazy too. But he isn't. He knows he isn't, in spite of everything. He has the syndrome now, the thing that came after every test subject from that Gainesville orphanage, but he isn't crazy. Just obsessed. And the obsession has its own shape in his head, its own texture, its own weight. He knows it from himself, can differentiate, so he goes back to it whenever he needs to and checks on it. Monitors it. Makes sure it still isn't him. It reminds him of having a sore tooth, or the way he felt once when he was in love and didn't want to be. How his tongue always found the tooth, or how he'd always find that ache, that absence in the shape of the beloved. But — William Gibson

Interesting how fashion is cyclical," Jaccob said when she came out of the store with two black plastic bags. "Goth was the look when I was young, too."
"It's not a look," Chuck said. "I'm just wearing my feelings on the outside."
"Uh huh." His phone buzzed. "Hang on a second."
He rolled up his sleeve to check his HUD, but the call hadn't come through there.
Huh. He had to pick up his phone and check the read-out, which listed a phone number: an old school page. "That's funny ... "
"Dad, you're doing that thing again," Chuck said.
"What thing?" Jaccob asked.
"That thing where you have to check every single doohickey you carry around."
"I am not." Jaccob took his hand out of his coat pocket, where he'd been reaching to check his police scanner or music player (he hadn't decided which to use first). — Erik Scott De Bie

The rage would have to wait. He'd have to wait to break something in half, to plow his fist into
something, anything. Sophia was trembling, and needed tending.
"Kid knows something about everything. Get in the car. Time for somebody else to take the
wheel."
A little dazed now, she glanced behind her. "I think they still want to talk to me."
"They can talk to you tomorrow. I'm taking you home."
"Fine by me. I have some shopping bags."
He smiled, and his grip on her loosened to a caress. "Of course you do. — Nora Roberts

He laughed, and he made me laugh, and it was because his relationship to his faith was not a do-or-die mission but something life-giving and fluid. Like a river. Like a fountain. It was in the generosity of his faith and his love that I found the rest I'd been hoping for when I filled out the applications and packed my bags for Minnesota. — Addie Zierman

I worked in Harrods as a sales girl and I was so lazy, I just sat on my arse all day. Now I have huge respect for shop girls. It was boring, so I tried to shoplift things, but we'd always get our bags checked. — Susannah Constantine

She noticed that the man at the table next to her, in his sixties, was watching her. Clearly, he'd
caught the show.
"Well, he asked for my opinion," she said defensively.
"I'm just wondering what you're going to do to the next guy who walks in," the older man said.
"They're gonna start taking them out of here in body bags."
Probably it was high time she left this coffee shop. — Julie James

I must have played every college and university at least three times, and that goes for most of the clubs. I'd be on the road six days a week, go home and change bags, and then be gone for another six days. — Richie Havens

But you see now baby, whether you have a ph.d., d.d. or no d, we're in this bag together. And whether you are from Morehouse or Nohouse, we,re still in this bag together. — Fannie Lou Hamer

To throw bombs from an airplane will do as much damage as throwing bags of flour. It will be my pleasure to stand on the bridge of any ship while it is attacked by airplanes. — Newton D. Baker

I had assumed I'd pack my bags and head elsewhere after 'Constellation,' but Chechnya is creeping its way into the margins of my second book. — Anthony Marra

Over the years, I'd learned that under the bed was the best place to keep anything I didn't want found, because there was so much crap - papers, magazines, dirty socks, grocery bags - that no one would ever suspect that anything of value was under there. Sort of like hiding in plain sight. — Kristin Walker

I always think about the settlers who moved to New Zealand in the 1800s. They hadn't even been to the place before. They just packed their bags and shipped over knowing they'd never see their family again or be able to speak to them - they'd maybe get a letter if they were lucky. — Rose McIver

In the first couple of weeks there were big piles of trash outside every house. All the stuff you couldn't find another use for and couldn't compost. Yogurt cups, torn trash bags, dirty diapers, hair-spray cans, paper towels. Sometimes you'd see a pile that was as high as your waist. Nathan said it was a purge, a cleanse. But you could just as well say that who we were went out with the empties. We will never get our selves back. — Jess Row

I took part in a theatre festival in Massachusetts two summers after I graduated from college. Then I was in Los Angeles thinking: "I'm going to go to New York." I'd decided that I would not have a chance of a film career, so I was about to make the move. I bought a plane ticket and found a place to live in New York, packed my bags and of course the universe "told me" that I was not meant to go. Suddenly, a week before I was supposed to leave, I had three job offers and one of them was my first movie. — Chris Pine

A.J. nodded, covering her smile with a hand as Devlin emerged with his hair messed up and hay hanging off his sweater. He looked like he'd been through a war.
"You okay there, champ?" Chester asked. "Those there grain bags can be tough when they come atcha in a pack like that. — J.R. Ward

she'd always believed that she didn't belong. It was, she realized, an ugly bit of baggage that she'd carried here from her youth, and she'd been so damned busy hanging on to it that she'd failed to notice that the bags were empty. — Kristin Hannah

I was assigned to a medical unit and was part of a group receiving men returning from theater headed to hospital care, many forever maimed with life-altering wounds. It made a strong impression because wounded men and body bags come back to home districts, not Washington, D.C., and accordingly, there is no more sacred vote than those surrounding war where life hangs in the balance. — Mark Sanford

Sometimes we'd sit on that bench for hours, talking about nothing much and blowing smoke rings into the air, and we'd see them teetering past, stumble-drunk after closing time with their brown paper bags and late night vinegar running down their arms and the lack of kindness everywhere. And the girls, panda-eyed and lonely, hitching their bravado to their short skirts, were telling themselves that this was living. We said we would never be them. But there was one boy who had kind eyes. His hair was the colour of the sand and his smile promised everything. I told you he wasn't like the rest, but you didn't want to hear it. — Maire T. Robinson

Shit, you name it, they're performing. The D-Bags, Bending Cupid, the Mighty Storm, Black Falcon, and my fav band — K. Bromberg

Emil stood on the other side, bags under his
eyes, his hair disheveled. I'd never seen him look so
unkempt. He actually seemed depressed. I motioned
for him to come in. When he did, I shut the door and
he followed me to the couches. — Angela Corbett

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

They all felt gloomy that evening as they set out trick-or-treating and hoped that no one they knew would see them.
But their troubles were far from over. At some houses, they were surprised with tricks instead of treats.
At other houses, the treats were weird, or awful. Soon their bags were full of candy with names like "Broccoli Chews," "Sweet 'n' Sauerkraut," and "Eggplant Fizzlers."
"I can't believe this is happening," Wendell grumbled.
At that moment a screech of laughter came from down the block. Floyd peered through his spyglass and groaned. "It's Leona Fleebish and her nasty friends."
"Not them!" Mona squeaked. "They're the worst!"
"We'd better run for it!" cried Wendell.
Floyd led them down a hidden path through the woods behind the old Dreedle House. But soon Leona's jeering voice rang out: "We see you! You can't hide!"
The chase was on! — Mark Teague

It was foolish to feel like a girl getting ready for a date. Gennie told herself that as she unlocked the door to the cottage.She'd told herself the same thing as she'd driven away from town...as she'd turned down the quiet lane.
It was a spur of the moment cookout-two adults,a steak,and a bottle of burgundy that may or may not have been worth the price. A person would have to look hard to find any romance in charcoal, lighter fluid and some freshly picked greens from a patch in the backyard. Not for the first time, Gennie thought it a pity her imagination was so expansive.
It had undoubtedly been imagination that had brought on that rush of feeling in the churhcyard. A little unexpected tenderness, a soft breeze and she heard bells. Silly.
Gennie set the bags on the kitchen counter and wished she'd bought candles. Candlelight would make even that tidy,practical little kitchen seem romantic.And if she had a radio, there could be music... — Nora Roberts

I don't want to be in a position that could make me vomit, like air travel. I've purloined airsick bags and stuffed them everywhere, just in case I ever feel the need to throw up. I haven't vomited since 1977, but I think about it all the time. I recognize that it's irrational, but I'd rather jump out of a window than vomit. — Scott Stossel

Everybody! This is my cousin right here, and he just dethroned God's gift to Women - Griffin — S.C. Stephens

When Al Gore urges the citizenry to sacrifice their plastic shopping bags, their air-conditioning, their extraneous travel, the agnostics grumble that human activity accounts for just 2 percent of global carbon-dioxide emissions, with the remainder generated by natural processes like plant decay. — Steven D. Levitt

Henry unpacked the car and loaded himself up with everything they'd brought, little bags and big ones, a string tote, a knapsack.
As he started up the driveway, his girlfriend said, "Do you have the wine, Hank?"
Whoever Hank was, he had it. — Melissa Bank

He dreams he's with a very sad kid and they're in a graveyard digging some dead guy's head up and it's really important, like Continental-Emergency important, and Gately's the best digger but he's wicked hungry, like irresistibly hungry, and he's eating with both hands out of huge economy-size bags of corporate snacks so he can't really dig, while it gets later and later and the sad kid is trying to scream at Gately that the important thing was buried in the guy's head and to divert the Continental Emergency to start digging the guy's head up before it's too late, but the kid moves his mouth but nothing comes out and Joelle van D. appears with wings and no underwear and asks if they knew him, the dead guy with the head, and Gately starts talking about knowing him even though deep down he feels panic because he's got no idea who they're talking about, while the sad kid holds something terrible up by the hair and makes the face of somebody shouting in panic: TOO LATE. — David Foster Wallace

YOU CAN ALWAYS GET THERE FROM HERE A traveler returned to the country from which he had started many years before. When he stepped from the boat, he noticed how different everything was. There were once many buildings, but now there were few and each of them needed repair. In the park where he played as a child, dust-filled shafts of sunlight struck the tawny leaves of trees and withered hedges. Empty trash bags littered the grass. The air was heavy. He sat on one of the benches and explained to the woman next to him that he'd been away a long time, then asked her what season had he come back to. She replied that it was the only one left, the one they all had agreed on. — Mark Strand

I'm pretty sure that when babies are born in Oregon, they leave the hospital with birth certificates - and teeny-tiny sleeping bags. Everyone in the state camps. The hippies and the rednecks. The hunters and the tree huggers. Rich people. Poor people. Even rock musicians. Especially rock musicians. Our band had perfected the art of punk-rock camping, throwing a bunch of crap into the van with, like, an hour's notice and just driving out into the mountains, where we'd drink beer, burn food, jam on our instruments around the campfire, and sack out under the open sky. Sometimes, on tour, back in the early hardscrabble days, we'd even camp as an alternative to crashing in another crowded, roach-infested rock 'n' roll house.
I don't know if it's because no matter where you live, the wilderness is never that far off, but it just seemed like everyone in Oregon camped. — Gayle Forman

When I was all set to go, when I had my bags and all, I stood for a while next to the stairs and took a last look down the goddam corridor. I was sort of crying. I don't know why. I put my red hunting hat on, and turned the peak around to the back, the way I liked it, and then I yelled at the top of my goddam voice, "Sleep tight, ya morons!" I'll bet I woke up every bastard on the whole floor. Then I got the hell out. Some stupid guy had thrown peanut shells all over the stairs, and I damn near broke my crazy neck. — J.D. Salinger

The problem was the liars. They said she could do anything she set her mind to, they told her she should shoot for the moon because if she missed she'd be among the stars, they made movies tricking her into thinking she could achieve heroic things. All lies. Because she was born to answer phones in call centers, to carry bags to customers' cars, to punch a clock, to measure her life in smoke breaks. To think otherwise was insane. — Grady Hendrix

American dream,
a spouse,
a brace of children,
cuddly pets,
coffee-table books,
rusted skeleton keys,
plastic cauliflower bags,
business cards of business-card printers,
a mound of used airmail envelopes.
Old house on moving day,
all echoes and loneliness. — Brian D'Ambrosio

A thousand times today I've started to open my mouth, started to squeak out, Can you tell me ... ? But then I'd look into the front seat, at my mother's silent shaking, my father's grim profile, the mournful bags under his eyes, and all the questions I might ask seemed abusive. Assault and battery, a question mark used like a club. My parents are old and fragile. I'd have to heartless to want to hurt them. — Margaret Peterson Haddix

I used to think the reason I'd like to stop letting fear run my life was that it felt so bad to be afraid, and also that it was pointless - possibly wasted, if the feared thing never did materialize. But now that fear has packed its miserable bags and is running out the door, making slamming noises to call attention to itself, I begin to see how much room fear has occupied. What opportunity opens up! — Jan Frazier

I miss my Dad. My Dad loved cheesy monster movies, so we'd have Godzilla movie marathons. Those are some of my favorite memories, laughing at how the monster outfits were so bad, like black garbage bags for heads. — Ahmet Zappa

Finn wanted to collect the plants he knew he could sell, and he was teaching Maia. He climbed to the top of the leaf canopy and came back with clusters of yellow fruits which could be boiled up to treat skin diseases. He found a tree whose leaves were made into an infusion to help people with kidney complaints and brought back a silvery fern to rub on aching muscles. Most of these plants had Indian names, but as they sorted their specimens and put them to be dried and stored in labeled cotton bags, Maia learned quickly.
"You'd be amazed how much money people give for these in the towns," said Finn.
But not everything he collected was for sale. He restocked his own medicine chest also. And every day he bullied Maia about taking her quinine pills.
"Only idiots get malaria in the dry season," he said. — Eva Ibbotson

We call our country home of the brave and land of the free, but it's not. We give a false portrayal of freedom. We're not free - if we were, we'd allow people their freedom. Prohibiting something doesn't make it go away. Prostitution is criminal, and bad things happen because it's run illegally by dirt-bags who are criminals. If it's legal, then the girls could have health checks, unions, benefits, anything any other worker gets, and it would be far better. — Jesse Ventura

As Eve strode down the bright white corridor of the dead, Peabody hustled beside her.
"Man, this place is always a little spooky, but this is beyond. You know how you half expect one of these bags to sit up and grab at you?"
"No. Wait out here. If one of them makes a run for it, give me a call."
"I don't think that's particularly funny." And watching the still black bags warily, Peabody took her post at the door. — J.D. Robb

Bags hanging blue-veined and round with milk, like full moons caught between their legs. She was sore and tired, but knew she had to get out of the barn before the men arrived to do the milking. Glancing down, she realized that a miracle had come to pass: the blood-soaked hay was fresh now, except for a small stain beneath her own bottom. And the two things she'd been holding when she fell asleep - the scissors — Jodi Picoult

I'd want to have the power of mind control. If I had that one skill you'd always see at the bank loading up bags full of cash. — Ryan Hall

The Regime has become so smug it can't tell the difference among the revolutionary, the innovative, or the merely various. The high command knows so little about the outside that if I came back with a fully equipped chemical laboratory and told them I'd found it in a cave, they'd probably believe that, so long as I brought it back peicmeal in my saddle bags, thus proving I hadn't known it was there beforehand. — Sheri S. Tepper

I reached over and grabbed my ear buds off the nightstand, crammed them into my ears, and connected them to my cellphone. The D-Bags blasted through my head. Kellan's voice always soothed me. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the lyrics. — Alison G. Bailey

Abby must have been the one who found the safe house, because Townsend didn't like it.
"The building across the street is under construction," he snarled as soon as we'd carried our bags inside.
"The elevator has key card access, and I've hacked into the surveillance cameras from every system on the block," Abby argued. "We have a three-hundred-sixty-degree visual."
"Excellent." Townsend dropped his bag. "Now the circle can see us from every angle."
"Don't mind Agent Townsend, girls," Abby told us. "He's a glass-half-empty kind of spy."
"Also known as the good kind," he countered.
Abby huffed. — Ally Carter

So help me, if something crawls out of one of these bags, I will castrate you."
"I bet you'd love that."
-Emma and Jackson — Rachael Wade

Now, now," my father said. "Let's just get the bags."
This was typical. My father, the lone male in our estrogen-heavy household, had always dealt with any kind of emotional situation or conflict by doing something concrete and specific. Discussion of cramps and heavy flow at the breakfast table? He was up and out the door to change oil on one of our cars. Coming home in tears for reasons you just didn't want to discuss? He'd go make you a grilled cheese, which he'd probably end up eating. Family crisis brewing in a public place? Bags. Get the bags. — Sarah Dessen

I used to have this dream that somebody was knocking at my door. I'd say 'Who is it?' and they'd answer 'Police.' I'd open the door and they would say to me, 'Pack your bags. We realized you have no talent. — Leslie Nielsen

He was really trying to be my friend, without all the emotional baggage we both carried - mine still with me, but carefully folded in vacuum bags so they'd occupy as little room as possible and his, hangin on his shoulders like lead armor, making him slouch sometimes. And yet, as pinned down as he was, he was the one comforting me, supporting not only his weight but mine, too. It wasn't fair. — Diana T. Scott

More than 30 years ago, in Washington, D.C., I secured a copy of a single by a Los Angeles band called The Bags. The two-song 7-inch, released on Dangerhouse, had a girl on the cover who looked right at you with huge eyes. The songs, 'Survive' and 'Babylonian Gorgon,' were great and made many of my mix tapes. — Henry Rollins

The idea that Sophie could die had always been there, ever since the first diagnosis, and yet it seemed like a bad place on a map, an Ivory Coast, somewhere not urgently frightening because fear itself kept you away from the place. You thought of it as somewhere braver people went, or at least as somewhere you'd have plenty of time to pack your bags for. — Chris Cleave

Mm-hmm. You know, lip dye isn't a crime in this state. You ought to try it."
"I've been kind of busy."
"You're always kind of busy. You're not using the eye gel I gave you. You can't find a minute twice a day for eye gel? You want bags and wrinkles? You got the finest piece of man-candy on and off planet, and you want him looking at your face with bags and wrinkles? What are you going to do when he dumps you for a woman who takes time to maintain her face?"
"Kill him. — J.D. Robb

All her violence had drained away, replaced by a fear older and deeper than anything she'd ever experienced. An old, old recognition. Something inside her knew him from a time when girls took skin bags to the river to get water, a time when panthers walked in the darkness outside mud huts. From a time before electric lights, before candles, when darkness was fended off with stone lamps. When darkness was the greatest danger of all. — L.J.Smith

He'd set the bags on the — Nora Roberts

she came out - dancing around in a white shirt with nothing underneath, the rosy coins of her nipples visible under the thin fabric - asking for a wood saw and spackle, he'd been jumpy as a jackrabbit sniffing Easter candy. He could have looked in the bedroom when she left to sleep, to go to Brass and Bones, to go wherever sex-witch art-fairies go. She came back every day with packages from the Indian import store, bags from the pagan crystal shop, boxes that smelled like incense and old wood. But he didn't look because deep down he liked the mystery, that a woman had claimed a space in the house he'd designed, made it hers to reveal on her terms. — Kira A. Gold

You're here! She repeated, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs
around his hips. He'd dropped his bags as she'd ran, and now he cupped her bottom in his large hands ... His heart gave a giant thump, all the way down from his chest to his stomach,
and as she smiled up at him he lowered his head and devoured her mouth,
smile and all. Her lips were just as warm, and just as soft as he remembered, and her mouth tasted like peaches and cinnamon and Corinne Carol-Anne and without thought he pushed her back against the hallway wall and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her as though all their time apart would disappear in that frantic mating of tongue and lips and teeth. He wanted to take her into himself, all of her, and keep her warm and safe and happy, just like this moment when she
burst with joy, just to see him.
Wounded
(Green and Cory, after being apart) — Amy Lane

Leading up to a live event you need to do your homework and go to bed early. Sometimes it's very tempting to go out with everybody else, They're all going to a party or going out for a nice meal and you think 'oh well I'd like to go', but sometimes you think 'no, if I'm going to be sitting in front of a camera under a light in everybody's home tomorrow I don't want big bags under my eyes and not really know what I'm talking about'. — Jill Douglas

Bags were shoved on all of our heads once more. Hands grabbed me and spurred me forward. "Rick," Zach said behind us. The hands guiding me stopped. The bag was ripped off my head again, and I found myself looking into Zach's eyes. "Bring the girl tomorrow night," he said.
The last thing I wanted to do was bring Rimmel into a room full of these assholes. "What the fuck for?"
He smiled. It looked more like a sneer. "I'd like to meet the nerd. I hear you've become quite smitten."
The more he talked about her, the more he implied he knew her, the more pissed off I got. I lunged forward and shoved my face right up in his. Satisfaction speared me when his eyes widened just a fraction. He wasn't as tough as he thought he was.
"Well, since you seem to know everything," I said, dead calm, "then you must also know that I take care of what's mine. You might be president of this frat, but I own the campus. Do. Not. Push. Me."
- Zach & Romeo — Cambria Hebert

The two circled around the back of the house, making sure that nobody saw them. Once inside, they found Patrick right where they had left him, sitting in front of Mark's computer. The only difference was that he was surrounded by bags of Doritos and cans of Mountain Dew. He looked up at them with wild eyes.
You okay?" Courtney asked.
I'm fantastic!" Patrick exclaimed. "This sugary drink is incredible!"
Swell," Courtney remarked sarcastically. "He's wired on Dew. — D.J. MacHale

After she disappeared inside the hotel, Pasquale entertained the unwieldy thought that he'd somehow summoned her, that after years of living in this place, after months of grief and loneliness and waiting for Americans, he'd created this woman from old bits of cinema and books, from the lost artifacts and ruins of his dreams, from his epic, enduring solitude. He glanced over at Orenzio, who was carrying someone's bags, and the whole world suddenly seemed so unlikely, our time in it so brief and dreamlike. He'd never felt such a detached, existential sensation, such terrifying freedom - it was as if he were hovering above the village, above his own body - and it thrilled him in a way that he could never have explained. — Jess Walter

She looked like a hippie who'd been kicked to the side of the road maybe forty years ago, where she'd been collecting trash and rags ever since. She wore a dress made of tie-dyed cloth, ripped-up quilts, and plastic grocery bags. Her frizzy mop of hair was gray-brown, like root-beer foam, tied back with a peace-sign headband. Warts and moles covered her face. When she smiled, she showed exactly three teeth. — Rick Riordan

Women kill me. They really do. I don't mean I'm oversexed or anything like that - although I am quite sexy. I just like them, I mean. They're always leaving their goddam bags out in the middle of the aisle. — J.D. Salinger

The key difference between a geek and a critic is that a
critic digs deep and tries to get behind the surface of things,
for better or worse, while a geek is interested in his own hedonism,
the thrill of discovery.A geek is expansive and associative
and doesn't necessarily care what a film or a scene 'means'. It's
the difference between the encyclopaedia and the scholar. A
critic likes an interesting association, a nice phrase; the geek
admires the beau geste, a pulpy story and its codes of honour
taken seriously.
Tarantino rather combines those two roles. He is encyclopaedic
but also interpretive. He is a human Rolodex of
credits. His films are like stuffed overnight bags breaking at the
seams. The Handel of filmmakers, he takes the whole of
cinema as his resource. But he also provides new meanings,
new interpretations of old moments by the way he recontextualizes
them. — D.K. Holm

They'd come back with stories of machines that handed out money and people who picked up dog shit and put it in bags. Jun Do never looked. He knew the televisions were huge and there was all the rice you could eat. Yet he wanted no part of it - he was scared that if he saw it with his own eyes, his entire life would mean nothing. Stealing turnips from an old man who'd gone blind from hunger? That would have been for nothing. Sending another boy instead of himself to clean vats at the paint factory? For nothing. — Adam Johnson

Where are you? Have you arrived yet?" she asked eagerly.
"I have. I'm here and it's great. I love it."
"I knew you would!" cried Hannah. "So are you coming down? Help me pull a pint or two?"
"Yeah, sure. Give me half an hour or so, and I'll be there."
"Brilliant. See you soon."
"Bye," replied Layla, hanging up.
No time for eating then, she'd better unpack the car, sort out the bedraggled mess that she was, and get down to the pub. Start learning the ropes.
Hauling one of the bags upstairs, she went into her bedroom and plonked it on the bed. Before doing anything else, however, she couldn't resist peering out of the window again, having to imagine Gull Rock this time as the deepening night had hidden it completely. A year, she thought. That's all I've got, a year. Enough time to get over anyone, surely?
Taking in a deep breath then letting it slowly out, she bloody hoped so. — Shani Struthers

I'm unsure why one trifling incident this afternoon has moved me to write to you. But since we've been separated, I may most miss coming home to deliver the narrative curiosities of my day, the way a cat might lay mice at your feet: the small, humble offerings that couples proffer after foraging in separate backyards. Were you still installed in my kitchen, slathering crunchy peanut butter on Branola though it was almost time for dinner, I'd no sooner have put down the bags, one leaking a clear vicious drool, than this little story would come tumbling out, even before I chided that we're having pasta tonight so would you please not eat that whole sandwich. — Lionel Shriver

Seven years I worked at the Polish deli. It's a very slow deli. So I sat around a lot on my stool at the cashier. And I'd sign my autograph on all the bags I'd put the milk in. Just everyday, practice my autograph. And the manager of the store would take some of them and tape them against the wall. And he'd say, "Some day, I'm telling you, it will be worth something." And I'm like 13, going, "Really?!" And when I go back there, he still has them on the wall. It's very cute. — Jenny McCarthy