Flabby Arms Quotes & Sayings

I would show him the hotel brochure, but — Jojo Moyes

No matter how many heavy-metal album covers you've seen, how many Hieronymus Bosch prints of the tortures of Hell, or even the scene in Indiana Jones where the Nazi's face melts off, you cannot be prepared to view a body being cremated. Seeing a flaming human skull is intense beyond your wildest flights of imagination. — Caitlin Doughty

The fact is that Superman should be fat. He should be a lard-assed superhero with flabby arms, a beer gut, and soft muscles.
...when Superman bench-presses a Cadillac, he doesn't even break a sweat. It's like picking up a bag of feathers. Would Batman be buff if he bench-pressed feathers? Because that's essentially what Superman does every day. — Weston Ochse

m a butterfly!" screamed the fat man as he ran, flapping his arms like two really flabby, really rubbish wings. "You're actually not," Valkyrie Cain told him for the eighth time. He ran around her in a big circle, bathed in moonlight, and she just stood there with her head down. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and moments earlier she'd had to drag her eyes away from his wobbling bosoms before they made her feel queasy. Now that his trousers were starting their inexorable slide downwards, she was averting her gaze altogether. "Please," she said, "pull up your trousers. — Derek Landy

How can men be such lummoxes, such wads of chewing gum on our ballet slippers and still feel so good? — Tom Robbins

Together, we can conquer anything thrown in our path. — Alicia Rae

Men are too emotional to vote. Their conduct at baseball games and political conventions shows this ... — Alice Duer Miller

Really hairy backs on men turn me off. I'm not into the ape thing at all. Or beer bellies and flabby arms, either. Also, one random nose hair which is longer than the others ... that's gross. — Nadine Velazquez

The hearts and thoughts are the sacred springs of life. — Lailah Gifty Akita

If you emit positive energy, even people who don't like you will not be negative when around you. — Innocent Mwatsikesimbe

Normally my run leaves me feeling like nothing but long muscles streaming with strength able and beckoning for more, anything, bring it on. That feeling is what gets me through my shift. Today the strength is nowhere. I'm lurching like a flabby first-timer; my legs drag like they're wrapped in wet sandbags, my arms flop and my breathing can't find a rhythm. I push harder, till my chest feels like it's ripping and a thick red seethes up over my eyes. I hang on to a lamppost, doubled over, waiting for it to clear. — Tana French

Humanity's debut novel you could say. Love, sex, blood, and tears. A journey to find eternal life. To escape death. It was written over four thousand years ago on clay tablets by people who tilled the mud and rarely lived past forty. It's survived countless wars, disasters, and plagues, and continues to fascinate to this day, because here I am, in the midst of modern ruin, reading it. — Isaac Marion

Say it, Son. Before I die." Judge braced his hands on the windowsill, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. "It's not gonna happen. I'm not gonna fall in love with him." Was he trying to convince his father or himself? "He's a warrior, JJ. But no one can live forever, Son. But I know that Austin won't go early and he won't go without a serious fight." Judge — A.E. Via

When someone disowns an idea or even a person, they give up faith in or love for something or someone they used to call their own. — Hayley DiMarco

The afternoon breeze would incite to a weird and flabby activity all that crowded mass of clothing, with its vague suggestions of drowned, mutilated and flattened humanity. Trunks without heads waved at you arms without hands; legs without feet kicked fantastically with collapsible flourishes; and there were long white garments, that taking the wind fairly through their neck openings edged with lace, became for a moment violently distended as by the passage of obese and invisible bodies. On these days you could make out that ship at a great distance by the multi-coloured grotesque riot going on abaft her mizzen-mast. — Joseph Conrad