Frosted Quotes & Sayings

The carriageway to the front door was wide, and graceful white birches lined it. In autumn they shed a carpet of gold on the road, and in winter, burdened with snow, they arched over it, a frosted white tunnel paned with glimpses of blue sky. — Robin Hobb

What dream, what hope, what despair drives us to the things we do, just to desert us when the deed is done? What hollow things are they, motive and reason, born at night to fade so quickly in the sunlight of consequence? What we do in life lives on inside us, long after ambition and fear lie frosted and opaqued on forgotten shores. What we do in life, more than what we think or say, is what we are. — Gregory David Roberts

When we think of an actor, we think of a tanned, frosted-tipped, model-looking guy. We don't think of a plumber. — Nick Offerman

Language is my whore, my mistress, my wife, my pen-friend, my check-out girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God, the dew on a fresh apple, it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning sun when you pull from an old bookshelf a forgotten volume of erotic diaries; language is the faint scent of urine on a pair of boxer shorts, it's a half-remembered childhood birthday party, a creak on the stair, a spluttering match held to a frosted pane, the warm wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred Panzer, the underside of a granite boulder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl, cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot. — Stephen Fry

I have always loved the many moods of the sky at Rocky Flats. Turquoise and teal in summer, fiery red at sunset, iron gray when snow is on the way. The land rolls in waves of tall prairie grass bowed to the wind, or sprawling mantles of white frosted with a thin sheath of ice in winter. — Kristen Iversen

It was October in Pennsylvania and on the first morning the ground was frosted. As I walked to breakfast, some guy yelled out, 'Thirteen inches in the Poconos.'
'Is that I porn film?' I asked. — George Hodgman

think you need a hug. A nice warm, dripping-wet one."

Keenan started clapping while Brecken gave me a warning look. "I've got your son on my shoulders. I can't run away from you."

I gave an overdone smile then lunged. "Exactly," I exclaimed, winding my arms around him and wiggling the rest of my wet self against him.

Brecken let out a drawn-out groan, but he stood there and took it, hanging on to Keenan while I hung on to him. "Mature. So mature." He sighed all dramatic-like. "Wonderful example you're setting for your son here."

I tipped my head up, eyebrow raised. "This coming from the man who mixed Frosted Flakes and Cocoa Puffs this morning?"

His eyebrows lifted. "I'm setting the example of how to behave like a proper five-year-old. You're the parent. You get to set the parental example. — Nicole Williams

Mr. Rogan," I frosted my voice over. "What I put into my body is my business." Okay, that didn't sound right. — Ilona Andrews

Do youmind?" she clipped out suddenly with a fine, cultured accent like frosted glass.
His gaze flicked up from her chest to her blazing eyes. "So, you can talk."
"Obviously."
"Too bad," he drawled. "I thought I just found the perfect woman. — Gaelen Foley

If he ever frosted his hair blue, he'd look like a gas burner. — Ilona Andrews

When they got there, the first thing they saw was the man himself, with a white stick burning away in his mouth, cutting row after row of frosted cabbages. Rowsby Woof was with him, wagging his tail and jumping about in a ridiculous manner. After — Richard Adams

Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs
and that is all. — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey

There are two gradations of cold that are always acceptable: Mild Frost, which is preferable for reading and writing and any other activity done indoors, and Absolute Zero, which is the only temperature suitable for sleep. There is nothing more delicious than being swathed in a cocoon of blankets and awaking with a nose frosted over with rime, and once I do achieve vampiric heights and fall asleep with the mastery of a corpse lately dead, I am best left alone until I wake up at my usual time. I do tend to bite when rattled out of my flocculent coffin, and everyone in my building knows never to disturb me during the early morning hours. Authors, being crepuscular creatures, should never be roused before 11am: the creative mind is never turned off; it only dies momentarily and its revived by the scent of coffee at the proper time.

Bacon is also an acceptable restorative. — Michelle Franklin

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall ... — F Scott Fitzgerald

The only thing crazier than hallucinating a fictional videogame spaceship would be to blame it on a frosted breakfast pastry. — Ernest Cline

OK, Rule number 1: Unless you're served in a frosted glass, never come within 4 feet of my lips. — Karen Walker

I know about Trina. You bitch."
Shoulders hunched, Peabody carefully pinned up murder. "It's a special night. You'll look really good, and you won't have to do it all yourself. We won't want the NYPSD to fall short of the Hollywood crowd, right? Team pride!"
"Rah fucking rah."
"Really, Dallas, it'll be good, it'll be chilly, and we'll look abso-mag by the time ... " She trailed off again, face lighting up. "We will look mag. And if we take down this killer at the premiere, with cams everywhere, it'll be all over the screen like the flying baby. And we'll look completely frosted."
"It's so good you've got your priorities in place, Detective."
"Catching killers, that's what we do. But if we get to do it at a big celeb event, there's no downside to looking most totally excellent. — J.D. Robb

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch! Let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of a flower down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark. — D.H. Lawrence

I ate too many Frosted Flakes. I don't remember what I said last night. — Shaquille O'Neal

I endorse only products I actually use. Like Wheaties keeps offering me money, but I don't eat Wheaties, so I can't do it. Now, if Rice Krispies or Frosted Flakes offered me a deal, I'd take it right away. Apple Jacks, I'd be on the box in a heartbeat. Apple Shaqs. Yeah. — Shaquille O'Neal

The Sugar Frosted Nutsack is dizzyingly brilliant. Mark Leyner is a hyperkinetic shaman, who flies the banner of rum and candy and writes like a one-eyed feral bandit. His new book is supremely original, delirious and synapse-shattering. — John Cusack

Who's that man you were talking to?"

"Oh, that's Norwood. He was checking you in for your first shift. I'll introduce you tomorrow."

She made a face. "No rush."

"I mean, you were scheduled to have a brief orientation with him today, but you know, you needed your beauty sleep, so we don't have time. Are you aware, Lex, that sloth is a deadly sin?"

She made a face at him, then glanced back at the hallway. She thought she could make out a bustle of activity behind the array of frosted glass tiles that lined its right-hand wall, but Uncle Mort ushered her out the front door too quickly for her to get a closer look.

"Wait, we're done here?"

"Well, I was going to show you around upstairs as well, but - "

"No time. Sloth. I get it."

"Deadly sin. — Gina Damico

Anna," he said, dragging his frosted fingers through my hair."Don't you know what it means when a boy pulls your hair at your birthday party?" "No." Just, then, i didn't know what anything meant. — Sarah Ockler

We know our neighbors - so far as we have the right to know them. We hear of their joys and their sorrows, and hasten to make them ours so far as we may. Life in a small town is like a layer cake. One gets the whole of it, frosted top, lemon filling and all. — Laura E. Richards

I don't eat cereal actually ... Frosted Flakes ... that's as close as I can get. — Johnny Thunders

America is an enormous frosted cupcake in the middle of millions of starving people. — Gloria Steinem

Fashionable debutantes in pastel chiffon party dresses wilt into leather club chairs like frosted petit fours melting under the July sun. — Libba Bray

Those entering the Saloon Bar of the 'The Midnight Bell' from the street came through a large door with a fancifully frosted glass pane, a handle like a dumb-bell a brass inscription 'Saloon Bar and Lounge,' and a brass adjuration to Push. Anyone temperamentally so wilful, careless, or incredulous as to ignore this friendly admonition was instantly snubbed, for this door would only succumb to Pushing. Nevertheless hundreds of temperamental people nightly argued with this door and got the worst of it. Given proper treatment, however, it swung back in the most accomplished way, and announced you to the Saloon Bar with a welcoming creak. — Patrick Hamilton

Poetry is frosted fire. — J. Patrick Lewis

We feel something, and reach out for the nearest phrase or hum with which to communicate, but which fails to do justice to what has induced us to do so ... We stay on the outside of our impressions, as if staring at them through a frosted window, superficially related to them, yet estranged from whatever has eluded casual definition. — Alain De Botton

In his original design the solicitor's clerk seemed to have forgotten the need for a staircase to link both the floors, and what he had provided had the appearance of an afterthought. Doorways had been punched in the eastern wall and a rough wooden staircase - heavy planks on an uneven frame with one warped unpainted banister, the whole covered with a sloping roof of corrugated iron - hung precariously at the back of the house, in striking contrast with the white-pointed brickwork of the front, the white woodwork and the frosted glass of doors and windows.
For this house Mr.Biswas had paid five thousand five hundred dollars. — V.S. Naipaul

His crimped hair was subtly frosted, making him look like a preacher in some California church - the kind with acoustic guitars and headset microphones and not much use for the actual Bible. — John Wray

It's a thousand tiny impulses, building on one another. First you decide it's a good idea to check the oatmeal bin for bugs. Next you're going through all the canisters, and before you know it, you're wearing a hazmat suit and examining the frosted flakes for ground-up glass. Each action further enforces the obsessive-compulsive circuit. When the disease is full-blown, sufferers are firmly entrenched in the neural loops that make them repeat thoughts and actions over and over. In other words, your brain keeps getting back in line for the same carnival ride it didn't enjoy in the first place. You lose your sunglasses, you throw up on your shirt, and two minutes later you're back on the Whizzer. Wheeee. — Jennifer Traig

How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness, with its chain of bowery old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens. The western sky was like a great golden pearl. Far down the harbour was frosted with a dawning moonlight. The air was full of exquisite sounds - sleepy robin whistles, wonderful, mournful, soft murmurs of wind in the twilit trees, rustle of aspen poplars talking in silvery whispers and shaking their dainty, heart-shaped leaves, lilting young laughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making ready for the dance. The world was steeped in maddening loveliness of sound and colour. He would think only of these things and of the deep, subtle joy they gave him. — L.M. Montgomery

The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea. The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. — F Scott Fitzgerald

November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls. — Jean Hersey

I stand outside Mr. Haverstrom's door, staring at the black letters of his name stenciled on the frosted glass, listening to the murmur of voices inside. It's not that Mr. Haverstrom is a mean boss - he's a bit like Mr. Earnshaw from Wuthering Heights. Even though he doesn't get much page time, his presence is strong and consequential.

I take a breath, straighten my spine, and knock on the door firmly and decisively - the way Elizabeth Bennet would. Because she didn't give a single shit about anything. Then Mr. Haverstrom opens the door, his eyes narrow, his hair and skin pale, his face lined and grouchy - like a squished marshmallow.

On the outside, I nod and breeze into the office, but inside, I cringe and wilt. — Emma Chase

None of it seemed real. He laughed at Mount Hood, capped with silvered white in the middle of summer. Who paints a frosted mountaintop into a summer scene? What a ridiculous failure of reality.

He stopped laughing when he remembered it was a failure of reality that put him in this car in the first place, and was quiet for a long time. — Warren Ellis

electrical wires dragged down by the weight of the ice and flickering balefully, a row of sleet-covered planes stranded in an airport, a huge truck that's jackknifed and tipped over and is lying on its side with smoke coming out. An ambulance is on the scene, a fire truck, a huddle of raingear-clad operatives: someone's been injured, always a sight to make the heart beat faster. A policeman appears, crystals of ice whitening his moustache; he pleads sternly with people to stay inside. It's no joke, he tells the viewers. Don't think you can brave the elements! His frowning, frosted eyebrows are noble, like those on the wartime bond-drive posters from the 1940s. Constance remembers those, or believes she does. But she may just be remembering history books or museum displays or documentary films: so hard, sometimes, to tag those memories accurately. Finally, a minor touch of pathos: a stray dog is displayed, semi-frozen, wrapped in a child's pink nap blanket. A gelid baby — Margaret Atwood

Coconut teased him with tropical deliciousness; then the vanilla he so often smelled on Lou's neck wafted up. He ached to hold her, smell that spot right behind her ear. The cake, frosted and covered with toasted coconut, beckoned, wanting to be cut and eaten immediately. — Amy E. Reichert

His blue eyes frosted. 'Are you attempting to tell me my duties, sir?'
'No. But I'm having a lot of fun trying to guess what they are. — Raymond Chandler

Only two things better in the world than your frosted sugar cookies with daisy sprinkles and those are pigs in a blanket and a man with a fine package. This I know as fact. — Kristen Ashley

Unstrained, I sit and gaze,
glare,
survey,
stare
through barred windows encased in embroidered steel. Pearly frosted dust obstructs the channels of light, leaving only small pillars of fire, arranged in disordered fragments. The antiquated sallow walls are stained with crimson braids that wreathe and scuttle about the rimes and rifts. — Craig Froman

When I go to describe something as remarkable as what I saw that day, I could only say it was a place of dreams. The water is crystalline clear, a mixture of opalescent colors and frosted with white tips. It surges forward and crashes up against the rocks below us as the sun cast a fire-like glare in the distance. Adding to my reverie is the salty smell in the air that lingers and enlivens senses that seem to have been dormant before this moment. I don't recall moving in this dream-like state but my hand moves up and cups the wind as if trying to capture it's essence. If I could have pocketed every smell and sound of this place I would have and I would defended it with my life. — Celia Mcmahon

A random crack in the old plaster in the corner behind her seemed to grow, until it curled its way across the ceiling, circled the frosted chandelier, and swirled its way back down. It looked like a heart. A giant, looping, girly heart had just appeared in the cracking plaster of her bedroom ceiling.
"Lena."
"Yeah?"
"Is your ceiling about to fall in on our heads?"
She turned and looked at the crack. When she saw it, she bit her lip, and her cheeks turned pink. "I don't think so. It's just a crack in the plaster."
"Were you trying to do that?"
"No." A creeping pink spread across her nose and cheeks. She looked away. — Kami Garcia

On-yez, where are you from, dear?' asked a black-slacked, frosted-haired woman whose skin was papery and melanomic with suntan. 'Originally.' She eyed Agnes's outfit as if it might be what in fact it was: a couple of blue things purchased in a department store in Cedar Rapids.
Where am I from?' Agnes said it softly. 'Iowa.' She had a tendency not to speak up.
Where?' the woman scowled, bewildered.
Iowa,' Agnes repeated loudly.
The woman in black touched Agnes's wrist and leaned in confidentially. She moved her mouth in a concerned and exaggerated way, like an exercise. 'No, dear,' she said. 'Here we say O-hi-o. — Lorrie Moore

Makes me nervous on about five different levels. "Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him," Haymitch says. "Face-to-face? — Suzanne Collins

For most of a day we walked through alkali flats, the white crust like a frosted layer of salt that rose in a powder when your boots punched through. We wore the chalk on us everywhere - up to our knees, in the creases of our fingers clenching the rifle strap, down in the cavity between my breasts, and in my mouth, too. I couldn't keep it out and stopped trying. I couldn't keep anything out, I realized, and that was something I loved about Africa. The way it got at you from the outside in and never let up, and never let you go. — Paula McLain

My father would eat cat shit if it was salted, fried, or frosted, but it took an act of Congress to get him to eat a vegetable. — Janet Evanovich

You guys make the rules up, so a foul is a foul. It doesn't matter if a guy is bigger and stronger. It's not my fault I ate my Frosted Flakes when I was little, and you ate Wheaties. — Shaquille O'Neal

Her lips were frosted with sugar and faeriedust. — Allyse Near

She's a lesbian Marty. Girls, she likes girls and no amount of frosted eye shadow is going to make her want dick. — Dakota Cassidy

Me and Frosted went to get a drink.
But she ordered somethin' bugged, and I ain't know what to think.
She ordered potassium, calcium,
Carbohydrate, scotch with sodium.
She took me to her crib, threw me on the couch ...
I woke up the next morning with a spoon in my mouth. — LL Cool J

Life shouldn't be about sitting around staring at frosted glass. Life should be lived and that's all there is to it. — Oliver Reed

Remember there's always a grain of truth in the prophecies, no matter how much poetry has been frosted on top." ~ Lucas to Helen — Josephine Angelini

The Pop-Tarts page is often aflutter. Pop-Tarts, it says as of today (February 8, 2008), were discontinued in Australia in 2005. Maybe that's true. Before that it said that Pop-Tarts were discontinued in Korea. Before that Australia. Several days ago it said: "Pop-Tarts is german for Little Iced Pastry O' Germany." Other things I learned from earlier versions: More than two trillion Pop-Tarts are sold each year. George Washington invented them. They were developed in the early 1960s in China. Popular flavors are "frosted strawberry, frosted brown sugar cinnamon, and semen." Pop-Tarts are a "flat Cookie." No: "Pop-Tarts are a flat Pastry, KEVIN MCCORMICK is a FRIGGIN LOSER notto mention a queer inch." No: "A Pop-Tart is a flat condom." Once last fall the whole page was replaced with "NIPPLES AND BROCCOLI!!!!! — Nicholson Baker

Girl, he wants to dip you in Frosted Flakes and have you for breakfast. That's his favorite cereal, by the way. I ... had no words for that. — Gena Showalter

He said at another time that she had no heart; and he added in a moment that she had given it all away - in small pieces, like a frosted wedding-cake. — Henry James

When I was a child, I used to eat sugar Frosted Flakes with chocolate milk, but I digest, I mean digress. — Stephen Furst

A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up towards the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-coloured rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea. — F Scott Fitzgerald

Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers. But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie's gown were done by Cinna's hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta's. — Suzanne Collins

Because she did not look behind, September did not see the smoky-glass casket close itself primly up again. She did not see it bend in half until it cracked, and Death hop up again, quite well, quite awake, and quite small once more. She certainly did not see Death stand on her tiptoes and blow a kiss after her, a kiss that rushed through all the frosted leaves of the autumnal forest, but could not quite catch a child running as fast as she could. As all mothers know, children travel faster than kisses. The speed of kisses is, in fact, what Doctor Fallow would call a cosmic constant. The speed of children has no limits. — Catherynne M Valente

He who could write so easily, who could spend a thousand words down along his plunging fingers on the green-rubber keyboard of his machine, had stumbled like a first-grader over this single paragraph. A dozen times he had begun it and written into it a naked desperation; a dozen times he had begun it and written into it the frosted mathematics of logic. Finally he'd written out quickly the sentences that kept cropping up in all the versions. Those must be, to whatever censor there was in him, the most acceptable ones. He sealed it without rereading it and went out to mail it. An hour later he despised himself for having sent it. — Laura Z. Hobson

The issues the underground press raised have not been settled. In colder times they may have frosted over, but as long as individuals and groups seek to take control of their own lives the experiences of those times contain information that can and must be used. — Nigel Fountain

The horizon was frosted with a greenish smear, as if ranks of campfires from distant tribes had divined the news already and were burning an homage to Elphaba before the sun could set on the day of her death.
He could smell her in the collar of the cape, and he wept for the first time. — Gregory Maguire

History is the lie. History's words stain otherwise pristine books, drops of inky poison frosted in sugared deception. — Courtney M. Privett

October arrives in a swirl of fragrant blue leaf smoke, the sweetness of slightly frosted MacIntosh apples, and little hard acorns falling. We are in the midst of cool crisp days, purple mists, and Nature recklessly tossing her whole palette of dazzling tones through fields and woodlands. — Jean Hersey

My thoughts drift to Brittany. I've tried to forget Brittany will be going with someone else to the Halloween dance. I heard she was going with her old boyfriend. I try to push out of my mind the fact that another guy will have his hands on her.
Her date will kiss her tonight, I'm sure of it. Who wouldn't want to kiss those sweet, soft, frosted lips?
I'm going to work tonight until I have to leave for the deal. Because if I was home alone, I'd go nuts thinking about everything.
My grip on the riveter in my hand loosens and it drops smack in the middle of my forehead. I don't get pissed off at myself, I blame Brittany. And by eight o'clock I'm as angry as anything with my little chem partner, whether it's warranted or not. — Simone Elkeles

Little strength it's almost impossible to push against the wind. My hands feel strange. I look at them and see that they've frosted — Walt Disney Company

There is a definite romance that buzzes and ticks and takes you by the elbow when Christmastime arrives in the city. It's something about the lights. The way the wreaths dress up the streetlamps. How everyone seems to commute home at night with much more purpose, and I often found myself wondering what they were barreling back for. If it was a tree that needed to be decorated, or cookies needing to be frosted, or just someone worth holding all winter long. — Hannah Brencher

within the frosted bushes. It was only in — Jeffrey Eugenides

This was now officially the most inane conversation in which Griff had ever been a participant - and that included a drunken debate with Del over ostrich racing.

"The color isn't too awful?" She twisted a fold of the skirt. "The draper called it 'dewy petal,' but your mother said the shade was more of a 'frosted berry.' What do you say?"

"I'm a man, Simms. Unless we're discussing nipples, I don't see the value in these distinctions. — Tessa Dare

Honest Winter, snow-clad, and with the frosted beard, I can welcome not uncordially; But that long deferment of the calendar's promise, that weeping gloom of March and April, that bitter blast outraging the honour of May how often has it robbed me of heart and hope? — George Gissing

He frosted under heavy guard. — Suzanne Collins

Everything is silent again: but it isn't the same silence. It's raining: tapping lightly against the frosted glass windows; if there are any more masked children in the street, the rain is going to spoil their cardboard masks. — Jean-Paul Sartre

If I were flying, I would travel to a perfect place. A place with frosted cakes and beautiful flowers and excellent trees to climb and absolutely no doldrums. — Kyo Maclear

The Sugar Frosted Nutsack is fantastic. It's volcanic and sexy and utterly unlike anything I've read before. It feels like the future in a dazzling way that has nothing to do with looking backward. It's been a long wait for a new novel from Mark Leyner, but worth it. Ten out of ten from me. — Douglas Coupland

Ehlena was naturally lovely, with fine small features and that strawberry blond hair and those long, lean limbs.
Her lips were pink because they were pink - not from some eighteen-hour, glossy, frosted grease coat.
And her toffee-colored eyes were luminescent because they were yellow and red and gold all mixed together - not from a whole lot of paint-by-numbers shimmery shadow and slathered-on mascara.
And her cheeks were flushed because he was getting under her skin.

-Rehv's thoughts — J.R. Ward

Lissa's hotel suite had a expansive living room and work area, with an adjacent bedroom accessible through frosted-glass French doors. Serena nodded towards them."How about I just go in there?" A smart idea. Provided privacy but kept her close by. Then, Serena realised her implications, and she blushed. " I mean ... unless you guys want to go in there and I'll-"
"No," exclaimed Lissa, growing more and more embarrassed. "This is fine. We'll stay in here. We're just talking. — Richelle Mead

I used to be a gibber-poet. . . . assemblages of appropriated text from cereal box side panels. I'd spell every third word backwards to foreground the slipping signification of say, riboflavin, dextrose, whatever - the arbitrariness of the act is what charges the work with politically subversive anti-hegemonic gender inspecificity. Once you implode the ingredients hierarchy you've eradicated the implicit privileging of the phallocentric socio-economic taxonomy. The whole banana to slip . . . into pro-metaphoric usage is so de-centered you can bet your boots they won't be recon-deconstructing Sugar-Frosted Flakes again till the cows some home to roost. — James W. Blinn

There is more similarity in the marketing challenge of selling a precious painting by Degas and a frosted mug of root beer than you ever thought possible. — A. Alfred Taubman

I'm a fucking adult. I can eat a cookie before dinner if I want to." Sure, keep telling yourself that. Knowing if his mother had been alive, she would have scolded him, he tiptoed to the airtight container and took out one cookie. Come on, one little frosted cookie wouldn't hurt. He hesitated, and then he grabbed a second cookie in case the first didn't take the edge off. He bit down into the sugary goodness and groaned. Hell, yeah, this is better than sex. He choked on the last bit of cookie and grabbed his beer to wash it down. Fuck, he needed to get laid if a cookie was better than sex. How long had it been? — Carrie Ann Ryan

I'm going to have the daintiest things possible ... things that will match the spring, you understand ... little jelly tarts and lady fingers, and drop cookies frosted with pink and yellow icing, and buttercup cake. — L.M. Montgomery

Are you two you know?" Jacob pointed at us. " Together? Together? "
I didn't get a chance to answer. Cam spun me around and kissed me, right there between the two buildings. It was no friendly peck on the lips. When our tongues touched, my bag slipped off my arm and hit the frosted ground.
"Holy crap," Jacob muttered. "I think they're going to make babies. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

What's that?"
"It's brownies. You know, the frosted kind. The ones that fulfill every chocolate fantasy. Unless you don't like chocolate. But of course you do. Everyone likes chocolate. Wait, do you like chocolate? Oh, and nuts? Do you like nuts?"
His scowl deepened as he glanced from side to side to see if anyone was within earshot. "I like nuts. Unless they're attached to a dude. - Viv and Kane — Brenda Rothert

All that was a dream, you couldn't hold on, you couldn't depend on frosted glass and Debussy. — Janet Fitch

Stained glass, engraved glass, frosted glass; give me plain glass. — John Fowles

Oh sweetie, you won't die an old maid. Maybe an old baker, but not a maid. — A.M. Willard

All that evening Nell sat alone in her bedroom trembling with curious satisfaction. For punishment Eva had been sent to her room without supper and Nell sat listening now to the even, steady sobs far off down the hall. It was dark and on the river shore a night bird tried its note cautiously against the silence. Down in the pantry, the dishes done, Suse and Jessie, dark as night itself, drank coffee by the great stove and mumbled over stories of the old times before the War. Nell fetched her smelling salts and sniffed the frosted stopper of the flowered bottle till the trembling stopped. ("Where The Woodbine Twineth") — Davis Grubb

The graveyard was at the top of the hill. It looked over all of the town. The town was hills - hills that issued down in trickles and then creeks and then rivers of cobblestone into the town, to flood the town with rough and beautiful stone that had been polished into smooth flatness over the centuries. It was a pointed irony that the very best view of the town could be had from the cemetery hill, where high, thick walls surrounded a collection of tombstones like wedding cakes, frosted with white angels and iced with ribbons and scrolls, one against another, toppling, shining cold. It was like a cake confectioner's yard. Some tombs were big as beds. From here, on freezing evenings, you could look down at the candle-lit valley, hear dogs bark, sharp as tuning forks banged on a flat stone, see all the funeral processions coming up the hill in the dark, coffins balanced on shoulders.
("The Candy Skull") — Ray Bradbury

You know, people always warn children about taking candy from strange adults. But they never warn us adults about taking candy from strange children.
All those sweet-looking kids who sell boxes of candy bars on the street to help pay for schooling - how do we know what's in those bars? And don't even get me stated on that nefarious institution designed to lure unsuspecting customers into buying mysterious frosted goodies: the bake sale.
Adults, be warned: if a child wanted to poison you it would be a piece of cake! Literally a piece of cake. — Pseudonymous Bosch

Wearing nothing but sweats and a sheer coat of lip gloss, she wiggle through her frosted window and jumped six feet to freedom, feeling more charged than a Visa card at Christmas time. — Lisi Harrison

One of the odder services the Villa Candessa provided for its long-term guests was its "likeness cakes" - little frosted simulacra fashioned after the guests by the inn's Camorr-trained pastry sculptor. On a silver tray beside the looking glass, a little sweetbread Locke (with raisin eyes and almond-butter blond hair) sat beside a rounder Jean with dark chocolate hair and beard. The baked Jean's legs were already missing. A few moments later, Jean was brushing the last buttery crumbs from the front of his coat. "Alas, poor Locke and Jean." "They died of consumption," said Locke. — Scott Lynch

We're going to go right by a couple 24/7s crossing town. Maybe we could stop and get some hot chocolate."
"That stuff they sell in those places is swill."
"Yeah, but it's chocolate swill." Peabody tried a pitiful, pleading look. "You wouldn't let her give us any of the good stuff."
"Maybe you'd like some cookies, too. Or little frosted cakes."
"That would be nice. Thanks for asking."
"That was sarcasm, Peabody."
"Yes, sir. I know. Responded in kind."
The easy laugh had the black cloud lifting. Because it did, Eve pulled over at a cross-street 24/7 and waited while Peabody ran in and loaded up. — J.D. Robb

Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything screams in my dreams tonight. — Suzanne Collins

It's hard not to smile when you're going eyeball to eyeball with a frosted chocolate cupcake. — Shannon Wiersbitzky

I'm a frosted lemon coward — Tegan Quin

Our backs hut from gathering them: how hard they were to find among the concealing leaves, the frosted deceiving grass. — Truman Capote

Without the Project I was nothing but a secretary on a road to nowhere, drifting toward frosted hair and menthol addiction. — Julie Powell

If I was a cake, I would be incomplete unless I was a yellow sponge from Asia; frosted with brown chocolate from Americas; classy and elegant decorated with fresh white cream from Europe, and satin black fondant from Africa. I would be edible only if cooled in the Antarctica and served at a beach in Australia. No race in this world is superior to another but rather deficient without the other. Tolerance is not love but a chance to abolish any opportunity for hatred. Let's keep baking in a joyful and tolerant manner. — Gloria D. Gonsalves