Half Sleeve Quotes & Sayings

Perm in your hair or even a curly weave,
Wichya New Edition Bobby Brown button on your sleeve.
I tell you come here, you say, 'Meet me half way,'
Cause brothers been popping that game all day. — LL Cool J

There was a spell in the second half when I took my heart off my sleeve and put it in my mouth. — Ian Holloway

I think at one point I had 50 or 60 tattoos, but then they all morphed to become a half sleeve and then a full sleeve and then a sleeve with half my hand and then half my back. So I have so many now where I feel like I can get away with saying, 'I have three tattoos.' — Ruby Rose

[after Bram bit Nora at her request] It hit me then that she wasn't half as disgusted as she should be. '[Nora, a]re you ... sure you're okay with it?'
She pulled her sleeve back up and shrugged. She was quiet for a minute before asking, '[Bram. ]Did you enjoy it?'
I decided to tell the truth. 'Yes. You wouldn't believe how good you taste. I don't think i could even describe it.'
She laughed. 'Good? Like filet mignon good? Or like ... candy good? — Lia Habel

You're different than you used to be. A few months ago you wouldn't have followed me onto this porch." The compliment, if it was that, brought tears to her eyes. "I - I'm sorry for treating you so badly. I'm ashamed now of how I snubbed you - acted afraid of you - " "It's common enough." The admission startled her - made her feel grieved and defensive and tender toward him all at once. She longed to lay a reassuring hand on his sleeve but checked herself. There was no self-pity in his manner, only truth telling, and she sensed he didn't want her sympathy, just her friendship. And her forgiveness. "A half blood belongs to no one, red or white," he said. "You belong to God," she said softly. — Laura Frantz

The best customers are the ones who just have to buy a record on a Saturday, even if there's nothing they really want; unless they go home clutching a flat, square carrier bag, they feel uncomfortable. You can spot the vinyl addicts because after a while they get fed up with the rack they are flicking through, march over to a completely different section of the shop, pull a sleeve out from the middle somewhere, and come over to the counter; this is because they have been making a list of possible purchases in their head ("If I don't find anything in the next five minutes, that blues compilation I saw half an hour ago will have to do"), and suddenly sicken themselves with the amount of time they have wasted looking for something they don't really want. — Nick Hornby

For instance, in one play the palace of Lord Hosokawa, in which was preserved the celebrated painting of Dharuma by Sesson, suddenly takes fire through the negligence of the samurai in charge. Resolved at all hazards to rescue the precious painting, he rushes into the burning building and seizes the kakemono, only to find all means of exit cut off by the flames. Thinking only of the picture, he slashes open his body with his sword, wraps his torn sleeve about the Sesson and plunges it into the gaping wound. The fire is at last extinguished. Among the smoking embers is found a half- consumed corpse, within which reposes the treasure uninjured by the fire. Horrible as such tales are, they illustrate the great value that we set upon a masterpiece, as well as the devotion of a trusted samurai. — Okakura Kakuzo

As they left, Eve watched him slide the coffee sleeve off the drink and put it in his pocket.
After they'd walked a few blocks, she questioned him. "Why'd you keep the sleeve?"
Blake pulled out the cardboard and looked down at it. "Just to remember I could do it."
Eve grabbed it from him quickly, ripped it in half, and threw it in a trashcan on the sidewalk. Blake held his hands up and gave her a What the hell? look.
"Don't tie your success to anything other than what's inside you." She stepped up to him and gently patted his heart. "You did this, Blake. You. Not the coffee, not me, not Livia. You did this. — Debra Anastasia

Do you have a name I asked?" I asked.
"Yes." He stared back at me, blinking.
"What is it?"
"Clover." He looked away and typed something into the computer. His mouth kept twitching, like he was trying to hold in laughter.
"Seriously?"
He pushed his sleeve up, giving me a view of a blue clover tattooed on his forearm. "I'm half Irish."
And half shithead. — Tara Kelly

But then he rolls his eyes and gives me a half smile. "Fine. But if you must give me the Mark of the Beast, at least put it where I don't have to see it constantly."
"Such as?"
"If we want to be in keeping with what I think of the damned symbol, I'll drop trou and you can stamp it on my ass. But in the interest of propriety . . ." He rolls up his left sleeve, and I stamp the inside of his arm. — Rysa Walker