He's Not My Type Quotes & Sayings

To fall in love with him even though I was right here?"
"You're not really my type, Abe," I say.
"I'm too handsome?" He grins.
"Too evil. — Suzanne Young

Let's go," I said.
"Go where?"
"On Lori's date with Parker."
Now he looked at me over the nerdy spectacles he wore for reading.
"I wasn't aware it was a double date. And you're not my type. — Jennifer Echols

I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?"
I would, actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers.
My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach."
Just then the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Peeta to collapseto the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hoovercraft appears a hundred metres or so away.What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air. — Suzanne Collins

Y-naga: "That's the thing ... It's like trying to find a guy who's a kid at heart but still a responsible adult, so he can be counted on when I find myself in a pinch, somebody who's a little wild at times but normally lets me have my way even when I'm being selfish and just says, "well, if you insist," a guy who's not too full of himself but understands what clothes suit his body type best ... "
S-hara: "What I'm saying is the pretty ones are stupid! The ones who have it all together are all so, so stubborn that they never do things my way! — Fumi Yoshinaga

I stopped at a red light, turned my head, and allowed myself to enjoy the handsomeness that was Brent.
He noticed my staring and asked, "What?"
"As if you don't know. You're not the type of guy that a girl gets tired of looking at."
"Oh. Well in that case, you're welcome to look all you want," he said and gestured to himself. "You're allowed to touch, too." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
I lowered my voice into its sexy-husky range. "I was hoping you'd say that." With my flirtiest look on my face, I rubbed my hand slowly up his arm and then pinched him firmly on the shoulder.
"Ow!" Brent rubbed his shoulder and grinned. "Not what I had in mind! — Lani Woodland

I hated Big. I hated everything about him and this story line. First of all, it didn't make any sense that he was getting out of the car to tell her he would marry her and never once said that when she's throwing the flowers at him. I wanted Big dead. I wanted to take the fork that was sitting in my bathroom and stab him in the eyes, right where he has those big puffy circles under them. Stupid-ass shitstain motherfucker. Then Carrie wastes all of her energy being mad at Miranda when the real problem was and always will be Charlotte. Forget what Miranda told Big about getting married. How about being mad at Charlotte for being so stupid? The only decent thing Charlotte's ever done on the show or in the movie is shit her pants, and that does not make up for years of Type 1 retardation. My — Chelsea Handler

Stridey-Man: " Want 2 vaca w/me?"
William: "Romantic getaway for 2? UR not my type"
Stridey-Man: "I'm everyone's type. So U in or out? 'Cause I'm thinking about hooking up w/P, wherever he is. U'd just B extra baggage."
William: "In"
Stridey: "Knew you couldn't resist me. B ready in 5."
William: "Right on. Make it 10. I want 2 style my hair for U. U know, just how U like it."
Stridey: "Now U only have 8 minutes 2 do UR hair. — Gena Showalter

I have never been a nag. I have always been rather proud of my un-nagginess. So it pisses me off, that Nick is forcing me to nag. I am willing to live with a certain amount of sloppiness, of laziness, of the lackadaisical life. I realize I am more type A than Nick, and I try not to inflict my neat-freaky, to-do-list nature on him. Nick is not the kind of guy who is going to think to vacuum or clean out the fridge. He truly doesn't see that kind of stuff. Fine. Really. But I do like a certain standard of living - I think it's fair to say the garbage shouldn't literally overflow, the plates shouldn't sit in the sink for a week with smears of bean burrito dried on them. That is just being a good grown-up roommate. And Nick's doing anything anymore, so I nag, and it pisses me off: You are turning me into what I never have been and never wanted to be, a nag because you are not living up to your end of a very basic compact. Don't do that, It's not ok to do. — Gillian Flynn

There was a sudden awkwardness between them, so thick it permeated the air around them. "Ahhh," Nick said as he understood why they weren't explaining it. As the old saying went, opposites attract. "You two are special friends."
Kyrian frowned. "How do you mean?"
Acheron passed a peeved look to Kyrian. "He thinks we're a couple."
Kyrian took a step away from Acheron. "No. No. No. Definitely not. Not that Acheron is not an attractive man, not that I've ever really noticed whether or not he's attractive, but male is not my type. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

All I saw in his eyes during my last impromptu was visit was apathy. A healthy dose of it. It's not that he hates me; it's that he's devoid of any type of emotions toward me. — James L. Rubart

Cristiano is an explosive type of player, with great technique, but he's still not as gifted as Messi in my opinion. Messi is more of a genius than Cristiano. Cristiano is so strong physically, so powerful, but Messi has more creativity. — Fabio Capello

I'm not a boy!" Dashan retorted hotly. "How dare you speak to me like that!"
"I'll speak to you any way I see fit. You are sorely lacking in discipline and wouldn't know danger if it bit you in the arse!" Ryland looked towards the door where Dashan wanted to go. "Do you have any idea what sort of place that is?"
"A brothel?"
Ryland laughed so hard his head fell back. "A brothel, he says. My, my, aren't you the innocent? It is a brothel, but a certain type of one. The men who frequent it are known to have very particular tastes."
"What sort of tastes?" Dashan was curious now. Did Ryland know it was a brothel for men who wanted men? And how did he know? Did he use this place too?
Ryland shook his head. "That's not something the king would appreciate me telling his son."
"Show me then. I demand that you show me. That's an order. — Annette Gisby

And the HE stands up. if frenchy's could bottle him up and sell him as porn, they'd probably own half of chicago within a year. he's what would happen after nine months if abercrombie fucked fitch. he's like a movie star, an olympic swimmer, and america's next top male model all at once. he's wearing a silver shirt and pink pants. everything about him sparkles.
not my type at all. but ... — David Levithan

I'm the fucking Horde King, I don't woo."
"Woo her," Ristan continues.
"I don't woo."
"Woo," he repeats.
"I'm not the kind of man to woo anyone. I can make her scream my name to the rafters, isn't that enough wooing?"
"Woo," Ristan smirks, which only served to irritate me more.
"Woo," I grind out on an exhale.
"Yes, woo," he says, already turning to walk away. I watch his shoulders quake with laughter.
"Woo," I growl.
"Woo!" He says over his shaking shoulders.
"Fuck me," I shake my head.
"No thanks, not my type ... — Amelia Hutchins

I have to go in with Raquel and fix this curse. Why don't you come in and . . . umm, lie down on the couch or something."
Reth gave me a humorless smile. "In all our time with each other, have I ever struck you as the type to nap on a couch?"
I snickered. "Not really. But it would be entertaining for me, at least. I'll bet you snore, even."
He looked indignant. "What makes you think I even sleep?"
"Do you?"
"Not in the same way you do. Go and waste your time trying to 'fix' Lend. I will try my best not to die waiting."
I took a step away, then turned back. "Wait, seriously? Are you going to die?"
He smiled, this time a genuine one. "I knew you cared. Not at the moment, but I will need you for something very soon. — Kiersten White

Current relationship status?" Her voice cut like an arctic chill blowing through the room.
"If you mean me, then you're not my type. If you mean my dad, he's single, but I don't think you're his type either," I said with a small smile. Mercy didn't find it amusing. A small blue vein in her forehead started throbbing like crazy ... "Actually, come to think of it, I don't think he has a type. I've never seen him with a woman.
Mercy, I hate to break it to you, but there's a very real possibility my dad is gay. — Jus Accardo

You're flying to Chicago to get drunk and have other women shake their boobs in your face."
"If it bothers you, I won't go," he said seriously.
"No," I kicked at the table leg. "It doesn't bother me. Maybe I'm just jealous."
"Jealous? You're not the jealous type."
"Maybe I want boobs shaken in my face. — L.D. Davis

Ashton Ford will come as something of a surprise to those of you who have been with me over the years. This is not the same type of fiction that established my success as a novelist; Ford is not a gutbuster and he is not trying to save the world from anything but its own confusion. There are no grenade launchers or rockets to solve his problems and he is more of a lover than a fighter. I have grown, I hope, both as a person and as a writer, and I needed another vehicle to carry the creative quest. Ashton Ford is that vehicle. — Don Pendleton

I expect you are wondering why I had not considered the possibility of unemployment. The reason being that my mind had a very different recollection of what unemployed men looked like. The jobless man I remembered from the past went out onto the street with a placard around his neck that read "Looking for any type of work". When he'd had enough of drifting fruitlessly around in this manner, he would remove the placard, grab a red flag handed to him by a loitering Bolshevist, and return to the street. — Timur Vermes

Don't even think about it, Travis. She's like my sister," America warned.
"Baby," Shepley said, "you just told him no. He's never gonna stop, now."
"You're not her type," she hedged.
Travis feigned offense. "I'm everyone's type!"
I peeked over at him and smiled.
"Ah! A smile. I'm not a rotten bastard after all. — Jamie McGuire

Wear it for me, the note says, though it's not the words I'm interested in. The words are a command, of the type men have given me all my life. But the question mark on the end ... the question mark is the thing I'm drawn to. I trace it with my fingers, that curve as compelling as the wood he's worked into such lovely shapes. — Charlotte Stein

You don't need to worry, though. He's not my type."
"I don't think I've ever heard a girl say that before," said Simon. "I thought Jace was the kind of guy who was everyone's type. — Cassandra Clare

I know well that many of my readers do not think as I do. This also is most natural and confirms the theorem. For although my opinion turn out erroneous, there will always remain the fact that many of those dissentient readers have never given five minutes' thought to this complex matter. How are they going to think as I do? But by believing that they have a right to an opinion on the matter without previous effort to work one out for themselves, they prove patently that they belong to that absurd type of human being which I have called the "rebel mass." It is precisely what I mean by having one's soul obliterated, hermetically closed. Here it would be the special case of intellectual hermetism. The individual finds himself already with a stock of ideas. He decides to content himself with them and to consider himself intellectually complete. — Ortega Y Gasset

Hazael rose from his knees. It had to take extraordinary effort, yet somehow he managed a version of his lazy smile when he said, "You know, I've always wanted to be a bath attendant. You should take me instead. I'm nicer than my sister."
Jael returned the lazy smile. "You're not my type."
"Well, you're not anybody's type," said Hazael. "No, wait. I take it back. My sword says she'd like to know you better."
"I'm afraid I must deny her the pleasure. I've been kissed by swords before, you see."
"I may have noticed. — Laini Taylor

He wasn't the type for displays of affection, either verbal or not. He was disgusted by couples that made out in the hallways between classes, and got annoyed at even the slightest sappy moments in movies. But I knew he cared about me: he just conveyed it more subtly, as concise with expressing this emotion as he was with everything else. It was in the way he'd put his hand on the small of my back, for instance, or how he'd smile at me when I said something that surprised him. Once I might have wanted more, but I'd come around to his way of thinking in the time we'd been together. And we were together, all the time. So he didn't have to prove how he felt about me. Like so much else, I should just know. — Sarah Dessen

After several interactions in which he questioned my authority and pretended not to hear me speaking, it was clear he was my type — Lena Dunham

Gregory Johnson is a fine specimen of the male human. Look how large he is!"
"Why don't you make out with him then?"
Raphael laughed. "Abigail Miller, he is not my type. He is a human. — Ashlan Thomas

Is she your Daughter of Man?' He nods toward me.
'She is a Daughter of Man. And she is traveling with me. But she's not my Daughter of Man.'
'Oh. So she's available?' ask Howler.
Raffe gives him an icy look.
'We're all single now, you know,' says Hawk.
'They can't punish us twice for the same crime' says Cyclone.
'And now that we know you're out of the race Commander, that makes me the next best-looking in line,' says Howler.
'Enough.' Raffe doesn't look amused.'You're not her type.'
The Watchers smile knowingly.
'How do you know?' I ask.
Raffe turns to me. 'Because angels aren't your type. You hate them, remember? — Susan Ee

A smart woman knows when to listen to her man."
Her man? "He is most definitely not my man. He's not my type."
"Type? If he was any more your type, he'd have you sitting in his lap. — Vonnie Davis

Take this. (Jericho)
(He slid the ring off his finger and handed it to him.)
I'm not about to marry your ugly ass, boy. No offense, but you ain't my type. I like my dates with less body hair ... and with female parts attached by nature. (Asmodeus) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

He says they're not his type, but I don't really get the concept of having a type. My type is girls. All of them. Why would I limit my dating pool? — Nicola Yoon

Now I'm not the type that gets upset,
Try to disrespect folks just to earn respect.
But learn this fact: whether white or black,
I can't be conquered in my style of rap.
For jealousy and envy are dumb ones' tools,
So Ricky says nothing, he keeps his cool.
Revenge is not a mission that the Ruler's on,
Just forgiveness required for the wrong that's done. — Slick Rick

All I can say is, Brad totally wasn't worth it. He was SO not my type. I only hooked up with him because I was trying to see if popularity could be sexually transmitted. Turns out it can't. — Katherine Easer

I think you're asking too much. You know what I have? Toward this Pris android?"
"Empathy," he said.
"Something like that. Identification; there goes I. My god; maybe that's what'll happen. In the confusion you'll retire me, not her. And she can go back to Seattle and live my life. I never felt this way before. We are machines, stamped out like bottle caps. It's an illusion that I - I personally - really exist; I'm just representative of a type."
He could not help being amused; Rachael had become so mawkishly morose. "Ants don't feel like that," he said, "and they're physically identical."
"Ants. They don't feel period."
"Identical human twins. They don't - "
"But they identify with each other; I understand they have an empathic, special bond. — Philip K. Dick

She touched my throat with her teeth."

"Well," Drew said quietly, "that can be extremely hot, or extremely bad if the trust isn't there first."

"I should've been able to handle it."

"Bullshit." Drew snorted. "If Hawke went for my throat, I'd freeze the fucking hell where I was and start thinking of way to convince him that whatever he though I did, I didn't do."

Felix knew Drew, knew how the other man used humor to get through people, but he couldn't laugh this time. "Hawke isn't your lover."

"That's true. He's not really my type. I mean, with that hair and everything. — Nalini Singh

When I can't fall asleep at night it's not because of work or school or Amber or Bekah. It's you. You're the one that drives me crazy."
I shake my head because it makes no sense. "Have you ever thought about what people will think? What they'll say when they see us together holding hands?"
"You never struck me as the type to give a shit what everyone else thinks." His jaw twitches for a moment before he lowers his voice and says, "I want to go everywhere with you. I want to show you off. I want to wear a cheap suit and be your escort for that ridiculous pageant. — Julie Murphy

But how did you know that it was Stacy?"
"There wasn't a green light flashing, that's for sure," he said. "Mostly, I felt I'd met a person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. That I didn't need to look any further.""
"But how can you be sure?" I persisted.
"You can't. There's not just one person in the world who's your type. There's a whole group with the same likes and dislikes. But you want to spend your whole life looking for all of them? You just feel that everything's right. You're at peace with yourself. — Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Stridey-Man' asked, Want 2 vacay w/me?
William snorted as he typed. Romantic getaway for 2? UR not my type, dickwad.
Fuck U. i'm everybody's types. So U in or out?Last chance in or out?
In
Knew U couldn't resist me. B ready in 5.
Right on. Make it 10. I want 2 style my hair for U. U know, just how U like it.
ASSHOLE. — Gena Showalter

it's going great. Two months in, and I've created three apps."

"Apps?"

"For people who buy my book as an e-book --which will be everybody. The first is called Don't Look. It's for the overly sensitive. It blurs and turns the type red when a dog dies or a baby is born with a birth defect. Stuff like that. My second is It's Not Okay When You Say It, and it delivers an electrical zap if the reader laughs at a racial slur. My third is Jesus Thesaurus, which replaces explicit sexual language with church words. So, when one of my characters 'saints' a guy's 'disciple', He'll beg her to 'cavalry' his 'Baptists' and 'shout amen'. — Helen Ellis

Vik moved to sit down by her arm. "You want to leave him for a real man?"
Shahara laughed. "You're not my type, Vik."
He tsked. "Yeah, it's hard for you fleshy types to admit that we're better in bed. 'Sa'ight. I understand." He sniffed. "Not like I don't have a crush on a lamp."
Syn smiled. "You know I have missed you."
-Vik, Shahara, & Syn — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Are you pulling my leg?" she asked. "Can you really dissect fragrances just by a simple sniff?" He looked befuddled. "Yes, I can tell exactly what is in almost any fragrance, but I am not pulling your leg. I have not touched your leg or any part of your body. I would not do so after the last time you were here and I treated you badly." He was utterly serious, and Libby had to stifle a laugh as she passed the cake of soap back to him. "I apologize. Pulling my leg is a figure of speech, not something to be taken literally. I was asking if you are teasing me." Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Ah. I see. Well, Miss Liberty Sawyer, you seem like the type of person I would like to tease were I free to do so, but I was not teasing you. I think you are a much better artist than the person who painted this soap label. He obviously wanted something pretty, but I think you would want something accurate. Am I right?" She nodded. "You are right. — Elizabeth Camden

He's wearing a white button down, black pants, and suspenders. He's not my type, but the getup is pretty sexy. Like, put your brother in suspenders and he might become hot too. Okay, that was too far, and I need to stop watching Game of Thrones. Kit — Tarryn Fisher

Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, 'Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished. — Arthur Conan Doyle

Obama did not want to join a historically Christian black church in Chicago that took traditional Christian doctrines seriously. Rather, he sought out a liberal church that would help him advance his budding political career. Remnick notes that Obama could have joined "Reverend Arthur Brazier's enormous Pentecostal church on the South Side." But he didn't, and Brazier explained to Remnick why Obama didn't join his church: Reverend Wright and I are on different levels of Christian perspective. Reverend Wright is more into black liberation, he is more of a humanitarian type who sought to free African-Americans from plantation policies. My view was more on the spiritual side. I was more concerned, as I am today, with people accepting Jesus Christ. Winning souls for Christ. The civil-rights movement was an adjunct; as a Christian, you couldn't close your eyes to the injustice. But in my opinion the church was not established to do that. It was to win souls for Christ. — Phyllis Schlafly

Albert died in an unfortunate accident sometime ago and was raised as a zombie by his amateur necromancer friend, Neil. Bubba was a new friend we had acquired in Vegas when helping him gain back the freedom he had previously gambled away. The fourth member of our group, a government agent and my girlfriend named Krystal, was out of town for work this week, thus I was conducting my first weekly scrabble tournament with just the three of us. Which leaves only me to be accounted for in the explanation. My name. which I hope you know by now. is Frederick Frankford Fletcher and I am a vampire, though still not the type that inspires swooning or terror. — Drew Hayes

My type has a romantic soul. He'll make my heart and my brain fight over who gets him first. He does what's right, even when it's not easy - actually, especially when it's not easy. He knows the value of discipline, education, honor, and restraint. And his strength of character is the only thing that out weighs the strength of his love for me. — Penny Reid

Who is Aaron?"
"He and I own a tattoo place," Cooper said, wrapping me in his arms. "I shelled out the cash and he's the artist. Known him since middle school. Solid guy and he'll make sure you're safe."
I wasn't sure what my face did, but a smiling Cooper caressed my cheek.
"He's not scary. Yes, he's sporting a snake up his neck and a shaved head, but the guy's the real sensitive type. Probably writes poetry. — Bijou Hunter

She's not my type! While her ambitions are slightly endearing, they're mostly delusional! But that's not even the problem." I did catch that compliment in there. I mean, this could be worse. Right?
"What's the problem?" Nikolai asks, opening the floodgates.
"She has a vagina!" The music switched songs right when he screamed that. It came out so much louder than it should have. — Krista Ritchie

The whole affair was the precise opposite of what I figured it would be: slow and patient and quiet and neither particularly painful nor particularly ecstatic. There were a lot of condomy problems that I did not get a particularly good look at. No headboards were broken. No screaming. Honestly, it was probably the longest time we'd ever spent together without talking. Only one thing followed type: Afterward, when I had my face resting against Augustus's chest, listening to his heart pound, Augustus said, "Hazel Grace, I literally cannot keep my eyes open." "Misuse of literality," I said. "No," he said. "So. Tired." His face turned away from me, my ear pressed to his chest, listening to his lungs settle into the rhythm of sleep. After a while, I got up, dressed, found the Hotel Filosoof stationery, and wrote him a love letter: — John Green

An hour ago, I never would have thought that someone like him could be my savior, but he is. What type of person would I be if I left my savior behind. I'm not leaving you behind. — Katie McGarry

Like you pointed out, I'm not your type. You're a nice lady, you know, once you've been fed and wined, but you're not my type either. We're just people in really fucked-up situations, and we need some help dealing with those situations," he said "What we're talking about here ... it's preservation. I need it as much as you do. — Kate Canterbary

I'll do most of the talking," Alex said. "But don't be afraid to ask Melinda Hubert questions-trust your instincts."
My instincts said to stay home and let him handle it. "So, will we play good cop/bad cop? I want to be the bad cop. I'm not the warm. nurturing type."
He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Really?"
Jerk. "So what should I do?"
"Stop watching cop shows for one. — Suzanne Johnson

Angela returns to the table, frowning. "She won't think her own brother's hot. That's sick." "Like you don't know yours is hot," Tiffany shoots back, looking to me for support. I shrug and look at Angela. "He isn't even close to my type, but he's not exactly terrible to look at." Angela and Tiffany both go silent, looking over my head with wide eyes. Tiffany bites her lip. A soft laugh rings out just behind me. "Thanks? I think. — Kristin Rae

I'm not blind, okay? On a purely physical level? Yeah, you're pretty sexy
and that suit you have to wear all the time doesn't hurt. But even if you didn't have that 'I kill you if I touch you' thing going on, you are definitely not my type. And more importantly, I'm not some perverted asshole," he says. "I take my job seriously. I get real shit done in this world, and I like to think people respect me for it. — Tahereh Mafi

Well, friend, I don't know about your tastes, but I tend to like it very bloody," Myrnin said. He shifted position, dragging Claire along like a rag doll without any effort at all. "Have we been introduced?"
"Probably not. Why, are you asking me out, sweetheart?"
"You're not my type, darling. Is this one yours?"
"No," Frank said, and looked at Shane, just in a quick flicker. "Let's say she's a friend of the family. — Rachel Caine

I nod and I promise I will report any hallucinations to my mother, but I do not really believe I will hallucinate no matter what type of drugs he gives me, especially since I know he will not be giving me LSD or anything like that. I figure weaker people probably complain about their drugs, but I am not weak and I can control my mind pretty well. — Matthew Quick

He laughed softly. "My dearest Mistress Ashbrooke, while I will admit to a certain misguided attraction to your more earthly charms, I would not now, or ever, consider them worth relinquishing my freedom. I would not relinquish that for you or, indeed, any other woman."
The candor heightened the flush in her cheeks. "You have an aversion to marriage, sir?"
"Distinct and everlasting, madam. But aside from that, do I honestly strike you as the type of man who would take an unwilling wife to hearth and home?"
"I suppose ... if I thought about it ... "
He laughed again. "If women thought about a tenth of the things they should think about, I warrant the world would be a far less complicated place to live in. — Marsha Canham

My father is standing at the sink wearing a too-tight long-sleeved red T-Shirt, a pair of too-high jeans and sporting the type of orange glow that belongs only on Chernobyl victims. Plus his hair looks like an oil spill.
'Hey you,' he says, washing what looks to be some carrots under the sink. Are they carrots or are they parsnips reflecting the sheen of my father's tangerine skin? Hard to tell.
'You've fake tanned yourself again,' I say - it's a statement, not a question. 'Too much?' he says, innocently. 'I just didn't want to be one of those pasty office workers and I thought it wouldn't hurt to back up last week's application with another hit.'
'Dad, you look-'
'Sun kissed?'
'Radioactive. And what the hell happened to your hands?'
- Cat — Rebecca Sparrow

Eva said, Are you sure that it's my husband, Dr Brian Beaver, she's carrying on with? Only he's not the type.
"He's a man, isn't he?" Said Nicola. — Sue Townsend

My psychiatrist diagnosed me a Hypochondriac. I said, "Okay, can you prescribe me a placebo?"

"Not for Type-2 Hypochondriacs," he said. Your types would just fake faking. Then we'd have a real problem. — Brian Spellman

We hugged, and my dad cried a little. I don't have a macho-type dad, who hunts and fishes and collects guns. He's sensitive and caring. He drives me crazy most of the time, but I do admire that he's not afraid to show his "feminine side. — Bill Konigsberg

Sorry, I think I'll pass. You're not my type."
"I'm everybody's type, he says. You just have to realize it. — J.C. Reed

Should we tell your father I'm his date for the evening, or should I just surprise him?" She pulls out a piece of tomato, inspects it, scrapes something off it, then sticks it back on the hamburger.
"He won't notice," Hilary says. "He can't even tell me and Lily apart, and look at us. Just look at us."
"My dad never calls me by the right name," I say. "Only by my older sisters'. Sometimes he'll call me 'honey' really awkwardly. He's not the honey type, but it gets him out of having to remember my name."
Phoebe says, "All parents have trouble with names. I'm an only child, and my dad sometimes stops and says, 'Uh, you. — Claire LaZebnik

Mom, I remember Lizzie," Hart said. "She's really not my type." "She has a brother," Wes said, from his lounge. "He's not my type, either," Hart said. — John Scalzi

Ean seems like the 'not here to make friends' type, but I don't think anyone could go through this without getting close to someone. It's too hard. As difficult as it is for me, I know it's just as bad for you all."

"We definitely get the better end of the deal though," he said, winking at my reflection.

I tilted my head. "I don't know about that. The more I think about it, the sadder I get about having to send all but one of you away. I'll miss having you here."

"Have you considered a harem?" he said, deadpan.

I bent over in laughter and was rewarded with a pin stabbing my waist. "Ow!"

"Sorry! I shouldn't joke when there are needles around. — Kiera Cass

Ahhh, you two are special friends." Nick
"How do you mean?" Kyrian
"He thinks we're a couple" Ash
"No No No Definitely not. Not that Acheron is not an attractive man, not that I've ever really noticed whether or not he's attractive, but male is not my type." Kyrian — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Jillian followed. "Maybe, but don't worry, he's not my type. I'm trying to rehabilitate my uniform 'fetish' to strictly FedEx and UPS - bigger packages." Jackson — Jewel E. Ann

I liked him, there was no doubt about that. But I wasn't sure if he was good for me or not. I didn't always stick to things that were good for me - positively railed against it sometimes - but he was a different type of not good for me. He did things to my mind and body that I hadn't ever experienced before.
But it wasn't as if I could get him out of my head either: every moment I had free would suddenly be crammed with thoughts of him. His soft lips, the gentle urgency with which they'd kissed me. The intoxicating smell of his skin. His moss-green eyes that would follow everything I said, then would meet my eyes so we could share a smile. It was driving me slowly and pleasurably insane. — Dorothy Koomson

Maybe they're getting some bow-chicka-pow-wow."
I looked at him. "Ew."
He flashed his teeth. "She's definitely not my type." His gaze dropped to my lips, and parts of me quivered in response to the heat in his gaze. "But now I totally have that on my mind."
I was breathless. "You're a dog."
"If you pet me, I'll - "
"Don't even finish that sentence," I said, fighting a grin. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Kanin peered down at me, his impassive gaze softening just a touch. "I am no longer your teacher, Allison," he said quietly. "You have been one of us for a while now. You have hunted, and you have killed. It is not my responsibility to curb you demon." He glanced past me to the place Stick and the men had stood moments before. "And I wanted to see what type of monster you had become. — Julie Kagawa

I just don't think that I trust men. That's the problem. I can appreciate a beautiful-looking man, but he's not my type. — Cara Delevingne

If you have walked into a museum recently - whether you did so to attend an art exhibition or to escape from the police - you may have noticed a type of painting known as a triptych. A triptych has three panels, with something different painted on each of the panels. For instance, my friend Professor Reed made a triptych for me, and he painted fire on one panel, a typewriter on another, and the face of a beautiful, intelligent woman on the third. The triptych is entitled What Happened to Beatrice and I cannot look upon it without weeping.
I am a writer, and not a painter, but if I were to try and paint a triptych entitled The Baudelaire Orphans' Miserable Experiences at Prufrock Prep, I would paint Mr. Remora on one panel, Mrs. Brass on another, and a box of staples on the third, and the results would make me so sad that between the Beatrice triptych and the Baudelaire triptych I would scarcely stop weeping all da — Lemony Snicket

I counted his failings in my head: his obnoxious, cocky attitude; his pierced and painted wannabe girlfriend; his leather jacket and black motorcycle; his tattoos and multiple piercings. Even his name rankled. Dante. I'd spent my formative years dodging his type. I refused to be intimidated by him. That poncy lot. I seethed some more. And geeks? Surely he could come up with something more original. My entire year's work depended on a successful outcome here, and Tristan had assured me this guy was the real deal, not just another charlatan. We only had two night's use of the control tower. As of next week, it was scheduled for demolition. I'd convinced myself Dante was just a means to an end, and then he smiled at me, his hard, uncompromising face lighting up for just a second. With his sharp cheekbones and proud chin, he looked almost beautiful, and my stomach turned cartwheels. His eyes glittered like diamonds, pale silver that appeared luminous in the badly lit room. — Sofia Grey

Yeah, oh. Trust me, if I wanted to go there, we would have already been there." I've never rolled my eyes so fast in my life. "Please, you are not my type." He moves closer. "But don't you remember? I'm the man of your — E.J. Mellow

Because I know." Daemon appeared in front of me, eyes narrowed. He thumped his hand off his chest, directly above his heart. "Because I know what I feel in here. And I'm not the type of person to run from anything, no matter how hard it is. I'd rather face-plant against a brick wall than live for the rest of my life wondering what could've been. And you know what? I don't think you were the type to run either. Maybe I was wrong — Jennifer L. Armentrout

She's a nice girl. Not my type." "You don't like them nice?" He had another cigarette going. The smoke was being fanned away from his face by his hand. "I like smooth shiny girls, hardboiled and loaded with sin." "They take you to the cleaners," Randall said indifferently. — Raymond Chandler

Was that a tattoo I saw on your back?" He asked.
"None of your business."
"I just didn't peg you for the tramp stamp type."
"It's not a tramp stamp. It's my F-holes," I corrected. His eyes had widened before he let out a long, deep laugh.
"Jesus, Henley."
"For a violin, you A-hole."
I turned around, raising my shirt high enough on my lower back to reveal two curved lines on either side of my spine. I jumped when the pad of his finger ran over the design leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
"Wow," he mumbled, and I turned back around to face him, letting the hem of my shirt fall from my hands.
"What? You think it's stupid."
"No ... no. I think that's the sexiest tattoo I've ever seen. How often does someone get to finger your strings? — Teresa Mummert

Well, well. If it isn't the princess."
My body tensed and I frowned when I saw him approaching. Narrowing my eyes, I plastered on a fake smile. "I almost didn't recognize you without a tramp attached to you."
Drew and the other guy snickered.
Leaning into my ear he harshly whispered, "Would you like to change that? I'm not up to my limit tonight yet."
Gah, why did he have to be so hot? My body was practically humming with how close he was. I leaned away and replied with the most innocent expression on my face, "Oh I'm sorry, but I don't have any STDs, I'm not your type. — Molly McAdams

This seems like some type of romantic mood lighting." I turn to him. "And I can tell you right now that you're not getting sex tonight."
He laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Tonight? So you'd consider it some other night? Okay. That works for me. — Allie Everhart

Okay." I crossed my arms over my chest. "My type has a romantic soul. He'll make my brain and my heart fight over who gets him first. He does what's right, even when it's not easy - actually, especially when it's not easy. He knows the value of discipline, education, honor, and restraint. And his strength of character is the only thing that outweighs the strength of his love for me." Drew's — Penny Reid

Not only that, but when I first met Joe, to my intense delight, he showed me that he was a collector. He was collecting some of the early Tarzan pages by Hal Foster, and, later, early Flash Gordons; and I found that we were both absolutely interested in the same type of thing. — Joe Shuster

Look. I'm your expert consultant for a rather pathetic monetary wage, and under that agreement I have the option of selecting a technical assistant. He's mine."

She blew out a breath, paced to the window. Paced back. "Not just yours. It makes him mine, too. I don't know how to deal with a teenaged type person."

"Ah, well, I'd say you'd deal with him as you deal with everyone else. You order him around, and if he argues or doesn't jump quickly enough you freeze his blood with one of those vicious looks you're so good at and verbally abuse him. It always works so well for you."

"You think so?"

"There, see." He cupped her chin. "There it is now. I can actually feel my blood running cold. — J.D. Robb

Isaiah falls into the shadows with his back against the warehouse wall. His eyes travel back and forth down the alleyway. An hour ago, I never would have thought that someone like him would be my savior, but he is. What type of person would I be if I left my savior behind? "I'm not leaving without you." — Katie McGarry

First of all, he was not my type. He was nice, considerate, unselfish and grounded; qualities I'd never experienced in a man. Usually, I went for the self centered, screwed up, "I'm lost, will you be my mother" type. — Brenda Perlin

Talk about something else. Tell me about this book you are writing."
"What book?" I say. Then : "Oh, I know what you mean. I am not doing that anymore. I couldn't finish._
I don't think he knows, not really. Not yet.
In my haste to finish this story before death overtakes me, inevitably I have left out many things, and often I have expresses myself inelegantly, and no doubt here and there I have said more than I meant to. When you return, my dear type writer, we will review what we have done, and add this and subtract that. This work has become my hobby and my consolation, and I enjoy it. — Phillip Margulies

It needs to be said. I didn't have the strongest stomach. I wasn't the type of guy who could hold your hair while you puked and not be affected. Did that make me the worst possible boyfriend ever? Maybe. It's entirely possible I'd throw you a towel and run out of the room gagging. I know it's romantic to women - oh, my gosh, he's so sweet he held my hair while I puked up last night's hot dog and enough rum and Diet Coke to kill Captain Jack Sparrow! Seriously? What do you women read? How the hell is that romantic? Give me one reason. One. Just one. I don't even need three. Oh, wow, silence, big shock. You wanna know why? Because it's gross. Because if I had long hair and I were leaning over the toilet, God, you would not, ever, in your right mind waltz into the bathroom, put it in a ponytail, rub my back, wipe my mouth, and think, Wow, I really love this guy, oh, look a cracker! — Rachel Van Dyken

Jericho stopped him before he left. He slid the ring off his finger and handed it to him. "Take this."
Asmodeus curled his lip as he shrank back from it. "I'm not about to marry your ugly ass, boy. No offense, but you ain't my type. I like my dates with less body hair ... and with female parts attached by nature."
Jericho let out an aggravated growl. "It's not a wedding ring, asshole. It's Berith's ring. You get into trouble you can summon him to help you get out of there."
That completely changed his attitude. "Oh, hey, that could be worth an engagement to you." Asmodeus grinned as he palmed it. "If I'm back in a few hours ... well, I don't want to think about that. I might change my mind about doing this. I'm thinking happy thoughts. Creamed dog innards and rotten steak. Yeah. Yum." He vanished. — Sherrilyn Kenyon