Hip French Quotes & Sayings

His system is a combination of ferocious blows, holds and throws, adapted from Japanese bayonet tactics, ju-jitsu, Chinese boxing, Sikh wrestling, French wrestling and Cornish collar-and-elbow wrestling, plus expert knowledge of hip-shooting, knife fighting and use of the Tommy gun and hand grenade. — Giles Milton

The most heroic word in all languages is revolution. — Eugene V. Debs

I was all, "Oh, dog, Countess gonna crack open a forty of whup-ass on you now. Oh, you in the sh*t now, wigga!" (I am not incline to use hip-hop vernacular often, but there are times when, like French, it just better expresses the sentiment of the moment.) -Abby — Christopher Moore

I wonder why there is a designated hitter in baseball after all these years? As an experiment, it seemed like a swell enough idea, but you would think the novelty would have worn off by now and everyone would get back to playing baseball. — Jay Mohr

The joy of the new, hip, happening, double-espresso Dublin is that you can blame any strange mood on coffee deprivation. This never worked in the era of tea, at least not at the same level of street cred. — Tana French

Earlier in my career, I used to spend a lot of time practising my tennis on court. Now I've learned that it's better to do just a couple of hours on court and two gym sessions a day. That's what's made me fitter and stronger. — Andy Murray

Conscience is the voice of the soul, the passions are the voice of the body. Is it astonishing that often these two languages contradict each other, and then to which must we listen? Too often reason deceives us; we have only too much acquired the right of refusing to listen to it; but conscience never deceives us; it is the true guide of man; it is to man what instinct is to the body; which follows it, obeys nature, and never is afraid of going astray. — Jean-Jacques Rousseau

The Jeep was parked at the beginning of the causeway when Denny got off the bus. She ignored it and started toward the island.
"Denise . . ."
Denny ignored Mr. Jones's call and kept on walking.
She heard the engine start, and soon the Jeep was rolling along beside her.
"Picked up your mail," said Mr. Jones. He handed some envelopes out the window. Denny grabbed them without a word.
"There's a letter there from some old coot named Jones," Mr. Jones said. "Looks like an apology."
Denny looked down and ruffled through the envelopes. "There is not," she said.
"No?" said Mr. Jones sheepishly. "Well, there should be. Guess he didn't get around to writing it. He feels real bad though. I know that for a fact."
Denny stopped and put her hand on her hip and stared at Mr. Jones. — Jackie French Koller

Great men are never sufficiently shown but in struggles. — Edmund Burke

She dressed carefully in her favorite shade: pale green, more delicate than the earliest leaves, known as "waters of the Nile," or in the far more sophisticated French "eau de Nil." It was the softest silk, floating when she moved, and the sheen of it caught the light. Naturally it was the latest cut: soft at the shoulder and neck, smooth and slender at the hip. Pearls might have been more appropriate considering the name of the color, but she wore diamonds. She wanted the fire and the sparkle. — Anne Perry

I am not inclined to use hip-hop vernacular often, but there are times when, like French, it just better expresses the sentiment of the moment — Christopher Moore

Tom is a filthy little pustule. If you quote me, I'll deny it! — Nancy Farmer

Happiness is not a matter of events; it depends upon the tides of the mind. — Alice Meynell

So I'm all, "Owned! Bee-yatch! Dog fucking owned you!" Doing a minor booty dance of ownage, perhaps, in retrospect, a bit prematurely. (I believe hip-hop to be the apprpriate language for taunting, at least until I learn French.) — Christopher Moore

You won't go the hell for smoking, you'll just smell like you've been there. — Ray Emery

He was looking past Amy's naked body, over the crescent line between her chest and hip, haloed with tiny hairs, to where, beyond the weathered French doors with their flaking white paint, the moonlight formed a narrow road on the sea that ran away from his gaze into spreadeagled clouds. It was as if it were waiting for him. — Richard Flanagan