Quotes & Sayings About His Jacket

Before Tessa could answer, there was a knock at the door, and a familiar voice. "It's Jem. Tessa, are you there?"
Charlotte sat bolt upright. "Oh! He mustn't see you in your dress!"
Tessa stood dumbfounded. "Whyever not?"
"It's a Shadowhunter custom - bad luck!" Charlotte rose to her feet. "Quickly! Hide behind the wardrobe!"
"The wardrobe? But - " Tessa broke off with a yelp as Charlotte seized her about the waist and frog-marched her behind the wardrobe like a policeman with a particularly resistant criminal. Released, Tessa dusted off her dress and made a face at Charlotte, and they both peeked around the side of the furniture as the seamstress, after a bewildered look, opened the door.
Jem's silvery head appeared in the gap. He looked a bit disheveled, his jacket askew. He glanced around in puzzlement before his gaze lighted on Charlotte and Tessa, half-concealed behind the wardrobe. — Cassandra Clare

He let his head rest against the crisp cloth of her uniform jacket a moment longer. She shifted, her arms reaching toward him. Was she about to hug him? If she did, Miles decided, he was going to grab her and kiss her right there. And then see what happened - Behind him, Galeni's office doors swished open. Elli and he both flinched away from each other, Elli coming to parade rest with a toss of her short dark curls, Miles just standing and cursing inwardly at the interruption. He — Lois McMaster Bujold

Oh my gosh, he smells good, like some exotic but comforting spice, nutmeg or cardamom. Slowly Damian lowers his head to mine and I think my chest might explode, my heart is tap-dancing so quickly.
He's going to kiss me.
I've imagined this and now it's really happening, I am like a block of wood. I can't move. I can't breathe. I close my eyes as the lightest feather of a breath , then lips, brushing over my lips. His breath is sweet and the taste of coffee barely lingers in his mouth. I feel as though my whole body has turned to liquid, into a river of millions of droplets, rushing apart and then back together.
"You have the softest lips," he whispers as he pulls back to look at me.
"So do you," I murmur. Oh, was that a stupid thing to say? I turn my face into his jacket and breathe in his scent. — Lisa Ann Sandell

Peter eyes his swanky and incredibly dated jacket and fluffs the frills on his sleeves. Outside the window stands a guy in a tattered grey hoodie and cut-offs that slide down to his hips, thus exposing the plaid glory of his boxers. Damn pity. If I'd known what crimes I'd be exposed to under the guise of fashion, I may have very well stayed dead. — Diane Rinella

In the second row was a boy named Doon Harrow. He sat with his shoulders hunched, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and his hands clasped tightly together. His hair looked rumpled, as if he hadn't combed it for a while. He had dark, thick eyebrows, which made him look serious at the best of times and, when he was anxious or angry, came together to form a straight line across his forehead. His brown corduroy jacket was so old that its ridges had flattened out. — Jeanne DuPrau

After one last kiss, she stepped away, wrapping his jacket tightly around her. "I'm keeping the coat."
"Okay."
"I'm going to wear it to bed."
"Okay."
"With nothing on underneath it."
Winking, she slipped inside, leaving him on the porch with that mental image ringing through his head. — J.M. Darhower

Miss La Trobe was pacing to and fro between the leaning birch trees. One hand was deep stuck in her jacket pocket; the other held a foolscap sheet. She was reading what was written there. She had the look of a commander pacing his deck. The leaning graceful trees with black bracelets circling the silver bark were distant about a ship's length. — Virginia Woolf

He pushed her jacket off her shoulders. It was warm in the room now, and she was comfortable in her sleeveless top. He skimmed his hands down
her arms, and he drew her against him.
"I missed holding you."
"I m sure you haven t been lonely without me."
He stopped and pulled her back. "There hasn't been anyone since I was with you. Believe that. All I did after you left was play ball and brood a lot. — Jaci Burton

Ian took off his glasses and slid them into the pocket of his jacket.

"I like those," she said. "Put them back on."

"They'll only be in the way when I kiss you."

"Who said we were going to kiss?"

"I did. Katie, you must pay closer attention. — Tracey Garvis-Graves

Seen on her own, the woman was not so remarkable. Tall, angular, aquiline features, with the close-cropped hair which was fashionably called an Eton crop, he seemed to remember, in his mother's day, and about her person the stamp of that particular generation. She would be in her middle sixties, he supposed, the masculine shirt with collar and tie, sports jacket, grey tweed skirt coming to mid-calf. Grey stockings and laced black shoes. He had seen the type on golf courses and at dog shows - invariably showing not sporting breeds but pugs - and if you came across them at a party in somebody's house they were quicker on the draw with a cigarette lighter than he was himself, a mere male, with pocket matches. The general belief that they kept house with a more feminine, fluffy companion was not always true. Frequently they boasted, and adored, a golfing husband. ("Don't Look Now") — Daphne Du Maurier

I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. "Hello, Feyre darling," he purred. — Sarah J. Maas

In the 1970s, we had Carl Sagan, and he was so suave with his turtleneck and his tweed jacket. And he was, you know, he made science look cool. And in punk rock, we haven't had that. We haven't had the Carl Sagan of punk. — Greg Graffin

She realized all at once that Doon, thin, dark eyed Doon, with his troublesome temper and his terrible brown jacket, and his good heart
was the person she knew better than anyone now. He was her best friend.
City of Ember
— Jeanne DuPrau

Usually they looked past me hopefully and some even went and peered into the car to see if the man they really wanted was hiding in there. And it was uphill work examining an animal when its owner was chafing in the background, wishing with all his heart that I was somebody else. But I had to admit they were fair. I got no effusive welcomes and when I started to tell them what I thought about the case they listened with open scepticism, but I found that if I got my jacket off and really worked at the job they began to thaw a little. — James Herriot

The men on the show have it easy, in part because men on TV have uniforms: There's the jacket, in black, blue, or gray. There's the shirt, the pants. I can never tell whether Tom is gaining or losing weight beneath his boxy suits. He always looks the same. Tom also has the benefit of being Tom, a decorated veteran of the restaurant kitchen. Like so many chefs, he is practiced at the taste-of-this, taste-of-that eating regimen. I'm the one who has to look like a glorified weathergirl, with formfitting dresses and all, which, don't get me wrong, I love - at least until I don't. — Padma Lakshmi

The one more or less behind Le Chiffre's right arm was tall and funereal in his dinner-jacket. His face was wooden and grey, but his eyes flickered and gleamed like a conjurer's. His whole long body was restless and his hands shifted often on the brass rail. Bond guessed that he would kill without interest or concern for what he killed and that he would prefer strangling. He had something of Lennie in Of Mice and Men, but his inhumanity would not come from infantilism but from drugs. Marihuana, decided Bond. — Ian Fleming

Juliette"
I inhale too quickly. A stifled cough is balloning in my throat.
His glassy green eyes glint in my direction.
"Are you not hungry?"
"No, thank you."
He licks his bottom lip into a smile.
"Don't confuse stupidity for bravery, love. I know you haven't eaten anything in days."
Something in my patioence snaps. "I'd rather die than eat your food and listen to you call me love," I tell him.
Adam drops his fork. Warner spares him a swift glance and when he looks at my way again his eyes have hardened. He holds my gaze fo a few infinitely long seconds before he pulls a gun out of his jacket pocket. He fires. — Tahereh Mafi

The coat was a remnant from his stint at being people-size. I'd gotten his jacket, Ivy had gotten his silk robe, and we'd thrown out his two dozen toothbrushes. — Kim Harrison

I require a vacation from all of you, but I'm not leaving Camorr. You five will be making a journey to Espara. I've arranged work there to keep you busy for several months."
"Espara?" said Locke.
"Yes. Isn't it exciting?" The room was quiet. "I thought that might be your response. Look, I tucked a pin into my jacket for this very moment."
Chains drew a silver pin from one of his lapels and tossed it into the air. It hit the floor with the faintest chiming clatter.
"One of those expressions I've always wanted to put to the test," said Chains. — Scott Lynch

Ranger clicked his penlight on. "Hang onto me if you can't see."
I curled my hand into the back of his cargo pants just above his gun belt. "I'm good to go."
He was still for a beat. "You could have held on to my jacket," he said.
"Would you rather I do that?"
"No. Not even a little. — Janet Evanovich

She tried to hear his heartbeat through the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, and the fact that she wasn't sure whether she could hear it made her think about how hard it was for any girl to ever know whether her love was being returned. — Kathryn Davis

For a time Jack was angry; but when he had been without the jacket for a short while he began to realize that being half-clothed is infinitely more uncomfortable than being entirely naked. Soon he did not miss his clothing in the least, and from that he came to revel in the freedom of his unhampered state. — Edgar Rice Burroughs

AT the slight creaking made by Macmaster in pushing open his door, Tietjens started violently. He was sitting in a smoking-jacket, playing patience engrossedly in a sort of garret bedroom. It had a sloping roof outlined by black oak beams, which cut into squares the cream-coloured patent distemper of the walls. — Ford Madox Ford

He withdrew a cylinder of paper from inside his jacket's cuff and unrolled it so I could see the beautiful winding letters. The golden ink looked wet, — A.G. Howard

Take off that coat,' he told him.
'Sir?'
'You heard me.'
The boy slipped out of his jacket, whining, 'What you gonna do? What I'm gonna wear?'
The man untied the baby from her chest and wrapped it in the boy's coat, knotting the sleeves in front.
'What I'm gonna wear?'
The old man sighed and, after a pause, said, 'You want it back then go head and take it off that baby. Put the baby naked in the grass and put your coat back on. And if you can do it, then go on 'way somewhere and don't come back. — Toni Morrison

No beautiful, I'm not seeing anyone. I've been real focused myself. But I'm not foolish enough to let you get by. Even if I have to go through two over-protective dads," Genesis answered. "So. I've got to get back on the road, but I'll see you next weekend. Friday night eight o'clock sharp. And trust me, I won't be late." Genesis bent and kissed Curtis on his cheek. Curtis blushed terribly in front of everyone. This was so ridiculous, they had absolutely no privacy. Genesis gave him another wink before he released his hand and turned to walk up the stairs. His dads walked over to him and Ruxs handed him his suit jacket. He snatched it out his dad's hand and turned to walk out the front door. "Have fun dads." Curtis could hear Day's laugh after his comment, along with the other men, as he walked angrily up the driveway to their car. His dads had made a circus act out of a very nice moment he'd shared with a really great guy. — A.E. Via

You and I, Mia. We have needs that must be attended. I will look after yours, and you will look after mine." He sighs, and his fingers move to his suit jacket and deftly undoes the buttons, letting it fall open to reveal a smart black shirt and tie underneath. "I've waited for this moment for so long. — Claire C. Riley

Blackthorn? Please. Shut. Up. I grab the collar of his jacket and pull him into me, answering every last protest with a kiss- a real one, deep and intentional. — Sarah Ockler

He was my first love, my first love in the way that first loves are usually second or third or fourth loves. I still think about a stranger in a green jacket across from me in the waiting room at the DMV. About a blue-eyed man with a singed earlobe that I saw at a Baskin-Robbins with his daughter. My first that kind of love. I never got over him. I never get over anyone. — Rivka Galchen

It was a denim jacket. With this cover in place, Mouse hastily got his pants back in order. Instead of a teacher, as he'd expected, the new kid, Beckett Taylor, had bestowed dignity upon him. — Debra Anastasia

His white admiral's jacket gleamed with medals, nut Loki wasn't exactly wearing it regulation-style. It was open over a black T-shirt featuring Jack Nicholson's face from The Shinnig. The caption read: HEEEERE'S LOKI! — Rick Riordan

I pretty much grew up when punk was big in the UK. The Sex Pistols were heroes for me. I used to run around like Johnny Rotten. I had a jacket like his. — Gavin Rossdale

It was only after they had left the bridge and its gaurdian far behind that Theo realized he had left Tansy's telephone-brooch in the pocket of his jacket. He had no plans to go back for it, of course: as far as Theo was concerned, that piece of two-legged ugliness was welcome to blow out Tansy's long-distance bill or download a ton of troll-porn and charge it to the Daisy commune.
Betray me, huh? Taste the Revenge of Vilmos! — Tad Williams

You take Boris's hand as he bounds along on his long legs, your signal that he has to either slow down or pull you along. He tucks both your hand and his hand into the pocket of his jacket. You look up at his face out of the corner of your eye. In the cold, you watch him breathe perfect plumes of white that match the sheepskin lining of his jacket. You think how happy you would be if Boris thought you were half as beautiful as you think he is at this moment. You walk this way for a few minutes. — Katherine Heiny

There are certain bits of stories that, because of their nature, are rather dull. This is because very little happens in them. And for some reason, they also always happen to take place over a rather tediously long period of time. So, yes, I could tell you of the five-hour trek Timothy and Alex took to reach the hidden bay. I could tell you that when they reached the fort, the view was rather impressive. I could also mention that Timothy lost his footing at one point as they made their way through the thick forest on the other side and, had Alex not grabbed the back of his jacket, his tale would have ended there rather abruptly.
But honestly ...
Let's just get to the pirate stuff already. — Adrienne Kress

Let's get you to your wedding, princess."
"I'll make sure Rowen tosses the bouquet your way, sweetie," Jesse said, adjusting his tie before buttoning his jacket.
"Bite me, Walker."
He grinned at me. "Love you too, Black. — Nicole Williams

There was this one show in Green Bay when this kid was booing us loud and aggressively. Then The Ramones came on and he was booing them too. We went over to White Zombie's tour manager and said, 'This guy was booing us and that's one thing, but now he's booing The Ramones, and if you boo The Ramones you're booing rock 'n' roll.' So the tour manager went and plucked this kid out of the audience and kicked him out of the show for booing The Ramones. The poor kid had to wait in the cold without his jacket on and wait for his mommy to come and get him, all because he didn't realize what he was doing. Monte: — Monte A. Melnick

He was just a boy wearing pajamas, one slipper, and an old blue dressing gown under a stranger's jacket, and he did not belong anywhere but in his own bedroom. — John Connolly

Livia, I can't get started if we can't finish. I can't trust myself to stop."
Livia smiled at his concern and grabbed her jacket, digging in the pocket. "Kyle had one, and I grabbed it." Livia held the condom up victoriously.
"Only one? I better make it count." Blake still had the mask on, so he left it to his fingers to adore her. "I'm going to paint my passion on your skin. — Debra Anastasia

Quote taken from Chapter 1:
Alma idly wondered if he'd blow his nose, too.
He did. Twice. He made it honk, the sound reminding Alma of Harpo Marx squeezing his bulb horn.
Isabel darted a look at Alma, giving her the don't-you-dare-giggle squint.
Alma dug her fingernails into her palm, the inappropriate laugh rising from her throat as she looked up at the ceiling. Blue refolded his handkerchief and returned it to inside his seersucker jacket. Thankfully, Alma's urge to laugh subsided. — Ed Lynskey

Love turned out to be soul-crippling, stomach-turning, weirdly claustrophobic: a sense of endlessness bottled up inside him, endless weight, endless potential, with only the small outlet of a shivering pale girl in a bad rain jacket to escape through. Touching her was the farthest thing from his mind. The impulse was to throw himself at her feet. — Jonathan Franzen

I looked him over for a second and suddenly it clicked. "Still want me to be mean to you?"
His eyes widened. "Yeah?"
"Well, come on then."
A minute later I had an oversized T-shirt that worked as a dress, a belt to shove my weapons into and a too-large leather jacket to toss over it all. I slammed out into the hall, leaving the guy tied to the desk chair by his underwear. Judging by his expression, he'd just leaned a valuable lesson about screwing with strange women. — Karen Chance

Ren took off his jacket, which slicited a squeak from Jennifer who was now totally focused on Ren's golden-bronze biceps. His perfectly fitted muscle shirt showed off his extremely well-developed arms and chest.
I hissed at him quietly, For heaven's sake, Ren! You're going to give the women heart palpitations! — Colleen Houck

He grabbed me by my jacket lapels, pulled me to him, and kissed me. His tongue touched mine and I got a rush that was just a millimeter below climax. His hands slid inside my jacket and circled my waist. He was hard against me. And suddenly nothing mattered but a Ranger-induced orgasm. I wanted one. Now. The hell with Eddie DeChooch. One of these days he'd drive himself into a bridge abutment and that'd be the end of that. — Janet Evanovich

And a realization for Skinner, she still has his scarf, inside her mountaineering jacket, red wool at her neck. Some meaning there related to the kiss, but in a code he cannot unscramble. A tether is what it feels like, his scarf around her neck, preventing either of them from falling off the mountain alone. — Charlie Huston

Here is your future ruler, King Evardo Fifteenth. He is fifteen years of age, has fifteen silver buckles on his jacket and is the fifteenth Evardo to rule the land of Ev. The people shouted their approval fifteen times, — L. Frank Baum

I was talking on the phone in my trailer, and I looked in the mirror and I saw the badge clipped to my belt, a gun with a holster, and the suit and the tie with the jacket off, and it was just deja vu. I remember that image so clearly from growing up. My dad would come home for lunch, take off his jacket, have the gun and the badge. — Michael Trucco

Aaron reached into his jacket pocket and took out his Bible, a gift from his father, Captain Benjamin K. Matthews, on the the day he had ridden off to war. Aaron opened to the Psalms, intending to read, but his eyes were heavy and closed against his will. O death, where is thy sting? Pastor Blackwell had told him that death had no power over him, but he sure felt that sting now. O grave, where is thy victory? How much longer would it be? Just four miles from home. Would Mama ever know?
Shiloh, the place of peace. Good ground to die on. Holy ground. — Karl A. Bacon

Grant glanced down at his khaki jacket. Since he'd slipped on the US Navy uniform in Agent Bounter's office, he'd felt a confident swagger possess him. His spine lengthened, and his shoulders retracted. He should've been wearing this every day, not the stupid dress shirt and slacks of a lounge singer. — Jennifer Lane

The light bounced off the water and shimmered against the buildings on the other side of the river. Joseph walked, listening to the sound of what was beneath his feet, and soon he noticed he was alone. He turned and saw Frankie had stopped beside Albert and filled her jacket pockets. Looking at the two of them, Joseph wondered for a moment if Leo had ever come down here to go mudlarking, his red hair shining in the sun. the vision seemed so vivid, but then Joseph remembered that Leo wasn't real, and the boy dissolved like smoke into the winter sky. — Brian Selznick

I like how you are with me. You're not careful with me. You see more of me than anybody else."
I pressed my body against his, arching up on my toes and leaning toward his lips. His breath hitched, and I slipped my hands inside his jacket again and gripped his waist.
"Don't be careful with me, Tyler," I whispered, catching his bottom lip, sucking it quickly and then letting it go. "Please," I pleaded.
And he groaned, closing his eyes and diving in. — Penelope Douglas

He lifted his shirt, and on his back was the White Rabbit, wearing his waistcoat and looking at his watch. It was just like the illustration from the book. Only standing next to him, back-to-back, was another White Rabbit wearing a leather motercycle jacket and boots and smoking a cigar. — Michael Thomas Ford

Jace reached up to unzip his jacket.
Simon-I dont care how hungry I am, I am not going to drink your blood again.
Jace-Like I would let you. — Cassandra Clare

Sean pushes up to his feet and stands there. I look at his dirty boots. Now I've offended him, I think. He says, "Other people have never been important to me, Kate Connolly. Puck Connolly." I tip my face up to look at him, finally. The blanket falls off my shoulders, and my hat, too, loosened by the wind. I can't read his expression
his narrow eyes make it difficult. I say, "And now?" Kendrick reaches to turn up the collar on his jacket. He doesn't smile, but he's not as close to frowning as usual. "Thanks for the cake. — Maggie Stiefvater

One of my many horrors is to become the man with the frayed jacket and unfastened flies standing at the Co-op counter with egg on his shirt and more too because the mirror in the hall has given up the ghost. A shipwrecked man without an anchor in the world except in his own liquid thoughts where time has lost its sequence. — Per Petterson

Obama has become too dependent on formal speeches and set town halls. His idea of mixing it up is taking off his jacket. — Dee Dee Myers

Dressed in black pants, a white button-down, and a leather jacket, he was sophisticated but cool. A man about town, a globetrotter, a secret cat whisperer who would sell his soul for an apple pie. And he was mine. — Alice Clayton

Jamie let go of me. "Shut your mucky gob, man." He stepped close to our fearless leader in the dark, took hold of his jacket by the collar, and in a dead quiet voice that had gone dangerously Scots, threatened heatedly, "Talk like that again wi' these brave lassies listenin' an' Ah'll tear the filthy English tongue frae yer heid, so Ah will. — Elizabeth Wein

You look good to me," he said, his eyes raking appreciatively over her. "I think ranch life must suit you."
"Thanks. You look good to me too." He was dressed in his customary faded jeans and a worn denim jacket, but Keith would look good in a burlap sack. — Victoria Vane

I made it two steps before he snorted. I turned to see him lying on his belly ready to jump up. He jerked his muzzle, telling me to come back.
"I thought you'd want to be - "
He cut me off with a snort. It was hard for a wolf to scowl, but he managed a good glower.
I took the switchblade from my jacket pocket. "I'll be fine. I'm armed."
A snort. I don't care. A head jerk. Get back here. — Kelley Armstrong

He was a playboy type in his late 30's, and a sharp dresser, tonight being no exception. Dave wore a designer sports jacket and chic designer jeans; not at all what you would expect from an FBI agent's undercover expense budget. His wife (or whoever she was), Julia, was a conservative dresser, with more of what you would expect an FBI agent to be wearing. She had mousy brown hair, spoke in nasal tones, and was somewhat frumpy; not much to look at. They went together about as well as Brad Pitt and a den mother from Davenport Iowa. — Kenneth Eade

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

Christmas Eve, 1955, Benny Profane, wearing black levis, suede jacket,
sneakers and big cowboy hat, happened to pass through Norfolk, Virginia. Given to sentimental impulses, he thought he'd look in on the Sailor's Grave, his old tin can's tavern on East Main Street. — Thomas Pynchon

A bedraggled woman stood on his doorstep in the pouring rain, and his first impulse was to slam the door in her face.
But she had clearly come as far as she could; her pale face was twisted in pain, and she shivered convulsively beneath a denim jacket that was as soaking wet as the rest of her. Long black strands of hair hung down in twisted ribbons like seaweed in the vanishing daylight, reminding him of a sea creature he'd once dated briefly in his more adventurous youth. — Deborah Blake

I leaned back in my chair, stretching luxuriantly, delibrately letting my jacket fall open. Predictably, his eyes moved down my body-some things outlast even the change. I grinned and he looked away, a rueful smile twitching at his lips. I finished breakfast in peace. — Karen Chance

I pull him closer, grab a fistful of his jacket and kiss him as hard as I can, my fingers already attempting to release the first of his buttons. Warner grips my hips and allows his hands to conquer my body. He tastes peppermint, smells like gardenias. His arms are strong around me, his lips soft, almost sweet against my skin. There's an electric charge between us I hadn't anticipated. My head is spinning. His lips are on my neck, tasting me, devouring me, and I force myself to think straight. — Tahereh Mafi

Day by day his sister grew
Paler with the wound
She could not see or touch or feel, as I dressed it
Each day with her blue Breton jacket.
- from Life After Death — Ted Hughes

Let me go," I said, my gaze dropping to his hand, holding the hem of my jacket. He closed his eyes briefly.
"I don't know how," he whispered. — Claire Contreras

Here was what I wanted to happen when I walked through the door after my first real date and my first ever kiss. I wanted my mom to say, "Dear God, Meg, you're glowing. Sit and tell me about this boy. He let you borrow his jacket? That's so adorable." Instead, I came off the high of that day by writing a letter to my dead brother and doing yoga between my twin beds, trying to forget my absent mother. — Laura Anderson Kurk

He set the helmet on the floor beside the door and slung his jacket over the back of one chair. He tilted his head sideways to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not going to ask why. I'm going to make assumptions. — Paula Altenburg

I actually had the pleasure of meeting David Bowie at his 50th birthday party in New York City. I handed him the cassette of 'Eight Arms to Hold You,' which I had just got an advance of that day. He very graciously thanked me and tucked it into his jacket pocket. — Louise Post

He was just my Danny then. Now he's tanned and vaguely muscular, or so it looks through his jacket. Like a 'super' version of the old Danny. Danny +. — Kerry Heavens

Returning the Pencil to Its Tray Everything is fine - the first bits of sun are on the yellow flowers behind the low wall, people in cars are on their way to work, and I will never have to write again. Just looking around will suffice from here on in. Who said I had to always play the secretary of the interior? And I am getting good at being blank, staring at all the zeroes in the air. It must have been all the time spent in the kayak this summer that brought this out, the yellow one which went nicely with the pale blue life jacket - the sudden, tippy buoyancy of the launch, then the exertion, striking into the wind against the short waves, but the best was drifting back, the paddle resting athwart the craft, and me mindless in the middle of time. Not even that dark cormorant perched on the No Wake sign, his narrow head raised as if he were looking over something, not even that inquisitive little fellow could bring me to write another word. — Billy Collins

Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Jordan curled her hands around the lapel of his jacket and tugged him closer. In her heels, she was almost his height, and when she pressed her body against his, her mouth was a scant inch away. Jordan flicked her tongue over his lower lip and whispered. "It might even border on obsession. — Sara Humphreys

Dolly'd given him a white silk scarf as a parting present. He didn't know how she'd managed the money for it and she wouldn't let him ask, just settled it round his neck inside his flight jacket. Somebody'd told her the Spitfire pilots all wore them, to save the constant collar chafing, and she meant him to have one. It felt nice, he'd admit that. Made him think of her touch when she'd put it on him. He pushed the thought hastily aside; the last thing he could afford to do was start thinking about his wife, if he ever hoped to get back to her. And he did mean to get back to her. Where — Diana Gabaldon

him Mirandize the shooter. Rick also knew that his partner had backed him up. He didn't have to ask; he knew. Besides, just the fact that the man had been in the process of robbing the store and had trained his weapon on a police officer, it wouldn't lend much credence to his testimony in front of a jury. And the guy had a record for armed robbery. Rick had found that out when he'd pulled his jacket during booking. Add those all together and he was fairly certain he'd pull through the charges. — T.L. Stowe

Gregory is a good boy, though all the Latin he has learned, all the sonorous periods of the great authors, have rolled through his head and out again, like stones. Still, you think of Thomas More's boy: offspring of a scholar all Europe admired, and poor young John can barely stumble through his Pater Noster. Gregory is a fine archer, a fine horseman, a shining star in the tilt yard, and his manners cannot be faulted. He speaks reverently to his superiors, not scuffling his feet or standing on one leg, and he is mild and polite with those below him. He knows how to bow to foreign diplomats in the manner of their own countries, sits at table without fidgeting or feeding spaniels, can neatly carve and joint any fowl if requested to serve his elders. He doesn't slouch around with his jacket off one shoulder, or look in windows to admire himself, or stare around in church, or interrupt old men, or finish their stories for them. If anyone sneezes, he says, 'Christ help you! — Hilary Mantel

At some point Ewan had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were bulging with muscle, and his shoulders appeared likely to rip through the thin linen of his shirt. Annabelle swallowed, thinking of Ewan without his shirt at their picnic. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"Where do you get all these muscles?" she asked.
"Lifting damsels in distress." He grinned at her, and there was a slight lurch as he leaped off the carriage and landed with a splash in the ditch. — Eloisa James

The what?"
"Lone Wolves." He turned to show me the back of his raggedy jacket. Sure enough, a snarling wolf face stared back at me from the leather.
"Wait a second," I said. "Isn't it supposed to be 'Lone Wolf' as in, you know, one? If there's more than one, then it kind of defeats the purpose of being 'lone', doesn't it?"
The leader squinted hard, as if trying to follow my logic and getting lost. — Jaye Wells

I encountered in the street a penniless young man who was in love. His hat was old and his jacket worn, with holes at the elbows; water soaked through his shoes, but starlight flooded through his soul. — Victor Hugo

Ingvar was on his back, moaning quietly. The pillow under his head, his jacket and the blanket across him, and the mattress under him were all totally sodden as perspiration poured out of his body in a flood. Jesper looked at them wildly. "He's going to die, isn't he?" It was Edvin who slapped him on the back, almost sending him sprawling across the sweat-soaked figure on the mattress. "No, you idiot!" he said happily. "He's going to live. The fever's broken! — John Flanagan

Hey. Do you want a cracker?" a velvet voice asked me.
I didn't look up, I wasn't sure if he was even talking to me. Why would an attractive senior be talking to me?
"Hey, I'm talking to you," he said, a chuckle in his voice.
I slowly lifted my head peering at him from under my long lashes. His dark brown hair swept across his forehead, and his deep blue eyes made me gasp. He wore the ultimate laid back style, a white t-shirt and jeans. All he needed was a black leather jacket, and he would be the bad boy from my book. The smile on his face was breathtaking and I found myself unable to speak. — Felicia Tatum

How could I not see you? With all these huge muscles ... " I sling a leg across his thighs and slide a hand under his jacket, over his stomach. "And this six pack ... "
"It's an eight-pack," he mutters, eyes sliding shut.
"And this adorable messy hair ... "
"Don't ruin it with the wrong adjectives."
"Fine, no more compliments. Just facts. I love you, Crosbie Lucas."
"I love you too," he replies. — Julianna Keyes

He's not feeling well," Clary said, catching at Simon's wrist. "We're going."
"No," Simon said. "No, I - I need to talk to him. To the Inquisitor."
Robert reached into his jacket and drew out a crucifix. Clary stared in shock as he held it up between himself and Simon. "I speak to the Night's Children Council representative, or to the head of the New York clan," he said. "Not to any vampire who comes to knock at my door - "
Simon reached out and plucked the cross out of Robert's hand. "Wrong religion," he said. — Cassandra Clare

My anxious gaze swept the theater.
"Don't worry. I told them it was Sunday," Ayden said as we sat down.
"And they believed you?"
"Of course." He passed me the popcorn and took off his jacket. "I'm the master of deception."
"Uh-huh. So, when did you become a Hitchcock fan?"
"After I saw Psycho," answered a voice clearly not Ayden's.
We turned to stare at Blake.
And Jayden.
And Tristan.
And Logan.
All sitting behind us.
I smirked at a sheepish Ayden. "Oh yeah, master of deception. — A&E Kirk

He bent down burying his face in my neck. I reached back to grab onto the iron bars behind me to hold myself up. My jacket slipped off my shoulders. I was pretty sure I was on fire and at that moment I would have sworn that bursting into flame was a glorious way to go. — Myra McEntire

Your female, huh?" The Shifter bravely looked up. "Is your cock so small that you can't get your own women to--

Logan slapped a hand across his mouth and leaned in, nose to nose--giving the man a good look at the darkness pulsing in his eyes. "There are no laws against what we do, only opinions. Your opinion doesn't matter to me, but disrespecting this female does. Tip your head to her once more and I'll place my jacket on the back of that chair and we'll take a walk where Breed rules don't apply. Care to discuss your opinions on this matter any further?" Logan's nose wrinkle, drawing in a scent. The man backed down in defeat. Obviously not an alpha Shifter, just a jackass.

Logan's eyes slanted, as if watching me in his peripheral. "For the record, my cock can only be measured in decibels from the screams of the females it pleasures. — Dannika Dark

In the three boats story, a man is floating alone in an ocean without a life jacket when a boat passes by. "Get in. I'll save you," the boatman says. "Oh, no, it's fine," the floating man answers, "I'm putting my faith in the Lord." In time, two more boats come along, and to each rescuer the man - usually me, in Wade's telling - says, "No, no, I'm putting my faith in the Lord." Eventually, and it isn't very long in coming, the man drowns. Yet when he stands up to meet his Maker at the fated spot where some rejoice but many more cower, his Maker looks sternly down and says, "You're a fool. You're assigned to hell forever. Go there now." To which the drowned man says, "But your honor, I put my faith in you. You promised to save me." "Save you!?" fearsome God shouts from misty marmoreal heights. "Save you? Save you?" God thunders. "I sent you three boats! — Richard Ford

A great physicist taught at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He published many important books and papers. Often he had an idea in the middle of the night. He rose from his bed, took a shower, washed his hair, and shaved. He dressed completely, in a clean shirt, in polished shoes, a jacket and tie. Then he sat at his desk and wrote down his idea. A friend of mine asked him why he put himself through all that rigmarole. 'Why,' he said, surprised at the question, 'in honor of physics! — Annie Dillard

Her heart was walking around the building with Kirby. And her jacket was still in his car. — Regina Duke

I ... He bit his tongue before he blurted out that he did love her, that he'd only bought her the jacket because it pained him to see her uncomfortable. I would walk through the fires of hell to get you a pair of shoes.. But he could never tell her that. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

As he passed through the dining room, he stopped and took a white daisy from the bouqet his housekeeper had placed in the middle of the table..and put the daisy in the buttonhole of his summer jacket. Then he opened the front door and walked down the steps to Prinsegade, filled with the blind triumph that people sometimes experience when they've conquered their own better judgment. — Carsten Jensen

Why do I get the feeling our relationship is backwards?" Ryn asks as he wanders into my room, shrugs his jacket off, and hangs it over the back of my desk chair. "Isn't it usually the girl who always wants to talk about feelings and the guy who bottles everything up inside?" "I don't bottle things up," I shoot back. Well, there is an imaginary box I like to hide things in, but that's different. "Right. — Rachel Morgan

As we drew near to the gates of Dother Hall the old bell in the belfry rang out. I said, 'I must go in, it's nigh on ten of the clock.' He half-turned away from me, his jacket collar hiding his expression. Was he angry? Disappointed?"
Jo looked intently and I said, "Hungry?"
Jo ignored me, but as she passed by acting out walking away from Phil, she allowed her hand to slap against my head. — Louise Rennison

He crowded her against the wall. "I'll fuck you until you admit there will never be anyone else who can bring you pleasure."
A low and husky laugh erupted from deep in her chest. She trailed her hand down beneath his tuxedo jacket, over sculpted abs, to cup her hand around the hot length of him pressing against the tux trousers. She stroked him. "Promise? — Zoe Forward

She stepped closer to him, closer still, until her breasts touched his jacket, watching his eyes all the time. "My darling Jack." She lifted herself up on tiptoe and awkwardly kissed the side of his mouth. "I'm yours. You know that."
His control broke. His hands fisted in her hair and he kissed her hard, almost savagely. He knew he was bruising her mouth but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if her mouth were giving him life. He would stay alive as long as he was kissing her. — Lisa Marie Rice

Jason and his parents lived directly across the street. He was outside that day trying to get some mail-order rocket to soar into the heavens. What a rip-off! The whole time I was watching him, the stupid thing never made it a yard off the ground. It was after about the hundredth try, when the movers had half the truck unloaded, that I noticed his ass rolling his beady eyes at me. I was using a piece of pink chalk to draw a makeshift hopscotch diagram on the street in front of my house when he approached me. His Kangol hat and leather bomber jacket made him look like a pint-size pimp. All he needed was a couple of gold teeth. — Zane

For years, Mount Holyoke professor Joseph 'Full Metal Jacket' Ellis had been regaling students, interviewers and friends with gripping stories of his service in Vietnam. — Ann Coulter

The Count took pride in wearing a well-tailored jacket; but he took greater pride in knowing that a gentleman's presence was best announced by his bearing, his remarks, and his manners. Not by the cut of his coat. Yes, — Amor Towles

Gibreel, the tuneless soloist, had been cavorting in moonlight as he sang his impromptu gazal, swimming in air, butterfly-stroke, breast-stroke, bunching himself into a ball, spreadeagling himself against the almost-infinity of the almost-dawn, adopting heraldic postures, rampant, couchant, pitting levity against gravity. Now he rolled happily towards the sardonic voice. 'Ohe, Salad baba, it's you, too good. What-ho, old Chumch.' At which the other, a fastidious shadow falling headfirst in a grey suit with all the jacket buttons done up, arms by his sides, taking for granted the improbability of the bowler hat on his head, pulled a nickname-hater's face. 'Hey, Spoono,' Gibreel yelled, eliciting a second inverted wince, 'Proper London, bhai! Here we come! Those bastards down there won't know what hit them. Meteor or lightning or vengeance of God. Out of thin air, baby. — Salman Rushdie