Hot Outside Quotes & Sayings

Moira wished she spoke better Russian so that she could talk to Tekla about her ideas regarding appearance and grooming. The facial scars put her well outside the norms of feminine beauty and she had doubled down by electing to keep the buzz cut. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, she was, to put it bluntly, kind of hot. Moira hated to say it. But hotness was a part of the human condition and it was pointless to pretend that it did not exist. — Neal Stephenson

He described to her the house he had built for himself, in outside appearance a shack, but delightful inside, at least to him. A sleeping loft with a little round window. Everything he needed right where he could put his hand to it, out in the open, nothing in cupboards. A short walk from the house he had a bathtub sunk in the earth, in the middle of a bed of sweet herbs. He would carry hot water to it by the pailful and lounge there under the stars, even in the winter. He grew vegetables, and shared them with the deer.
(From the story "Powers") — Alice Munro

That's part of provin' you got sass, lettin' us know how he is when he's in action. But, I'm warning you now, I don't do too much information. Just enough to confirm he's not only hot on the outside but he's also got the moves. I can't function around a man if I know his ability to give pleasure. I stared at her and I was pretty sure my mouth was open. — Kristen Ashley

How is it that standing outside for a minute in 90 degree heat is torture, yet standing in a blistering hot shower for 20 minutes is paradise? — Sara Marcus

Actually," Clary said, "I think he stayed because of me."
Jace's glaze flicked up to hers with a flash of gold. "Because of you? Hoping for another hot date, was he?"
Clary felt herself flush. "No. And our date wasn't hot. In fact, it wasn't even a date. Anyway, that's not the point. When he came into the Hall, he kept trying to get me to go outside with him so we could talk. He wanted something from me. I just don't know what."
"Or maybe he just wanted you," Jace said. Seeing Clary's expression, he added, "Not that way. I mean maybe he wanted to bring you to Valentine. — Cassandra Clare

Chapter 1 JEREMIAH WAS BLACK. HE COULD FEEL IT. THE WAY THE sun pressed down hard and hot on his skin in the summer. Sometimes it felt like he sweated black beads of oil. He felt warm inside his skin, protected. And in Fort Greene, Brooklyn - where everyone seemed to be some shade of black-he felt good walking through the neighborhood. But one step outside. Just one step and somehow the weight of his skin seemed to change. It got heavier. Light-skinned — Jacqueline Woodson

Florida Highway, 1986. Lonely slum. I passed through on low wheels. It was hot outside. Shacks, gas stations that didn't work, dead corn in fields, children on the road, retarded and dulled by the heat. Two girls waved as I passed. — Henry Rollins

The site of his thinking and writing was a small office wedged in one corner of his shaggy house, on whose door he'd installed a lock to keep his sons out. They gathered wistfully outside it, his boys, with their chipped, heartbreaking faces. They were not permitted to so much as knock upon the door to the room in which he thought and wrote about art, but Ted hadn't found a way to keep them from prowling outside it, ghostly feral creatures drinking from a pond in moonlight, their bare feet digging at the carpet, their fingers sweating on the walls, leaving spoors of grease that Ted would point out each week to Elsa, the cleaning woman. He would sit in his office, listening to the movements of his boys, imagining that he felt their hot, curious breath. I will not let them in, he would tell himself. I will sit and think about art. But he found, to his despair, that often he couldn't think about art. He thought about nothing at all. — Jennifer Egan

(Max) He shook his head impatiently. "You'll be all right. I've got to go. Lora ... " he hesitated, then with a muttered, "Hell!" swooped over her. Before she knew what was happening, he had her pinned back against the seat and his mouth was on hers, hard and hot and almost brutal in its demand. His hand was rough and warm on her breast. Lora's senses exploded. She forgot the men outside the car, her anger with Max, everything as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with a hunger that had been building inside her forever ... — Karen Robards

On days when it was too hot, they did not leave their room. The dazzling brilliance from outside plastered bars of light between the slats of the blinds. Not a sound in the village. Down below, on the sidewalk, no one. This spreading silence increased the tranquility of things. In the distance, the caulkers' hammers tamped the hulls, and a heavy breeze brought the smell of tar. — Gustave Flaubert

Some days I sit in the rocker,
the quilt about me though it's hot outside.
I shun the sunlight,
groan to think of the water I must fetch,
the steps I'll have to take,
the work that's needed
just to exist. — Caroline Starr Rose

Outside, I could smell the Zebra. Even if for some reason I stopped feeling cold or hot or rain or sun, I bet I could close my eyes and still tell which season I was in just by the smell of the trees and dirt there. Spring was sweet mud and flowers. Fall has a kind of moldy edge to it, and winter was all dust and bark. As for summer, the Zebra carried a mossy, thick aroma full of baking leaves and oozing sap, which I guessed was its growing smell. — Adina Rishe Gewirtz

Outside, she thought that there ought to be a word for it: the air temperature that was perfectly neither hot nor cold. One degree lower, and she might have felt a faint misgiving about not having brought a jacket. One degree higher, and a skim of sweat might have glistened at her hairline. But at this precise degree, she required neither wrap nor breeze. Were there a word for such a temperature, there would have to be a corollary for the particular ecstasy of greeting it - the heedlessness, the needlessness, the suspended lack of urgency, as if time could stop, or should. Usually temperature was a battle; only at this exact fulcrum was it an active delight. — Lionel Shriver

While at the University of Chicago a couple of friends and I went to dinner at some restaurant in China Town night. Oblivious to the fact that my idiocy can be heard outside of a five-foot radius, I started in with the "You been here four hour. You go now," routine. Ha ha, we all laugh because infantile racism is funny. A little while later I walked back to the bathroom, and as I went down the hall to the "Male Room," I passed this rickety open door. I peered in to see two little Chinese kids looking at me, holding their eyes wide open with their fingers (to give a Caucasian look), and saying: "Hot Dogs! Baseball! Hot Dogs! Baseball!" I laughed so hard, I almost didn't make it to the bathroom. You win this round, Chinese kids. — Tucker Max

A director is a general in charge of an army of traitors like any showman. An audience will love you, laugh with you and wait outside your stage door when you're hot and on a roll, but no audience is ever truly friendly. Not for long. Bore 'em or disappoint 'em - even once - and they'll turn on you and tear you to pieces, regardless of who you are or might once have been. — Richard Stanley

But it was only hot outside, and generally I only walked outside between one air-conditioned place to another. — John Green

father and there wouldn't be a thing you could do about it." Anetta felt her stomach flutter at the closeness of him. His arm around her waist was like steel and all she could think of was heat. It radiated from him like the hot Texas sun outside. She gazed up into his stormy eyes and watched — Cia Leah

It's astonishing the amount of time that certain straight people devote to gay sex - trying to determine what goes where and how often. They can't imagine any system outside their own, and seem obsessed with the idea of roles, both in bed and out of it. Who calls whom a bitch? Who cries harder when the cat dies? Which one spends the most time in the bathroom? I guess they think that it's that cut-and-dried, though of course it's not. Hugh might do the cooking, and actually wear an apron while he's at it, but he also chops the firewood, repairs the hot-water heater, and could tear off my arm with no more effort than it takes to uproot a dandelion. — David Sedaris

I locked the door and turned on the water to fill the tub. I made it so hot that I had to get in real slow. I wanted it to hurt; wanted my outside to feel as bad as my inside. I sat there a long time watching my skin turn redder and redder ... Finally my insides was as fiery as my skin. I liked the burn and hoped it took everything I'd been wishing for and turned it to ashes. — Susan Crandall

At the moment that target was eating tacos his mother had brought in despite hospital orders against outside food.
"Oh, God, this is good," Sam said as juicy beef and crisp lettuce dribbled out onto the tray on his lap.
"Still not tired of eating?" Connie asked him.
"I will never be tired of eating. I'm going to eat until I'm huge. Food, hot water, clean sheets. At least I'll get those three in prison. — Michael Grant

He sits in an old armchair in the corner covered with bits of blankets and a bucket behind the chair that stinks enough to make you sick and when you look at that old man in the dark corner you want to get a hose with hot water and strip him and wash him down and give him a big feed of rashers and eggs and mashed potatoes with loads of butter and salt and onions.
I want to take the man from the Boer War and the pile of rags in the bed and put them in a big sunny house in the country with birds chirping away outside the window and a stream gurgling. — Frank McCourt

Lou took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of just-cut flowers, fresh tamales from the food stands, and sunshine. She preferred the West Allis farmers' market to all others in the area, with its open sides, wide walkways, and rows of stalls. More recently, small tents serving hot sandwiches and fresh Mexican food had popped up outside the brick walls. It all looked so good, she'd learned long ago to come with limited funds or she would buy more produce than she could possibly use. She relished talking to the farmers, learning about what they grew and where. She liked to search for farmers growing something new and interesting she could use at Luella's.
But today's visit was personal, not business. Sue had dragged her out to West Allis for a little lunch and some girl time with fall squash and Honeycrisp apples. — Amy E. Reichert

Here in Southern California we San Diegans have a saying. Hawaiians wouldn't appreciate it, but we say it nonetheless. We go outside, look around, and then say, "Just another day in paradise." The saying fits most every day of the year. In San Diego, near the ocean, it's never bitterly cold and it's never oppressively hot. I can appreciate the realities of the nonsublime weather in certain areas of the country. I spent a few years in Chicago for college, before heading back to San Diego. Then I returned to the Chicago area for two years of graduate school. I have figured that in the five years (sixty months) that I spent in the Midwest, forty months consisted of glacial winter. Another seventeen months were hot, airless summer. Perhaps three months over the entire five years were pleasant. Maybe even a day or two could have been described as idyllic. San Diego is different from that. Every five years we have about sixty months of heavenly weather. — Anonymous

I grip Colin harder, kissing him longer, unwilling to let him go. This is what I want; this is what I've wanted since his damn phone interrupted us this morning, his mouth, his body claiming mine. I'm on fire, every muscle in my body attuned to his, my groin clenching with delicious need. When the voices grow louder his hold loosens.
"Don't stop, please," I beg into his mouth. Diving into me once more his tongue slays me, erases every thought of the outside world until the passion has left us breathless and we have to break away if only to live. His forehead presses to mine as we gasp together, the cold air barely cooling the heat raging between us.
-Midnight, A McKenna Chronicle — Elizabeth Miller

Then her imagination ran away with her. In Beckit's head, her super-hot former stalker was just about to kiss all of her sorrows away.
In real life, he was simply removing a small glop of toothpaste that had ended up on the outside of Beckit's mouth.
Nice. Wonderful. Faaantastic.
Beckit cringed inside as her embarrassment was rivaled only by her newfound hatred for wandering fluoride. — M.A. Wilder

The word landed with a stony thud
Onto my still-beating breast.
Nevermind, I was prepared,
I will manage with the rest.
I have a lot of work to do today;
I need to slaughter memory,
Turn my living soul to stone
Then teach myself to live again ...
But how. The hot summer rustles
Like a carnival outside my window;
I have long had this premonition
Of a bright day and a deserted house. — Anna Akhmatova

I don't want to keep you from the mob of fans beating down the door."
"Hey, a guy can hope. I mean, it's not impossible that a car full of scantily clad sorority girls might break down outside and need my help."
"That's true," I said. "Maybe I can put a sign out from that says, 'ATTENTION ALL GIRLS:FREE HELP HERE.'"
"'ATTENTION ALL HOT GIRLS,'" he corrected, straightening up.
"Right," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. "That's an important distinction."
He pointed at me with the pool stick. "Speaking of hot, I like that uniform."
This time I did roll me eyes. — Richelle Mead

Oh!" said Roberta, drawing a long breath; "it was like a great dragon tearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?" "I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from the outside," said Phyllis. — E. Nesbit

Then Night came down like the feathery soot of a smoky lamp, and smutted[9] first the bedquilt, then the hearth-rug, then the window-seat, and then at last the great, stormy, faraway outside world. But sleep did not come. Oh, no! Nothing new came at all except that particularly wretched, itching type of insomnia which seems to rip away from one's body the whole kind, protecting skin and expose all the raw, ticklish fretwork of nerves to the mercy of a gritty blanket or a wrinkled sheet. Pain came too, in its most brutally high night-tide; and sweat, like the smother of furs in summer; and thirst like the scrape of hot sand-paper; and chill like the clammy horror of raw fish. — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott

English autumn mornings are often like mornings nowhere else in the world.
The air is cold.
The floorboards are cold.
It is perhaps this coldness which sharpens the tang of the hot cup of tea. Outside, steps on the gravel crunch a little more loudly than a month ago because of the very slight frost — John Berger

..it's not impossible that a car full of scantily clad sorority girls might break down outside and need my help."
"That's true," I said. "Maybe I can put
a sign out front that says, 'ATTENTION
ALL GIRLS: FREE HELP HERE.'"
"'ATTENTION ALL HOT GIRLS,'" he corrected, straightening up. — Richelle Mead

It was only outside in the sun and heat that she began to feel the weight of what she had done. Her feet were terribly hot and slipping in her shoes, and the sand worked its way in. With each step she fell more into herself, and her stomach roiled with the curdled truth of her betrayal. I can see you, she imagined God saying. The basket of eggs hit her hip and one shell cracked, freeing yolk and white into a slippery mess, which dripped through the wicker and landed in thick shiny drops on her skirt. * — Rae Meadows

The city is tricky. The highs are so much higher, but in the lows you drop straight down again to bedrock. It helps that streets are snapped to a grid. There are also psychic boutiques and sidewalk prophets, but until you contrive your own love story set in that city, even one as warped as mine, you remain outside it, looking for signals in the white smoke that rises from under, in the sudden hot laundry smells and the LED typos of street vendors donuteasily becomes dount, ominously like don't, to my mind. There was a DOUNT sign on Second Avenue which more than once redirected my superstitious footsteps. — Olivia Sudjic

To slide into the domed reading room at ten each morning, specially in summer, off the hot street outside, was a sensation as delicious as dropping into the water off the concrete edge of the Fitzroy Baths. — Helen Garner

Her lack of outward expression was similar to the way a thermos is never hot on the outside: No matter what was going on inside, it never affected the surface. — Otsuichi

I loved shooting 'iGo to Japan' because we got to be outside a lot, and our call times were really late because we had so many night scenes. It was pouring rain, so the cast would huddle together in between takes and drink hot chocolate. Shooting that episode was such a great bonding experience. — Jennette McCurdy

That mama-bear, elegant-and-modest-on-the-outside, hot-as-allfuck-on-the-inside thing was ringing his doorbell. And God help him, he knew it was beyond inappropriate to be making up fuck fantasies about this woman right then but he couldn't help it. — Lauren Dane

I should have left yesterday before I found out how hot you run. But I didn't. And now I'm fucked." One hand dropped from the wall to grip the side of her hip, squeezing and releasing. "That exquisite body of yours needs a lot of care and attention. I didn't even get a chance to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste."

Her head dropped back against the door. When his hand slipped under her dress to run up the outside of her thigh, a moan escaped her lips. Unconsciously, she thrust her breasts upward, in the direction of his mouth.

"Yes, I see them, baby. I'd taste you there, too." Slowly, his hand slid around toward the juncture between her thighs. "You came so quickly for me yesterday, like something out of a fantasy. Were you neglected here?" He ran a knuckle along the seam of her panties. "I know how to make it better. — Tessa Bailey

When I was working on the book "The Life Of One Kid 7", I just felt the pain of the wound, I asked myself why it hurts.... one moment when my mother has went outside I just realise that she has turn on the fucking machine for making the weather inside hot. For god sake, this stop's thinking and makes depression! — Deyth Banger

Hot punch is a pleasant thing, gentlemen
an extremely pleasant thing under any circumstances
but in that snug old parlour, before the roaring fire, with the wind blowing outside till every timber in the old house creaked again, Tom Smart found it perfectly delightful. — Charles Dickens

One of the richest pleasures I know of is being housebound because of the wild winter weather outside. With your family about you, a good book on your lap, a roaring fire in the stove, and a good hot dinner in prospect - you are richer than a millionaire. — Annette Jackson

Naw. But I just can't get used to it," Bigger said. "I swear to God I can't. I know I oughtn't think about it, but I can't help it. Every time I think about it I feel like somebody's poking a red-hot iron down my throat. Goddammit, look! We live here and they live there. We black and they white. They got things and we ain't. They do things and we can't. It's just like living in jail. Half the time I feel like I'm on the outside of the world peeping in through a knothole in the fence ... . — Richard Wright

The heat of the day had long since retreated into the desert, and the city, which had drowsed through the hot afternoon, was finally coming alive. The streets filled with people drinking tea and gossiping, laughing, and visiting friends. Old men played chatrang on boards set up outside cafes; children stayed up long past their bedtimes playing their own games on the sidewalks. Men and women bought rose-flavored ices and trinkets from nighttime vendors. — Liz Braswell

On the outside she might appear cool, but inside her heart felt as though it was disintegrating like a digestive dropped in hot tea — Jill Mansell

Outside, the Air was Alert and Bright and Hot ... She could see the pattern of the cross-stitch flowers from the blue cross-stitch counterpane on Ammu's cheek. She could hear the blue cross-stitch afternoon.
The slow ceiling fan.
The sun behind the curtains.
The yellow wasp wasping against the windowpane in a dangerous dzzzzzzzzzzzz.
A disbelieving lizard's blink.
High-stepping chickens in the yard.
The sound of the sun crinkling the washing.Crisping white bed-sheets. Stiffened starched saris. Off white and gold.
Red ants on yellow stones.
A hot cow feeling hot. Ahmoo in the distance. — Arundhati Roy

Hey, a guy can hope. I mean, it's not impossible that a
car full of scantily clad sorority girls might break down
outside and need my help."
"That's true," I said. "Maybe I can put a sign out front that
says, 'ATTENTION ALL GIRLS: FREE HELP HERE.'"
"'ATTENTION ALL HOT GIRLS,'" he corrected,
straightening up.
"Right," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. "That's an
important distinction."
He pointed at me with the pool stick. "Speaking of hot, I
like that uniform."
This time, I did roll my eyes. — Richelle Mead

Julian: What's black inside, white outside, and hot?
Jenny: What?
Julian: A wolf in sheep's clothing.
Jenny: Is that what you are?
Julian: Me? No, I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing. — L.J.Smith

Lou had brought the grill from ice-cold to scorching-hot faster than a firestorm; the brats were preboiled in beer and onions and burst with the perfect combination of juicy and smoky, complete with a crunchy outside topped with just a smear of Dijon. Paired with ice-cold Spotted Cows, his new favorite Wisconsin beer, Al got it. He got why people came hours early. It wasn't about good seats or convenient parking. It was a friendly little party with forty thousand of your closest friends. — Amy E. Reichert

I must think about something else for a while. But then I remember his warn arms and his big strong legs touching mine and how hard and wide his chest was and how hot his kiss was, and I got outside and feed the chickens. They are getting mighty fat. — Nancy E. Turner

What destiny is there, but to sense, observe, merge, re-emerge,
Empty, yet filled, spreading everywhere, inside, outside, in,
Pulsing, fluctuating, breathing as part of one being,
Whispering, feeling, reflecting, flowing between hot and cold,
Mineral and plant, dark and light, love and fear, new and old. — Jay Woodman

Rambert also spent a certain amount of time at the railroad station. No one was allowed on the platforms. But the waiting-rooms, which could be entered from outside, remained open and, being cool and dark, were often patronized by beggars on very hot days. Rambert spent much time studying the timetables, reading the prohibitions against spitting, and the passengers' regulations. After that he sat down in a corner. An old cast-iron stove, which had been stone-cold for months, rose like a sort of landmark in the middle of the room, surrounded by figure-of-eight patterns on the floor, the traceries of long-past sprinklings. Posters on the walls gaily invited tourists to a carefree holiday at Cannes or Bandol. And in his corner Rambert savored that bitter sense of freedom which comes of total deprivation. — Albert Camus

Again, I stuffed down the grief and opened the door wide to denial. I may have looked okay on the outside, but inside I was an ugly hot mess. — Betts Keating

Ms. Maxwell,", the housekeeper turned her attention to Lily. "I think a hot soak would do you good."
Lily clasped her hands together, a look of entreaty on her face. "Do you have a tub? A soak sounds wonderful."
Tyler winked at her. "Better than a tub. We have mineral hot springs - good for what ails you."
"What in the world?" Her eyes widened and her mouth pinched. "Hot springs? Outdoors?"
He grinned at the proper expression on her face. "Outside under God's blue sky. — Debra Holland

...he could feel hot tears coming to his eyes as the image of that night, outside the house as the November wind blew black leaves up off the ground and the sky turned colors like bruised flesh. — David Nickle

I want to keep sleeping, but the sun outside my window has other ideas: First blind her. Then jab her eyeballs with scorching-hot daggers. — Natasha Friend

Relaxing is one of the little joys of life. We can learn to take time from our busy day to chat with a friend, take a hot bath, or spend a few moments sitting alone under a tree. The busier we are, the more we need to take time to relax. When we rest, we stop fussing about the outside world. We find out how we're doing inside. While relaxing, we can best listen to our Higher Power. Our minds calm down. We put busy thoughts aside. Sometimes, we can almost hear our Higher Power say, Stay quiet and listen! I have something to tell you! — Anonymous

The streets were very clean, very sunny, very empty, and very dull. A few idle men lounged about the two inns, and the empty market-place, and the tradesmen's doors, and some old people were dozing in chairs outside an alms-house wall; but scarcely any passengers who seemed bent on going anywhere, or to have any object in view, went by; and if perchance some straggler did, his footsteps echoed on the hot bright pavement for minutes afterwards. Nothing seemed to be going on but the clocks, and they had such drowzy faces, such heavy lazy hands, and such cracked voices that they surely must have been too slow. The very dogs were all asleep, and the flies, drunk with moist sugar in the grocer's shop, forgot their wings and briskness, and baked to death in dusty corners of the window. — Charles Dickens

His eyes were sharp but kind, and it seemed to amuse him to see children misbehave when he knew that deep down they didn't really want to misbehave, but were just feeling lonely or misunderstood or wanted to go outside and play instead of sitting in a hot classroom. (26) — Phyllis Theroux

When the guilty verdict was handed down, I walked outside and saw a rainbow encircling the sun. Everyone in Monrovia could see it. It was a hot day, 80 or 90 degrees. I don't remember seeing any raindrops fall. I thought, this is a sign. — Leymah Gbowee

Look how healthy you are, and your skin, it's like a Barbie doll."
"Why, thank you, Jenny." Christine graciously accepted the compliment, only to get side swiped when Jennifer moved to the door. "Tell me, will you melt if it gets too hot outside? — Carroll Bryant

Do you wonder why we wander?" Cal had asked.
It was the night of the first snow; you could hear the branches bending and the icicles
falling outside the window, beyond the wall.
They were warmth together. They were hot breath and blankets and wrapping themselves
close.
And Elijah had thought, I wonder why I never kiss you. I wonder what would happen.
But he didn't say anything out loud. — David Levithan

Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild! — John Galsworthy

The day I arrived in Yakutsk with my colleague Peter Osnos of The Washington Post, it was 46 below. When our plane landed, the door was frozen solidly shut, and it took about half an hour for a powerful hot-air blower- standard equipment at Siberian airports- to break the icy seal. Stepping outside was like stepping onto another planet, for at those low temperatures nothing seems quite normal. The air burns. Sounds are brittle. Every breath hovers in a strangle slow-motion cloud, adding to the mist of ice that pervades the city and blurs the sun. When the breath freezes into ice dust and falls almost silently to the ground, Siberians call it the whisper of stars. — David K. Shipler

In my body's effort to conserve itself, rather than attempt any movement outside, I have begun eating more sugar than is good for me. Sugar, while a comfort to many, is a detriment to those with my various physical complaints, and even a spoonful could plunge me into violent agony. It is a pleasurable agony, at least, and in my depression and desperation to have anything that resembled nutrition, I ate half a jar of chocolate spread. I know I should not buy these things. I seldom give in to such cibarious cagmaggery, even when it is On Sale, but when summer is imminent, I will do anything to feel better, including eat something that will make me regret my folly.

I am currently crippled on the floor and awaiting death, or I am lately dead and have taught my undead form to use a keyboard, I cannot tell which. I am no longer hot, however, and there is some comfort, whether I am dead or alive. I would rather be alive, I think, if only to buy more chocolate spread. — Michelle Franklin

I thought it might be good for morale to look my bank manager in the eye for the first time in ten years, even if the money in my account wasn't mine. I was shown into a waiting-room outside the manager's office, and given a plastic cup of plastic coffee which was far too hot to drink until, in the space of a hundredth of a second, it suddenly became far too cold. I was trying to get rid of it behind a rubber plant when a nine-year-old boy with ginger hair stuck his head out of the door, beckoned me in, and announced himself as Graham Halkerston, Branch Manager. — Hugh Laurie

Welcome to Earth, young man," I said. "It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, Joe, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you've got to be kind! — Kurt Vonnegut

PROBLEMS are like cold or hot water, how much you pack it tightly but its moisture comes outside — Samar Sudha

Thea began to wonder whether people could not utterly lose the power to work, as they can lose their voice or their memory. She had always been a little drudge, hurrying from one task to another - as if it mattered! And now her power to think seemed converted into a power of sustained sensation. She could become a mere receptacle for heat, or become a color, like the bright lizards that darted about on the hot stones outside her door; or she could become a continuous repetition of sound, like the cicadas. — Willa Cather

No, when it came to the ultimate and highest questions, there was no help from outside - no mediation, no absolution, no soothing consolation. Every man had to untangle the riddle on his own, had to work diligently at it, at hot speed, all by himself; before it was too late, he must either achieve some clear readiness for death, or die in despair. — Thomas Mann

Cam looked away, laughing under his breath. "Okay. How about Wednesday?"
"This Wednesday?"
"Nope."
"The following Wednesday?"
"Yep."
Counting the days down, I ended up frowning. "Wait. That's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving."
"It is."
I stared at him. "Cam, arn't you going home?"
"I am."
"When? After the movies, in the middle of the night, or Thanksgiving morning?"
He shook his head. "See, the drive-in movie theater is just outside of my hometown. About ten miles out."
I leaned back against the couch, confused."I don't understand."
Cam finished the hot chocolate and twisted toward me. He scooted over so only a handful of inches seperated us. "If you go on this date with me, you're going to have to go home with me. — J. Lynn

Everything in the universe is created by our own mind. Our mind is the source of all phenomena. Form, sound, smell, taste, and tactile perception such as hot and cold, hard and soft - these are all creations of our mind. They do not exist as we usually think they do. Our consciousness is like an artist, painting every phenomenon into being. Once you have attained the state of the realm of no materiality, you will have succeeded. The realm of no materiality is the state in which we see that no phenomenon exists outside of our own mind. — Thich Nhat Hanh

What I love about Popsicle and the moments I can be with Camden is that their whole philosophy is family and these moments that it can create to just sit with my son, read a comic book or go outside on a hot day, take a swim and have a Popsicle treat with him. — Vanessa Lachey

Why are you wailing away? What is the matter with you?"
"I was playing and - " and her lip quivered as she spoke, " - and it was cloudy, and then - " a sniff, " - and then, as I was playing, the sun came out."
I gave her a flat look. "You're crying because the sun came out?"
"Yes," she moped, wiping the tears from her eyes, "the sun came out, and now - " she heaved, " - and now, it's hot! I don't like it when it's hot. Being hot is dumb!"
I immediately absolved her of all previous sins. I slumped over the sill and gave her as much sympathy as my now warm face allowed. "Yes, child, being hot is very dumb indeed. Very well, you have a reason for crying. But then why are you outside?"
"Because it was too hot inside and mommy won't let me have ice cream."
"Well, there is your problem. You must get an air conditioner and a new mother. — Michelle Franklin

All guys involved in high school athletics are more or less the same - former athletes themselves, big guys, maybe played a little college ball at some shitty school in some shitty program, charismatic for teachers, a little goofy and dim, their lives outside of their sport's season barely worth living, their once kinda hot wives having grown old-looking and probably fat. They were like my seventh-grade coach, except maybe with five or so more I.Q. points. Anyway, I liked them well enough. — A.D. Aliwat

I'm mad at global warming for all the obvious reasons, but mostly I'm mad at it for ruining Christmas. This time of year is supposed to be about teeth-chattering, cold weather that necessitates coats, scarves, and mittens. Outside there should be see-your-breath air that offers the promise of sidewalks covered in snow, while inside, families drink hot chocolate by a roaring fire, huddled close together with their pets to keep warm. — Rachel Cohn

There's a certain feeling that can only be compared to the same feeling one gets when they've been in the cold rain when it's dark at night and suddenly night gives way to dawn and sunlight filters through the clouds as they part. That's how his voice felt as it hit my ears, flowing through me like fresh air hitting my lungs. It felt like I was slowly sinking into a hot bubble bath after having been outside, naked in the cold. — Lola Mac Harlow

My firm resolve was to escape my wicked cousin and my English captors. But the wind was howling, and rain was coming down in sheets. And even as I relaxed in a hot bath in my snug apartments, the clamor of the storm outside was counseling me to be patient and wait.
A wise woman never does anything in a hurry. — Margaret George

When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice. — Anne Michaels

I drove in last night,' he said. 'I couldn't sleep, it was too hot. So I went outside. I was feeling melancholy. Then I danced with a beautiful girl, and I felt better. What's your story? — Judy Blundell

The fairy had flown over to the window and was peering curiously out at the alley.
"Forget it. Stay here," said Dustfinger. "Please. Believe me, it's no place for you out there."
She looked at him quizzically, then folded her wings and knelt on the windowsill. And there she stayed, as if she coudln't decide between the hot room and the strange freedom to be found outside. — Cornelia Funke

KILKENNY STUDIED THE street outside. The bulk of the outlaws seemed to have holed up in the livery stable and they were putting up a hot fire. Others had taken positions behind a pile of stones beyond the street and still others in the bunkhouse. There was no way to estimate their numbers. Some — Louis L'Amour

In real life I am a large, big-boned woman with rough, man-working hands. In the winter I wear flannel nightgowns to bed and overalls during the day. I can kill and clean a hog as mercilessly as a man. My fat keeps me hot in zero weather. I can work outside all day, breaking ice to get water for washing; I can eat pork liver cooked over the open fire minutes after it comes steaming from the hog. One winter I knocked a bull calf straight in the brain between the eyes with a sledge hammer and had the meat hung up to chill before nightfall. — Alice Walker

Snow fell. Carolers moved among the mansions of Prairie Avenue, pausing now and then to enter the fine houses for hot mulled cider and cocoa. The air was scented with woodsmoke and roasting duck. In Graceland Cemetery, to the north, young couples raced their sleighs over the snow-heaped undulations, pulling their blankets especially tight as they passed the dark and dour tombs of Chicago's richest and most powerful men, the tombs' bleakness made all the more profound by their juxtaposition against the night-blued snow [ ... ]
Outside the snow muffled the concussion of passing horses. Trains bearing fangs of ice tore through the crossing at Wallace. — Erik Larson

Hello babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you've got a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies-God damn it, you've got to be kind. — Kurt Vonnegut

I crawled back to bed, knowing I was done for. Hours later, the phone in our room started ringing. It was George. He was not happy.
"Room 312. Now!" he shouted.
Bouldy got up. I tried to pull myself together, splashing my face with water and hauling on my shorts and flip flops. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was scorching hot and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, but it might as well have been a pissing wet morning in St Albans for all I cared. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach as we made the Walk of Death to Room 312, which I knew was Paul and Gus's room.
When we walked in, I thought I'd arrived in downtown Baghdad. Water dripped from the ceiling. The board games were in pieces and all the plastic parts were scattered over the floor. The balcony window was wide open and I could see a bed upended by the pool outside. — Paul Merson

I sit down on the curb, outside the Opera. People passing look at me. I will wait here for a hundred years. Or until the hot meat of romance is cooled by the dull gravy of common sense once more — Donald Barthelme

The Department of Agriculture announced that it will ban six new strains of E. coli. Which explains why the hot dog vendor outside my building is now just selling napkins. — Jimmy Fallon